《On Virgin Moors》


 Prologue

    The shadows of the forest pressed in on him with all the weight of the dead. Long limbs cast longer shadows, rustling leaves gave voice to the ghosts that passed on the wind. No birds were singing. Without them, with only silence, the woods weighed twice as heavy. Thomas Warner did his best to ignore all this. He played the same message in his mind, over and over again.


    Keep running.


    It was hard to keep running when your legs were on fire. They¡¯d cramped up half a mile back, cramped up something fierce, but Thomas had not stopped. Now there was a burning deep within. Every sinew was moaning, screaming¡ªbegging him to stop and rest. His eyes wanted to rest, too. They kept drooping closed, and he had to force them back open. Otherwise he¡¯d have run into a tree or something. He couldn¡¯t stop, not yet. Not until he was safe. If he stopped, he¡¯d never start again.


    Keep running, or it¡¯ll catch you.


    He should have made it back to camp ages ago. It wasn¡¯t that far, not after he¡¯d made it back out of the dark forest. There were only supposed to be a few thin clusters of trees, lining the valley and leading him on to the comfort of home. Oh, to be again in sight of the bluff upon which the Advanced Party¡¯s camp lay, to have the high hills pressing him close on all sides.


    Those same hills had been far from comforting this morning. He¡¯d joked with grey old Corporal Bartley about it. The slope down from the camp was pleasant and gentle, even if the grass was muddy. But at the base of that declivity, following the winding path of a feeble stream, the hills rose high enough to humble any man. They closed in suddenly, the metres closest to the ground impossibly steep. Three of them had set out together, Thomas and Corporal Bartley and Eilidh Cailie with her silly pink hair. The three of them had been forced to walk single-file, their arms tight at their sides. As if the very land was trying to lead them that way.


    It would be hard to get lost in that pass. You went in one end and came out the other, and unless you had rope and carabiner there were no detours. If he could just find those hills, get round the far side to the slopes where it all widened out, he¡¯d surely be able to see the welcoming campfire. No doubt Liz Hamish was there cooking up some rations. James Wilding would have a flask of ale in his hand as he regaled them all with another unlikely anecdote from the life before. Adela Rice would probably be waiting on hand with a taller tale to top it.


    All that was waiting for him. He just had to find the pass.


    Ahead, the trees came to an end. Starlight was beyond them, unblemished, a field of white speckles in an endless black. Two moons rose together through the sky, one the colour of mint and the other the colour of parchment. The ground fell away, yielding to a lower valley. Thomas could see a great black tor rising high above a meadow of brown grass. A score and a half nubbins were strewn across the meadow, serfs of stone bowing their heads in reverence to the great king on the horizon. That was where he headed. His feet had decided that for him. He could take cover behind the rock, and get some rest, and hope that the thing behind him might give up and go away.


    He blamed Cailie, really. She was the one who saw the bloody light. If she¡¯d just kept her mouth shut, they¡¯d never have even known it was there. They¡¯d have gone in some other direction, and everything would have been uneventful, and right now Thomas would be dining and laughing with the others around the fire. But no, Cailie justhadto say something. And now she was dead, and Bartley too. Both of them were dead and Thomas was who knows where.


    Oh, this wasn¡¯t what he¡¯d signed up for at all. Essegena was the final and greatest beast the Unity sought to conquer. The pioneers would be heroes, royalty, living the life of luxury. His definition of ¡®luxury¡¯ didn¡¯t stretch to running terrified across a strange land for his very life.


    The hooded man had promised better¡ªthe one who called himself the Ealdor. He told Thomas about the bitter past, the sour present, the sweet future that Essegena held. And Thomas had believed him.


    What a fool he¡¯d been. Where was he, now? Some fine corner of the universe he¡¯d picked to die in.


    There were flowers growing here, clusters of them loitering in the shade of the nubbins. He could see some starfire, a few cymes of amaranth. Some unfamiliar flowers grew too, blue things on broad stalks with petals of white that looked uncannily like eyes. They watched him with silent judgement. He took shelter behind a particularly big crop of rock, granite with cracks tearing its surface asunder. If he squeezed, perhaps... yes, he could just about tuck himself into the crack. He wriggled about until the nubbin was his shell, and at last he could stop for a rest.


    He must have gone the wrong way at some point. None of this was familiar. The sun had been high in the sky the last time he¡¯d seen a familiar landmark, and night had long since fallen. He¡¯d left his helmet on the ground, back in that valley full of colourful trees. Bartley had done the same. Neither was in the mood to subject himself to the restrictive form of the helmet once Cailie had said the air was safe to breathe¡ªand if they got turned around on the way back, the helmets would be a good landmark. They were heavy, unwieldy things. The grey metal loved to reflect the full blaze of the sun. There was no way to miss them.


    Bartley was the one who¡¯d suggested it. Thomas was always in awe of people like Bartley, the people who had the ability to think of simple ideas like that. He could never do it. Every time he tried to think of something clever, his brain insisted on over-complicating things, until his thoughts were so complex he couldn¡¯t understand what he was thinking about. But that was why Bartley was a Corporal, and he never would be.


    Bartley would probably have been able to find the helmets on the way back.


    Keep running, or it¡¯ll catch you.


    In another life, everything might have been different. Bartley might have been stood just an inch or two to the left when Cailie died. He¡¯d have missed the little rabbit-hole in the dirt, and he wouldn¡¯t have rolled his ankle. He¡¯d have spotted the helmets and led Thomas back the right way. Instead he¡¯d fallen. Thomas had been just a shade ahead of him when it happened. He could see Bartley¡¯s shadow beside him, could see the Colonel crumple. When he¡¯d turned to help, the old soldier had been clutching his ankle with a grimace on his face.


    ¡°Don¡¯t stop, Warner, you damned fool,¡± he¡¯d screamed. ¡°Keep running, or it¡¯ll catch you.¡±


    That was the only invitation Thomas had needed. He hadn¡¯t looked back since, or allowed himself a second¡¯s pause. Even when he heard the explosion, and Bartley¡¯s sudden cry, he¡¯d kept on going. Otherwise he¡¯d be dead.


    His legs were aching badly now. They¡¯d seized up properly, as if out of spite that Thomas kept them working for so long.We¡¯re not going anywhere now, they¡¯d be saying, if legs could somehow talk,so you¡¯ve had that.


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    Melanie had been the one he¡¯d always gone to when his legs cramped. She knew just the right way to massage them so that the pain would subside straight away¡ªa method she¡¯d learned from a dry old crone in the badlands of Kelsiern. She¡¯d laugh as Thomas moaned in pain. Her laugh was a salve. When duty kept them apart, just the memory of Melanie was enough to make him feel better. But Balking had taken the real Melanie, and left the memories too painful to ever revisit her ghost.


    He¡¯d had a dream of Melanie last night. It was the first time he¡¯d thought about her in seventeen years. She was all in white, with a scar bisecting her face from forehead to cheek. One eye was cloudy and blind. He¡¯d tried to talk to her, but she wouldn¡¯t answer him.


    Wouldn¡¯t, or couldn¡¯t.


    She watched, and she smiled, and then he asked her if it had hurt. He had to know that she¡¯d died quickly, that she hadn¡¯t lingered on in suffering. The question would have been better left unanswered. Melanie responded by tracing the scar on her face, running a finger from point to point, and when she was done it opened up, revealing seared flesh and bone and brain where there should have been a scalp.


    And Melanie was only at Balking because of him. Her quiet homestead had been given over to Surnett¡¯s flames, and she might have died a milkmaid in obscurity were it not for Thomas. He¡¯d been there. Pulled her out from the blazing timbers. He ought to have stopped at that. But the ghosts of dying men had shattered his young heart, and he¡¯d filled his head with songs and believed Melanie could mend him.


    Instead, her own ghost had added to the fury.


    Even after he¡¯d woken up, that broken image hadn¡¯t left him.


    He¡¯d been quiet all through the breakfast, had barely recognised the taste. Maybe Liz had done a good job, maybe she hadn¡¯t. All he¡¯d been able to think about was Melanie. When Lieutenant Bennett had given the order to form up in threes, Thomas had wandered idly towards the nearest group. It was his misfortune that he¡¯d been sat beside Eilidh Cailie while he ate his food. Cailie, with her tacky hair and her angel face. He might have tried to kiss her in another life, but in this one she sickened him. Her voice simpered. Her jokes grated. That Meneges lilt she spoke with made Thomas want to punch something. Who did she think she was, to swan about like the Lieutenant¡¯s golden girl? Everything she did, Melanie had done¡ªand better.


    Cailie was given the responsibility of holding the atmospheric probe, in the way that pretty girls like her were always given any jobs that combined ¡®easy¡¯ and ¡®important¡¯. It meant she got to spend the day waving the probe about, reading out the numbers on the display, and generally lording it over those whohadn¡¯tbeen chosen for the task. That should have been satisfying enough for her. There was no need to bring up the light, and lead them closer to it. But she had.


    ¡°It could be anything,¡± Thomas had said. ¡°It¡¯s probably the sun.¡± What was the point in getting sidetracked by a light? Better just to get on with what they were supposed to do and get back to the camp, where there was good stuff to drink.


    The battle had been lost as soon as Cailie had mentioned it. Bartley was intrigued. He¡¯d have been interested in what she had to say even if she just wanted to discuss the green of the grass. His prime was behind him, and most of his middle-age too. If he hadn¡¯t already tied a beautiful woman to marriage by now he probably never would. What a surprise his dick clouded his thinking.


    ¡°What could be causing it?¡± Bartley had asked.


    Cailie had waggled her probe towards the light, because of course she¡¯d take the excuse to use it. ¡°I¡¯m getting no anomalies,¡± she¡¯d said, in what she probably thought was an important-sounding voice. ¡°It¡¯s just a forest.¡±


    The light had seemed to come from the thickest part of the forest. The trees were so densely packed here that daylight barely reached the floor. Without the light, they might have needed their torches to see in places. With the light they needed nothing. Thomas was loath to admit that his interest had been piqued, but Cailie had definitely stumbled upon something strange. As they drew closer, it became clear that the pulsing light had coalesced around an ancient tree. Once, it might have been a great willow. Leaves had long abandoned this one; the trunk was gnarled and the branches petrified. Dead bark peeled off arthritic joints. The glow was strongest at the heart of the tree, almost blinding as it peeked through knots in the ancient wood. Even the extremities had a pale shimmer to them. It felt somehow spectral.


    ¡°That¡¯s definitely not the sun,¡± Cailie had said glibly. ¡°The sun doesn¡¯t shine through trees.¡±


    ¡°Nothing shines through trees like that,¡± Corporal Bartley had responded.


    ¡°Maybe we should report it to Lieutenant Bennett?¡±


    Cailie had given Thomas a withering look, like he was an idiot with an absence of imagination. ¡°And tell her what? We don¡¯t know anything about this light.¡±


    ¡°You can just explain the mechanism by which the sun shines out of your arsehole. It¡¯s probably the same thing.¡±


    ¡°Warner.¡± Corporal Bartley¡¯s lips were pursed tight.


    Cailie looked hurt for a second, then turned back to the glowing tree. ¡°Maybe if I get a bit closer...¡±


    The instant she came within arm¡¯s reach of the tree, the light died. Daylight went with it. The darkness that remained was one more suffocating than night. Thomas looked frantically around him, every direction. He couldn¡¯t see the trees¡ªneither the glowing tree nor the normal ones around it. Nor could he see Bartley or Cailie. There was justblack.


    ¡°What¡¯s happened?¡±


    The sun was returned in an explosion of light and sound. Thomas whipped his head around as Cailie screamed; he caught just a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, and saw her slumped against an unassuming boulder.


    He¡¯d made eye contact with Bartley, both bewildered, and started to back away. Cailie was still moving, slow, dazed. Her helmet was still on. When she pulled it off, Thomas saw her face was streaked with blood. She dropped the helmet to the ground and looked to him, with a silent, desperate appeal in her eyes. She¡¯d crumpled to the floor then. Behind her the petrified old tree once again began to shine.


    Thomas had run, then, and he¡¯d been running ever since.


    At last, he could rest.


    Over the sound of his heavy-beating heart, he thought he heard a noise. Feet slipping on the scree? The thing had followed him all this way, and now it had caught him. Now it could feast.


    Or maybe he was imagining things. He was parched and drenched with sweat. When was the last time he¡¯d had some water? It was little wonder he was beginning to hallucinate. Briefly he tried to remember which pocket held his flask of water. He couldn¡¯t even remember bringing one with him when they¡¯d left camp. Brilliant. Nothing to drink. By day, if he was still alive, he could look for a stream. There had to be running water somewhere on this rock, else what were the trees living off?


    Then again, if he got eaten by some unfathomable terror, dehydration wouldn¡¯t be something he had to worry about.


    That noise again. Louder. Closer. And with it, a low growl.


    This was definitely not his imagination.


    For an eternity he lay in silence, each breath a betrayal. He dared not peek out of the rock. What might he see if he did? More importantly,what might see him?


    He pressed himself tight into the granite, tucked his face against the ground, begged for sleep to come. And when it did, he embraced it as an old friend.

 1. A Light in the Easterwood

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Macel ~


    The breeze that blew hard against his face was an alien breeze. It felt no different to the homely breezes of Belaboras, which swept over the high glades and moaned in the pine forests. But it was different. Macel knew it. No man before him had ever felt this breeze. Nobody before today had ever had their skin buffeted by this wind. This was a virgin world, yet to be touched by the ravages of human history.


    Those unspoilt days were over now. Twelve of them had landed late yesterday, stepping outside to the setting of an unfamiliar sun. They were the Advanced Party, pioneers among pioneers, come ahead of their peers to see what lay in store. In time the rest would follow. Before long, this would be a bustling colony just like any other. For now it was pure. Macel basked in the purity.


    Even the water was beautiful. It seemed somehow clearer than the water at home, reflecting crystalline sparkles of sunlight. Like it was begging to be drunk.


    ¡°Just have a sip,¡± came a tired voice from behind him. He turned to see Adela Rice watching him, one eyebrow raised and her mouth curled into a smirk. Unruly strands of dark hair had been blown across her face by the breeze. ¡°You¡¯ve been side-eyeing that water for half an hour. Put us out of our misery.¡±


    Next to her, Sam Preston¡ªstocky, with hair and eyes alike dark¡ªchuckled. ¡°If it kills you, we¡¯ll know it¡¯s not safe to drink.¡±


    Macel shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m thirsty. I can¡¯t help that.¡± He pointed to the helmet he held in his right hand, an unwieldy thing¡ªheavy, painted grey to match the outercoats of their uniforms, with a visor that seemed to be permanently fogged by his breath. ¡°Three hours is way too long to have these things on. I swear they suck all the moisture directly out of my throat.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d rather be thirsty than dying on a foreign rock a billion miles from home because the air wasn¡¯t safe to breathe,¡± said Delie. She was short and slender, with a square jaw and shrewd, deep-set eyes. And she had a point, Macel had to admit¡ªa point she¡¯d already made three times. Though that was because Macel had already complained about the helmets three times.


    ¡°Course, as it turns out, the air is safe to breathe,¡± Sam chimed in, running a hand through a scraggly beard. ¡°So in the end all that sweating was for nothing.¡±


    Delie jabbed Sam in the ribs. ¡°It wasn¡¯t for nothing, it was a safety precaution. You do understand the need for safety precautions, don¡¯t you, Sam?¡±


    Safety precautions had mandated that they make planetfall in great thick vacuum suits, pressurised and hooked up to air canisters. They were designed for zero-gravity environments. The presence of a normal amount of gravity only made them nigh on impossible to walk in, and Essegena¡¯s gravity was unexpectedly normal. They¡¯d been able to get the suits off fairly quickly, once Lieutenant Bennett was satisfied that they weren¡¯t going to pop without them. Not soon enough. The grey-green serge of the field uniform could be a little itchy, but it was easily an improvement over a vacuum suit.


    Every step he took, Macel could see that crystal water out of the corner of his eye. It looked so good, so refreshing. And he was so thirsty. They could at least have been allowed a flask or something. Lieutenant Bennett must have been violating at least a few inviolable Unity statutes with her conduct. If Macel collapsed out of dehydration, there¡¯d be a report. Bennett would get the book thrown at her. It would serve the grumpy witch right.


    ¡°This place really is beautiful,¡± said Sam, overtaking Macel in just a few long strides, and spinning around with outstretched arms. ¡°Reminds me of a holiday I took somewhere on... I want to say Opteris. Icewind, maybe? There was this beautiful cottage, all prettied up and turned into a cafeteria. Lovely place, begonias on the sills outside.¡± He caught Macel¡¯s eye then, and winked at him. ¡°They served some wonderful drinks there. The best colas and cordials and... and waters.¡±


    Macel shook his head. ¡°I hate you.¡±


    Sam blew a mocking kiss through raptures of laughter. And that was the breaking point. Macel abruptly stopped walking and crouched down beside the stream, cupping his hands and scooping up as much water as he could. In the moment, he didn¡¯t care if he got sick. Maybe he¡¯d end up shitting his way into premature death. At least his throat wouldn¡¯t be so damned dry. He brought his hands to his lips, water surging to escape between his fingers all the while, and poured it all into his mouth. As much as he could hold onto.


    Oh, it was ecstasy. He let the water linger in his mouth for a while, swilling it around with his tongue to hydrate every corner. It didn¡¯t taste like it would kill him. In fact, it tasted much the same as the water on every other planet.


    He was still thirsty, though. One sip was never going to be enough. He took his helmet and pushed it down beneath the water, then brought it up again full. The visor was watertight; the full complement made it to his lips, and he took another long swig.


    At once, he spat it out. It was salty.


    ¡°Careful with that,¡± said Delie, arms folded. ¡°You¡¯ve been sweating into that helmet all day.¡± Sam was having a ball, judging from his laughter. He was crouched down, a hand over his eyes, trying without success to suppress snorts. ¡°Grow up, Sam,¡± said Delie, all haughty, ¡°it isn¡¯t that funny.¡±


    ¡°Oh, it absolutely is,¡± said Sam, regaining some of his composure. ¡°Macel Donea, going against best practice for the first time in his life, and he winds up drinking his own sweat. You could not make that up.¡±


    Delie withered him with a glare and shook her head. Tanis had been the master of such looks¡ªpure disgust embodied in a grimace and a stare. Macel had hoped to say goodbye to his sister before the Eia set off, but she was away on her initiations. One of the others at the Temple had promised to pass on a message.


    They¡¯d followed the stream from the point it burst from the ground, a couple of hundred metres from the high plateau where they¡¯d set up camp. That had been Delie¡¯s idea. If they got lost, they just had to follow it back. Once they were at the stream¡¯s source, the craft that had brought them down from the Eia to the surface was impossible to miss, a mass of painted steel at the crest of a grassy hill.


    The stream carved a relentless path downwards, taking them past at least five different kinds of tree that Macel had never seen before. There were squat trees with thick leafy canopies, trees at least a dozen metres tall with almost no leaves at all, trees with rose-pink trunks and pale leaves. It was an arborist¡¯s paradise.


    A mile or so along, the stream began to widen into something resembling a river. The passing of millennia had allowed it to carve a sort of canyon down into the ground, bordered by walls of white and grey rock. A canopy of overhanging vegetation roofed the water. In the shade it was comfortably cool. Somewhere unseen, a bird was singing. Macel allowed himself a smile. This place wasn¡¯t so bad. In fact, it was almost like home.


    And let the Good Mother keep these good times going. The silent prayer was the only one he ever said, a habit from childhood. There was nobody up in the clouds waiting on the prayers of the people on ground¡ªnot the Mother, not the seventeen Gods, not anybody.


    He¡¯d had to learn that the hard way. His home as a boy was Cad¨¦ist¡ªthe Village, so its residents called it. Honour and faith were the lynchpins of society. But they were only lies the elders told to keep the village in check. They had to be. If the Mother were real, she¡¯d have taken his sister into her bosom. But Tanis had been left to fend for herself. Four years ago she rode to join the maidens at the Temple of the Bells, for safe haven and the promise of two square meals a day. She still wrote, sometimes.


    Macel had followed his sister into exile, out of choice. If Tanis was no longer welcome in the Village, Macel wanted nothing to do with it either. He¡¯d found employment in Pattinsdale, just over the Merrowain Heights, with a fishmonger from the harbour. For a day spent gutting fish he got board for the night. And when the smell of fish had soaked into his very being, he signed up for a journey to the far breadth of space.


    To the world they called Essegena.


    Beneath the leafy ceiling, the gorge was dark, and it seemed almost to get darker with every step. ¡°I miss the sun,¡± Delie muttered.


    ¡°You survived for six months in space,¡± Macel replied. ¡°A few minutes more won¡¯t kill you.¡±


    ¡°Says the man who drank alien water out of his own helmet.¡±


    ¡°We should probably start back,¡± said Sam, saving Macel from the need to think up another retort. ¡°It¡¯s getting dark, and Bennett will kick off if we¡¯re too late. Besides, I don¡¯t want to miss dinner.¡±


    They reached the camp just as the sun was disappearing from view. The whole thing had been erected hastily on the plateau around the ship, which Lieutenant Bennett had decreed was the best place to set up camp¡ªthe sheer jutting rock face it was pressed against would act as a barrier to wind, and that was one less wall that needed building.


    The ship itself was the second wall. Three of them had stayed behind today, turning two walls into four with the magic of tarpaulin and canvas sheets taken from the ship¡¯s hold. They were pinned in place by heavy stones and makeshift tent-pegs fashioned from spare carabiners. There was no roof. Man¡¯s only holdfast on Essegena was open for the stars to peer inside.


    Despite this, the camp was unexpectedly cosy. Somebody had got a small fire going in the middle. The smoke rose in high pillars into the sky. A dozen beds had been fabricated from blankets, each surrounded by the unpacked contents of one of the Unity¡¯s survival trunks. Not much came in a trunk¡ªa flask, a small metal pan that doubled as a bowl, some basic medical gear, an extra pair of thick socks. Laid out nicely, they made the place look homely. Just as long as it didn¡¯t rain.


    ¡°You¡¯re the first ones back,¡± said Liz Hamish, as they entered. ¡°We were beginning to wonder if everybody got lost.¡± Hamish was the oldest among the Advanced Party, cheery and always smiling. She¡¯d spent nearly a quarter of a century working as a chambermaid for one of the wealthy families on Belaboras, until she¡¯d been sacked for trying to steal silver cutlery. Rather than finding employment with another family, she¡¯d done the only logical thing and signed up to cross to the other edge of the galaxy with the Unity¡¯s armed forces. It was clear to see that the skillset of her previous life hadn¡¯t been forgotten.


    She pointed towards Tema Caerlin, hunched over the fire, a bow of salmon-pink tied into her dyed-blonde hair. Tema was on loan from the Eia¡¯s hospital. She was no soldier, useless in a fight, but if someone had a scrape she¡¯d be the one to patch them up. ¡°Tema¡¯s cooking up some rations, if you¡¯re hungry.¡±


    ¡°Why would I not be?¡± Sam scoffed. He was over to Tema almost so fast that Macel didn¡¯t see him moving. Delie wasn¡¯t too far behind, but Macel found his appetite oddly lacking. Instead he found himself a spot outside the camp, resting his back against one of the rocks that held the tarpaulin in place and gazing up at the night. Above him, the stars were uncountable.


    He was still looking at the stars, lost in thought, when Lieutenant Bennett got back. Night had fallen cold by then. Away from the fire, it was difficult not to shiver.


    ¡°Where are the others?¡± Bennett¡¯s shrill voice cut through him more than the chill did. She was stood at the edge of the camp, not talking to anybody in particular. Shadowy flickers of fire danced in the ombre of her hair. She was angry. Her round cheeks swelled like a squirrel¡¯s when she was angry. ¡°I count nine.¡±


    ¡°The others aren¡¯t back yet,¡± said Delie.


    ¡°Well...¡± Bennett¡¯s eyes reflected the cogs that were turning behind them. ¡°Has anyone tried radioing them? Find out where they are?¡±


    Delie shook her head. ¡°There¡¯s no towers. Comms don¡¯t work without towers.¡±


    ¡°I know how comms work,¡± Bennett snapped. ¡°If they aren¡¯t back by daybreak I¡¯ll see to it that Captain Clifford has them blacklisted. It¡¯s either incompetence or negligence, and frankly neither is acceptable.¡±


    Bennett¡¯s temper was a fearsome thing to behold, but it would have been worse without Sergeant Malleston. The Lieutenant¡¯s right hand man was always on hand to calm her down, and tonight was no different. Before she¡¯d had chance to launch into a rant, he was there with a plate of food fresh off the fire. ¡°Eat, Lieutenant,¡± he said, and shepherded her away to a distant rock. He sat with her the whole night. By unspoken assent, everybody else gave her a wide berth.


    The night went on with no evidence of the missing three. Macel sat, idly scratching at the scar that ran down the back of his hand. It had long stopped hurting, but from time to time it still itched horribly. The doctors said he was lucky to still have a hand. Apparently the wound had got infected. Still, no harm had been done, in the end. At least, not to Macel.


    ¡°I think they¡¯re really selfish, you know,¡± Sam said, sitting himself down beside Macel. ¡°Here we are. Brand new world. I was planning on getting some action tonight, but three people are a bit late coming home and it brings the mood right down.¡±


    ¡°Is that really going to stop you?¡± Macel asked.


    Sam shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t care that much,¡± he said, ¡°but it¡¯s a two-player game. Believe me, I know what happens. The girls¡¯ll get all empathetic and they won¡¯t want anything to do with me. And if I did persuade one of them to give me a go, she¡¯d just end up sobbing all over me. And that does put me off. It¡¯s a waste of all these pretty girls.¡±


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    Macel nodded, less out of agreement and more to get Sam to stop talking. ¡°You¡¯ll have plenty of other opportunities. We¡¯re here for the long haul, Sam. Years. The rest of your life, even.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but by tomorrow night the good ones will be taken. There¡¯s no chance the likes of Delie Rice or Tema Caerlin stay single for long.¡±


    Macel rolled his eyes. ¡°Let me get this straight,¡± he said. ¡°None of the women here will listen to you hitting on them because they¡¯re all too busy being upset about our missing friends, but if you don¡¯t hit on them tonight it¡¯ll be too late because they¡¯ll all be taken?¡±


    ¡°Correct.¡±


    ¡°Your logic makes no sense.¡±


    Morning came quickly, and with it no sign of the three soldiers. Macel had chosen a bunk and found a comfortable position with ease, and he was in the middle of a pleasant dream when Sam shook him awake.


    ¡°Bennett¡¯s not happy,¡± he whispered. ¡°They¡¯re still not back.¡±


    Sam hadn¡¯t misrepresented the situation. Lieutenant Bennett was, indeed, not happy. Tema had lit the fire in the middle of the camp, ready to prepare some breakfast. She was in the middle of divvying up rations when the fire hissed out. Lieutenant Bennett was stood over it, an empty flask upturned in her hand. Her grey eyes were narrowed. ¡°What do you think you¡¯re doing?¡±


    ¡°Making breakfast,¡± said Tema, always chipper.


    Bennett scowled and pulled the pink bow from Tema¡¯s hair. She scrunched it between her thumb and forefinger. ¡°Light that fire again without my order and this will be the first thing on it.¡± She let the bow fall; Tema grabbed it and darted far from Bennett.


    ¡°Lieutenant, be reasonable,¡± said Sergeant Malleston. ¡°The soldiers need to eat.¡± He moved towards her. Malleston was tall and thin, his hair cropped so short he was bald, and when he spoke it was with a firmness that quelled any burgeoning seeds of dissent.


    ¡°Are you the commanding officer, Sergeant Malleston? Or am I the commanding officer? Because when I went to bed last night, I was in charge. Is there a memo I¡¯ve missed?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Sergeant Malleston.


    ¡°In that case, we¡¯ll do as I decide. And there¡¯s no time to waste on food.¡± Bennett straightened her cap, her fingers conveniently emphasising the red commander¡¯s pin affixed to it. ¡°There could be three soldiers dying out there. Three lives that I am responsible for. Every second counts.¡±


    Wilding shook his head. ¡°Can¡¯t we eat on the go?¡±


    ¡°The decision was no breakfast,¡± said Bennett. ¡°That shouldn¡¯t need repeating. Form into your groups¡ªsame as yesterday. The mission is the same. But you¡¯ll need these.¡± She produced a crate of metal aerosols. Pathfinding sprays. They left a brightly coloured trail of unusually sticky foam in their wake, and faded after twenty-four hours. More often than not, they were misused. Macel had taken a coating of foam as forfeit when he lost a drinking game, early into his Unity days. He reported to the parade ground the next morning with the most brilliant turquoise skin. Even the officers had laughed at his shame.


    Delie took a couple of canisters from Lieutenant Bennett and lead the way. Macel glanced at Sam, who had been shuffling in the direction of the food store since Bennett had extinguished the fire. He shrugged, and swiped a couple of dry crackers. ¡°I can¡¯t live off nothing,¡± he said, spraying crumbs everywhere.


    ¡°Hurry up or I go on my own,¡± Delie called.


    ¡°We both know there is absolutely no chance you go off alone,¡± said Sam, but he trotted after Delie all the same. Macel picked his cap up from his pillow, where it was resting, and donned it as he followed.


    It was late in the afternoon when, hungry, they returned. Sam had apparently digested the crackers within ten minutes, and had subsequently complained for an hour about Lieutenant Bennett. ¡°I¡¯ve a mind to complain to Captain Clifford,¡± he said, as they entered the camp. Macel glanced around, but saw no trace of Bennett or the two unfortunate souls who had gone with her.


    ¡°Why not escalate it all the way?¡± said Delie. ¡°The General¡¯s got way more clout than Captain Clifford.¡±


    ¡°And he probably gives about as much of a shit,¡± said Wilding, walking over to them.


    Wilding had been with Lieutenant Bennett all day. Sam must have known it. He stopped talking, no doubt out of fear that Bennett had heard him. If she did, she made no show of it. She was sat outside the canvas walls, staring out east at the sloping ground, towards the behemoth of a hill adjacent.


    ¡°You¡¯d best not disturb the Lieutenant,¡± said Sergeant Malleston, when he noticed them. ¡°She¡¯s unbearable at the moment.¡±


    ¡°Not even if we¡¯ve found Bartley¡¯s group?¡± Sam asked.


    Sergeant Malleston smiled slightly. ¡°You went in the wrong direction. Bartley¡¯s group went east.¡± He pointed towards the hill Lieutenant Bennett found so fascinating. The sun was just beginning to dip behind it. Its last light was disseminated through the thick, silhouetted trees that grew all over the hill. Rays spread like reaching fingers, grasping at the air, then faded to nothing.


    ¡°Why is she staring like that?¡± Delie had found food from somewhere. She was munching as she spoke.


    ¡°She found their helmets,¡± said Malleston. ¡°Well, Bartley¡¯s and Warner¡¯s. Just abandoned on the ground. Wilding and Caerlin had to drag her back, apparently. She wouldn¡¯t even have a drink of water until she found them¡ªthere was a worry she might pass out.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what she gets for stealing our breakfast,¡± said Sam.


    Delie rolled her eyes. ¡°She didn¡¯t steal your breakfast, Sam. She just didn¡¯t let you eat it. It¡¯s all still there in the containers.¡±


    ¡°What about Cailie?¡± As Macel understood, there were three of them missing, and they¡¯d all been together.


    Malleston looked uncomfortable. ¡°There¡¯s not been a trace of Cailie¡ªnot a helmet or a footprint or anything. We only know she actually went with the others because I watched them setting off myself. The thing is, there¡¯s only us here, and this is a big planet. If they¡¯ve got themselves lost, we might never find them. The window¡¯s shrinking. Another day or two and they¡¯re probably lost forever.¡±


    His words landed heavy. They all stood silent for a while, before Sergeant Malleston drifted away.


    ¡°Where did you find that food, Delie?¡± said Sam, eventually breaking the silence.


    Delie had stopped halfway through chewing, food filling her cheeks and giving her the look of a squirrel. ¡°Liz Hamish is cooking up,¡± she said. ¡°Over by the fire. Don¡¯t you use your eyes?¡±


    Macel was early to bed, after a good meal. A second full day¡¯s walking had sapped him of his energy. Everyone else seemed content to stay up well into the night, eating and drinking and chatting, and all power to them, but he had neither the strength nor the willpower to join them. He slept fitfully through the night. He must have been woken at least half a dozen times. The first time, in fairness, was just because Eric Scobie shouted something a little too loudly right next to him. Eric had apologised, and Macel had gone back to sleep. By the time he woke up again, everybody had retired. It was dark and silent beneath the stars.


    It was warm, too, a stark contrast to the night before. No matter what he did, he couldn¡¯t seem to get comfortable. It reminded him of summer nights when it was just too hot, and he tossed and turned until his bedding was inside out and he was floating in a pool of his own sweat. Those were the worst nights. At least then, the hard part was getting to sleep in the first place. Once sleep came, it was usually a smooth ride to the dawn.


    Tonight was more like the night before his week in the glades. His mind had been overworked with worries. Would he get on with Flossie Mayborn? Would she get on with him? How would he even manage to fend for himself in the wild? None of his worries had mattered in the end. Flossie Mayborn was a wisp of a thing, fey and feckless, frightened by her own shadow. He knew before they¡¯d even reached the glades that he never wanted to marry her.


    Baseless as his fear had been then, it had still kept him up most of the night. He¡¯d spent the entire hike bleary-eyed and tired, and the day had been far from enjoyable. And that was when he was in control of the pace.


    He wasn¡¯t in charge here. Lieutenant Bennett would expect everyone up at the crack of dawn, and if she got a whiff of tiredness from anybody she¡¯d find some strenuous and unnecessary exercise to force the squad to repeat until she got bored of watching them. If that proved too taxing, well, there¡¯d be plenty more busywork.


    So each time he awoke, he just lay still, his eyes closed, trying to clear his mind of any thoughts at all. Most times he got back to sleep fairly quickly¡ªonly to wake up again half an hour or so later.


    The last time he woke felt different to the others. The air had a weight to it, like the sky was being smothered by an invisible blanket. He opened his eyes and looked around. Someone was moving in the darkness, a shadowy figure stealing across the camp. He squinted and strained, but he couldn¡¯t make out who it was. There were two moons in the sky, and neither reflected enough light to penetrate the camp. It was too dark. His mind was filling in the blanks of the person¡¯s shape, but his brain seemed to be misfiring. The figure had the wrong proportions. It was just a touch too slender, its arms a shade too long. It looked slightly less than human.


    Macel felt the chill in his blood. Whoever this was, they¡¯d been inside the camp, wandering unnoticed. For how long? And where had they come from? The figure was slipping out of the camp, moving undetected past the bed nearest to the entrance.


    By the time Macel made it out of the camp himself, the figure was gone. All he could see was the night¡¯s darkness, and the fading moons. The air was lighter at least. He leaned against the ship and took a deep breath. It was just a bad dream. That was all.


    He lingered for a second, to look out at the horizon. And he heard a rustling sound.


    At once he was solidly focused. There was something nearby¡ªa wild animal, perhaps. They hadn¡¯t been here long enough yet. They didn¡¯t know what the wildlife here was like. There had to be something, on a world with such a friendly atmosphere and so many plants. Knowing his luck, the endemic species was some eight-foot-tall carnivore with an excess of aggression. Probably a spider. He¡¯d be the first to discover it. He wondered if he could gloat to the others from inside an alien animal¡¯s stomach.


    He noticed the source of the rustling fairly easily. There was one of the squat leafy trees a couple of metres outside the camp, and its leaves were moving. Something was inside. He watched intently as the canopy parted...


    ¡°Tema?¡± He almost had to laugh. Tema Caerlin was as far as one could get from a threat.


    She looked at him, her jaw hanging slightly open. ¡°Are you following me?¡±


    ¡°I thought you might have been an intruder.¡±


    Tema shook her head, and jabbed a thumb at the tree behind her. ¡°Nature called.¡±


    Macel frowned. ¡°There are toilets on the ship. Proper ones.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like to use them.¡±


    That was strange to Macel. Private toilets were always nicest, but the communal ones on the ship were well-cleaned. And anyway, there were no private toilets, not anywhere on Essegena. It was communal toilets or a tree.


    Tema pointed suddenly at the wooded hill to the east, where Lieutenant Bennett had been staring. ¡°There¡¯s something up there. Can you see it?¡±


    He could see it. A singular light was moving through the trees. It was far smaller than the sun; it looked more like somebody with a torch, wandering lost in the dark. Bartley¡¯s group.


    The scream came suddenly. It didn¡¯t sound like a scream, not at first. Macel assumed it was a bird¡¯s cry. Birds made strange noises, he knew, and the first blush of morning is famously a time for birds. But he met Tema¡¯s eye and knew that she was on the same page. Birdsong doesn¡¯t sound like the terrified cries of their missing friends.


    ¡°Was that Eilidh?¡± Tema said. Eilidh Cailie was one of those people who seemed to be able to ingratiate herself with everybody instantly. She¡¯d been the glue that held the group together in those first hours before they got to know one another.


    Tema started towards the hill, but Macel pulled her back. ¡°No. We can¡¯t just take it upon ourselves to go after her.¡±


    ¡°We need to go,¡± said Tema. ¡°You heard the scream, same as I did. Who screams like that if they¡¯re not in danger?¡±


    Macel shook his head. ¡°Cailie had the same training as us. What makes you think we won¡¯t just be putting ourselves in the same danger? And when Lieutenant Bennett finds two more people gone by the morning... she¡¯ll have to send the others out to find us, and it¡¯ll all be a mess.¡±


    ¡°So you think we should just leave her to die? And what about Bartley and Warner, do they get to die as well?¡±


    ¡°I think we should tell Lieutenant Bennett what we heard. And not rush blindly after them.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not rushing blindly. It¡¯s saving our friends.¡± Tema Caerlin was definitely a stubborn mule. By the look in her eyes, she¡¯d have gone off on her own if he wouldn¡¯t come with her.


    ¡°Fine,¡± he sighed. ¡°But if Bennett gets pissy you can take the blame.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s not my boss,¡± said Tema, with a wicked grin on her face. ¡°She can get as pissy as she likes with me.¡±


    Macel let Tema lead the way. She seemed to have a better idea of where she was going, striding at double-time directly towards the hill. Nearer to, the slope from the plateau grew steeper. Wild flowers grew more frequently here, and a waterway ran from north to south. The easterwood loomed ominously, its coat of trees all combined as one shadow. The hairs on the back of his neck began to stand on end.


    At the base of the hill, Tema suddenly veered left. He followed her into the emerging ghyll, the narrow gap between the eastern hill and the hill that served as the camp¡¯s northern boundary. In time, an obstacle emerged: a sudden cliff-face, two metres or so of sheer rock. Tema stopped dead.


    ¡°I can¡¯t climb this,¡± she said. ¡°I don¡¯t have enough strength in my arms.¡±


    He took the hint and hoisted her up. She thanked him and reached out a hand to pull him, but a solid jump gave him good grip on the top, and he clambered over on his own.


    The ghyll broadened just ahead, into a lush valley bordered with green trees and distant fells on the far side. ¡°That¡¯s where we found the helmets,¡± said Tema, pointing at the trunk of a nearby tree. Bennett must have taken them with her. There was nothing left to suggest that human hands had passed here.


    ¡°Where now?¡±


    ¡°This way, I think,¡± said Tema, and she cut to the right, to where the valley subsided into an even lower patch of ground, this one densely forested.


    She said very little on their journey, and when she did speak it was normally in single-syllable phrases. Most of the time she just walked, huddled in a black coat she¡¯d found from somewhere¡ªsomething that was definitely not conforming to Unity regulations. It was too tight on her, emphasising the rounded outline of her breasts. Macel kept catching himself looking at them. They were smaller than he preferred, but he wasn¡¯t especially fussy¡ª


    ¡°Will you stop staring?¡± Tema was glaring. He looked down at his feet, a scolded child.


    ¡°How is it you know where we¡¯re going?¡± If he changed the subject, perhaps she¡¯d forget that she caught him eyeing her up. Then he could allow himself to be slightly less embarrassed.


    She shrugged. ¡°Guesswork. We¡¯re going in the right general direction, I think.¡±


    ¡°You think?¡±


    Tema didn¡¯t answer him. She was looking a little way ahead, where a dead tree had fallen onto a rock. Judging by the growth of moss on the tree, this wasn¡¯t recent. But the helmet resting on the fallen trunk was a new addition. It was a Unity helmet, one of those issued to the Advanced Party. ¡°I think this is the right place,¡± Tema said, her voice dropping to a whisper. ¡°They must have come this way.¡±


    ¡°But where are they now?¡±


    Macel crouched down, his arse almost brushing the grass as he walked over to the tree trunk. He picked up the helmet and looked at it. It was in pretty good nick. There were no scratches on the visor, no chips in the paintwork. It had been removed voluntarily, that was certain. A nametag had been fastened to the spongy interior. ¡°E. Cailie,¡± he read aloud. ¡°This is definitely Eilidh¡¯s.¡±


    Something caught his eye. A hand, poking out from behind the rock. Red smears covered it. Peering behind the rock, he could see that the hand was attached to a person. The man was lying on his front, naked apart from a few scraps of cloth. There were several deep cuts in his back, each spilling blood. ¡°Tema,¡± Macel called. ¡°Get over here. Now.¡±


    ¡°What is it?¡±


    He knelt beside the man. Despite the wounds, he was breathing. His hair was short and brown, but matted with blood from a cut to his scalp. He had a scrappy beard, the clear result of at least a few weeks without the option to shave. And he was a stranger.


    Tema looked at Macel, her brow darkened. ¡°I thought we were supposed to be the only people here,¡± she said. And she was right. This was a brand new colony. Terra nova. ¡°Where did he come from?¡±

 2. The Wounded Stranger

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Caroline ~


    The Eia made planetfall in the middle of the night. Caroline had been awoken from a dreamless sleep by the sound of the comms in their chambers beeping insistently as the crewers on the command deck tried to get in contact with Chris. For a few moments she had lain beside him, bleary-eyed and confused. The pills made her groggy. Chris had had to help her out of bed.


    For two weeks now she¡¯d been getting increasingly excited, ever since she¡¯d gone with Chris to wave off the dozen soldiers of the Advanced Party in their little lander. She¡¯d worn all her best clothes that day, the tourmaline tiara that had once graced the head of a queen and the regal gown of silk starfires that shone as bright as her hair. No more the little girl following her brother over the green dells of Borrowood. She was a woman, the wife of the Governor, and she had to look the part.


    Looks had become important to Chris since he¡¯d been given the position. Once he¡¯d have been happy with a ragged old sweater, and if he had to wear a uniform it would be creased. But the moment he¡¯d received his letter of title from High Commissioner Peulion he had shifted. Ever since, he¡¯d been all about the wool-and-barrathea tail coats and the coloured silk sashes. He¡¯d procured a gilded kepi from somewhere. The bloodstained silver dagger that was once the Heramey symbol was stitched onto the front.


    Caro didn¡¯t mind the change. It made Chris look more handsome than even his steely blue eyes and his boyish smirk could manage alone. Once, he¡¯d been an adonis to her eyes. Age had weathered the skin, and left his face craggy and beginning to wrinkle. His hair was a brilliant ruddy brown¡ªeven if that was no longer a natural thing. Caro had seen the bottles of dye. They agreed, through their silence, not to talk about it.


    Of course she had to dress upward as well. He¡¯d furnished her with a generous stipend, a hundred bushels a month for the year before the Eia took flight, to update her wardrobe with the most luxury of fashions. The last time she¡¯d seen her brother Armand, a few short weeks before she left her Belaboras home for the final time, he hadn¡¯t recognised her. ¡°These were never your tastes, sister,¡± he¡¯d said.


    Caro had assured him that she liked the clothes she wore. To some extent it was true. They were fancier, in prettier colours, and sewn of more comfortable fabrics. But at the same time she was reminded of the stuffy outfits Nana Raine liked to see her in. If she never saw a crinoline again she¡¯d die a happy woman.


    Nana Raine was in love with her heritage. The Herameys had been one of the most powerful families in Ivyne during the old kingdom¡¯s height. Her great-great-great aunt Octavia had even married one of those kings, and it was for her that the tourmaline crown had been made. Nana Raine had been fond of telling Caro that story. ¡°The pinnacle of our family¡¯s success,¡± she used to call it. She always drew short of telling Caro how Octavia¡¯s story ended. It was a sad one. Octavia had died at just twenty-one years old, from some complication of childbirth, and the king had declared her ailing infant daughter an illegitimate child, born from infidelity.


    From there it had all gone wrong. A few generations after Octavia, some high-up Herameys were implicated in a series of plots against the king¡¯s grandson, who by then was king himself. One was even caught with a dagger apparently bound for the king¡¯s chest. What survived of the family had spent years laying low, destitute and close to extinction but proud of who they¡¯d once been.


    The kings of Ivyne hadn¡¯t lasted forever. Like the rest of the Belaboran monarchies, they¡¯d fallen with the coming of industry. A few lingered into the early days of stellar travel, their peoples too apathetic to bring them down. The last of the monarchies had died six hundred years ago, in the war that presaged the foundation of the Unity. All that remained was the remnants of tradition and structure that they¡¯d etched into the society of Belaboras.


    Nana Raine had always maintained that they would rise again. ¡°Us Herameys are kingmakers,¡± she used to say, howling embittered at a tide of disinterest. ¡°That¡¯s what we¡¯ve always been, and it¡¯s what we¡¯ll be again.¡± She¡¯d inherited a list of the biggest Belaboran royal families, with all of their descendants and their modern day heirs, and used that to find a husband for her firstborn daughter. Caro remembered Auntie Nell only very fleetingly. When she was six years old, Nell¡¯s husband beat her to death in a drunken rage. Her great heritage didn¡¯t make her tomb any warmer.


    Her brother, Caro¡¯s father, had stood firm in the face of Nana Raine¡¯s attempts to marry him to a ¡°princess¡± who had undoubtedly never claimed the title herself. It was a good thing, she reflected. He¡¯d have been unable to marry her mother otherwise, and she¡¯d have been unable to be born. She¡¯d always been quite fond of living. Sometimes, she¡¯d caught Nana Raine looking at her all misty-eyed¡ªreminded of the daughter she¡¯d lost and the mother she¡¯d never really known. Caro, more than her siblings, had Nell Heramey¡¯s flame-orange hair and round face. In many ways they looked alike. Of course, Nell¡¯s eyes had been brown. The last Heramey to have green eyes like Caro was Nana Raine¡¯s mother. She had died giving birth to Nana Raine, but Caro had seen her portrait, the stony-faced scion watching over her descendants.


    And today she¡¯d make Nana Raine proud. It was the day they became residents of a new world. Once the Eia landed, Chris would no longer be the commander of a space-flight. He¡¯d be the governor of a planet. The king of his domain. Caro alone would have his ear. She would be as good as a queen.


    She hadn¡¯t gone back to sleep after the comms woke her. Chris hadn¡¯t had any trouble; he was fast asleep and snoring from almost the very second his head hit the pillow. It was a talent of his, being able to doze off on command. She envied him for it. Vaguely, she had memories of being able to sleep so easily herself, when she was much younger. Back then, she hadn¡¯t been taking those tablets twice a day.


    By the time Chris came to, she was long since up and dressed. She¡¯d chosen her most precious outfit, the green dress with the velvet-lined skirt that she¡¯d bought for a cousin¡¯s wedding. It had been the last formal event she¡¯d attended on her own. Within a month, she¡¯d become engaged to Chris, and they¡¯d not been separable since. The dress had followed her from place to place, always being hung up somewhere she could look at it whenever she chose. In her mind, it was the last bit of girlish freedom she possessed. Marrying Chris was her girlish heart¡¯s dream come true. Still, she did sometimes miss the innocence her adolescent life had offered.


    Today was the right day to wear the green dress. Today she became a queen. Not in name, not yet, but in spirit she was Octavia reborn. And if that wasn¡¯t the way she wanted the pieces to fall, what did it matter? The time for misgivings was long ago. The role was hers, and by the Lightness she had to play it.


    The hangar was busy, two hundred rushing from place to place moving things to where they needed to be. They were all assembled here, Chris and Caro and the rest of the Council, the rich reeves with their husbands and wives. An entourage of all the people who mattered. Last night, they¡¯d received the Advanced Party¡¯s signal. A single flashing beacon, one pulse of green light then one pulse of blue just as Unity standards dictated, was the proof that this planet was the safe haven promised.


    Essegena, they called it. The name was ancient. Chemane of Averache, famed astronomer of antiquity, had included it on his first map of the stars, near to four thousand years ago when the Kings¡¯ Era was young, but even he had been ignorant of the word¡¯s meaning. Since man had looked skyward, and seen the dim sparkle of that star around which the planet revolved, Essegena had been the name used. The language from which the word was taken had long since died and passed out of memory. Only in this planet¡ªher planet, to share with Chris¡ªdid it linger yet.


    Chris squeezed her hand. ¡°Be bold,¡± he said. ¡°Our new garden awaits.¡±


    A red light turned green, and hydraulics hissed into action. Before her, the hangar wall folded down, becoming now the ramp which would take them to the surface. Bright sunlight shone through the newfound gap, forcing a squint.


    Caro took a deep breath.


    ¡°And it begins,¡± Chris whispered. They moved forward together, hand in hand.


    As she stepped off the Eia¡¯s boarding ramp, onto the planet below, she was glad the dress was green. The grass stains wouldn¡¯t show as much. Still, she lifted the trailing fabric up. ¡°I told you,¡± Chris said, seeing her slow down. ¡°Today isn¡¯t the day for fancy costumes.¡±


    ¡°You said nothing of the sort,¡± she replied. ¡°You keep telling me I have to dress more fancy.¡±


    ¡°Oh no. I only intended to tell you. Forgot to actually say it.¡±


    She hit Chris playfully on the nose, and he responded by taking hold of her wrist, holding her arm in front of her face.


    ¡°You need to be careful, missie,¡± he said, through a broad grin. ¡°It¡¯s a serious offence to strike your husband. Especially when he happens to be the king.¡±


    She rolled her eyes. This was a breathtaking place. The Eia had landed in the middle of a huge valley. In every direction, eventually, the ground was walled by huge stone cliffs or forested hills. A flock of birds passed overhead, black dots on an azure sky. A warm breeze rushed at her and lovingly caressed her hair. Caro grinned. It felt like home.


    No, it was home. All this was her domain, just as long as she could bring herself to share it with Chris. She gazed up into his eyes and saw him smiling there.


    ¡°Bend down,¡± she moaned. ¡°I want to kiss you.¡± Chris crouched obligingly. Caro let herself melt into his embrace, his arms warm against the chill of the day¡¯s breeze.


    As she kissed him, she heard applause coming from behind her. ¡°Do I get a kiss too?¡± asked Ian Fitzhenry. She¡¯d known Ian since she was five and he was double that. Chris had known him longer. They¡¯d all spent their childhoods roaming the village together, them and Armand and Tessa and the rest. Ian was her husband¡¯s oldest friend, and his second-in-command.


    Ian was going grey too. Unlike Chris, he¡¯d done nothing to hide it. Nor was he a fan of dieting, based on the layer of puppy-fat covering his body. But then Ian had never been the muscular type, even in his teenage years.


    He was the sort of man she could rely on, though. When she turned eighteen, she¡¯d asked Chris out, and he¡¯d turned her down. He was already courting Daniella Carrigan. Out of all of her friends, only Ian had given her a shoulder to cry on. Even her sister Tessa had ignored her, but not Ian. He sat with her in silence, and let her weep and blubber about how much of a fool she was and how she should have known that Chris could never love her, she was far too young, and anyway she didn¡¯t know why she was telling Ian this¡ªhe was Chris¡¯ friend, after all, not hers.


    But he¡¯d taken her side. ¡°Chris is a fool,¡± he¡¯d told her, ¡°but he¡¯ll see sense one day.¡± And he hadn¡¯t said another word. She¡¯d cried herself to sleep, and when she woke the following morning he¡¯d gone. She¡¯d kept expecting him to make a move on her, but he never did. She never saw Ian with a girl.


    He¡¯d been right, though. When Daniella Carrigan disappeared, Chris turned his eye to Caroline. And that made her the luckiest lady in all the worlds.


    ¡°Doctor Ballard!¡± Someone was shouting her name. A man was running down a gentle slope towards them, his face red and puffy. When he reached her, he stopped and bent down, hands on his knees, wheezing. ¡°Doctor Ballard,¡± he said again, through gasping breaths. ¡°We need you. Urgently.¡±


    She glanced over at Chris. ¡°What is it?¡± she asked the man.


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°Very bad injury. Lost a lot of blood.¡± He was still struggling to catch his breath. ¡°Doctor Caerlin said to find you. She says it¡¯s all she can do to keep him alive.¡±


    ¡°Whereabouts?¡±


    The man closed his eyes, like he was dreading what he had to do next. Then he spoke. ¡°With me,¡± he said, before turning around and running back up the slope. Even already tired out, he was faster than she was, and it was all she could do to keep pace. Damn this dress, too tight to let me run. And damn her need to look good for the big arrival. Next time I become First Lady of a new planet, I¡¯m wearing slacks, she thought.


    The Advanced Party¡¯s camp was a fair trek away. Caro followed the soldier all the way to the crest of the hill, out of the valley entirely, and still they weren¡¯t close. Away from the shelter provided by hills on all sides, there was a strong wind. It whipped at her hair and tented the back of her dress, and slowed her down considerably. She was glad when trees began to grow heavy. The trees broke the wind, and in their midst left a welcome calm.


    ¡°Why did you have to be so far away?¡± she asked, breathless, as she paused to rest on the rotting trunk of a wide tree.


    The soldier looked with confusion at her. ¡°We were first,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s you lot had to land all the way southward.¡± His name was Wilding, she learned, and he said every single word he spoke with the same dry monotone.


    Eventually they came to a wide plateau, halfway up a craggy hill of grass and exposed rock. The Advanced Party¡¯s small lander was there, resting firm against a pinnacle of sandy ochre. Around it, fledgling timber constructs had begun to pop up. They still made just a frame. The bulk of the camp¡¯s walls were canvas sheets, hooked around the wooden frame and wedged in place by positioned boulders. It was very much a camp, and not a fortification.


    Only one man was working on the timber build when she passed. He was a surly looking chap, with a caramel beard turning grey, and frown lines engraved in his forehead. He watched her as she approached, looking a mess with her face drenched in sweat and her hair now a mess, and licked his lips, before returning to his work.


    ¡°Through here,¡± said Wilding. They slipped through a crack in the tarpaulins, and into the camp. Inside, several men and women sat around a gently-burning fire. At one side of the camp, Caro saw Doctor Tema Caerlin. She recognised Tema from the pink bow that was always in her hair. The two had worked together for half a decade and in all that time Caro couldn¡¯t ever remember seeing Tema without her bow¡ªeven when her hair hadn¡¯t been nearly long enough to need it.


    Tema was crouched down in a corner of the camp, next to a woman in an officer¡¯s cap. Wilding led Caro to them, and as she approached she could hear the faint sounds of a man moaning in pain. ¡°Stop it,¡± he said faintly. When he came into view, Caroline could see a syringe in his arm.


    ¡°I hope that¡¯s only painkillers,¡± Caro said, and Tema Caerlin turned to face her.


    ¡°There¡¯s not much more I can do for him,¡± Tema confirmed.


    The woman next to Tema had a scowl on her face as she regarded Caro. She was barefoot, Caro noticed, unshod even though the floor of the camp was nothing but grass with some rugs and wooden sheets laid over it. ¡°Who are you?¡±


    ¡°Doctor Caroline Ballard, Chief Doctor on the Eia,¡± Caro smiled. ¡°And who am I addressing?¡±


    ¡°Bennett,¡± said the woman. ¡°Lieutenant Anna Bennett. I¡¯m surprised you found us. Is the Eia crewed by the blind? I took the time to find you a nice spot to land the thing, not too far away. Fired the beacons from there. Had a welcome party all arranged. Then you fly off over the horizon. How long was Wilding running?¡±


    ¡°A good hour or so,¡± said Wilding. ¡°Though I did jog some of the way.¡±


    Caro sighed. ¡°Did you send for me because you needed assistance, or because you wanted to be a bitch?¡±


    ¡°I can talk as I please. I¡¯m in charge of the Advanced Party.¡±


    Caroline nodded, pretending to be enthusiastic. ¡°Fantastic, Lieutenant. Now, can you go and be in charge of the Advanced Party somewhere else? I have a job to do.¡±


    Lieutenant Bennett sniffed. ¡°That¡¯s no way to talk to an officer. I have rank, you know.¡±


    ¡°You do,¡± Caro agreed. ¡°The rank of lieutenant. You just told me. But I¡¯m Chief Doctor, and married to the Governor. Just a few steps higher, I think. Now stop wasting my time.¡±


    With that, Lieutenant Bennett stropped off, muttering something about ¡°upjumped harlots¡± not giving her the respect she deserves. Caro bent down and looked at the wounded man. His chest was unclothed, but covered entirely with either blood-soaked bandages or hairs matted with dried blood. There were one or two bandages on his head as well, and all manner of smaller cuts.


    ¡°I¡¯ve patched him up just as well as I can,¡± Tema said, crouching beside her. ¡°The stitches hold for a little while, but then they dissolve and he keeps bleeding. I¡¯ve almost exhausted my supply. I don¡¯t like to use what¡¯s left, in case somebody else has an accident.¡±


    ¡°Use them,¡± Caro said. ¡°There¡¯s plenty more on the Eia.¡±


    Tema nodded, and began rummaging around in a medical trunk on the ground next to the wounded man. The other man, Wilding, was still lurking behind them. ¡°You,¡± she said, pointing a finger at him, ¡°Wilding. Be a dear and run back to the Eia. Fetch two nurses from the hospital, and tell them the patient has multiple severe lacerations and needs urgent care. They¡¯ll need coagulants, plasma, plenty of stitches¡ªthe durable ones. And a stretcher, if one can be found.¡±


    ¡°And opiates,¡± Tema added, not looking up from her trunk.


    ¡°Can you remember that?¡± Caro asked.


    Wilding nodded. ¡°I think so. Coagulants and plasma. Two lacerations, severe nurses. No, two nurses. Severe lacerations.¡±


    Caro sighed. ¡°Close enough,¡± she said. ¡°Go.¡± She returned her attention to the wounded man. The last lot of anaesthetics were beginning to take effect. The man was silent. He seemed lost in a dream, his eyes sleepy. His brow was coated in sweat. She picked up a cloth from the floor and wiped the sweat off, and when she pulled the cloth away she saw there was blood on it as well.


    She stood back as Tema began to stitch up one of the cuts. As she pierced the man¡¯s skin with the needle, he began to laugh. ¡°Stop it, mummy, it tickles.¡±


    ¡°Has he been like this long?¡± Caro asked.


    Tema nodded. ¡°Since we found him. We haven¡¯t got a straight word out of him.¡±


    ¡°And when was it you found him?¡±


    ¡°The day after we got here. That was two weeks ago now, I think.¡±


    Two weeks? How could he still be bleeding after two weeks? His blood should have clotted by now, the wounds patching together. If not, he should be dead. It was no wonder Tema was running low on supplies. She looked at the lad, looked at him closely. He was only young, twenty years old at most. And he was quite handsome beneath the bleeding. He had a chiselled jawline and chestnut hair.


    ¡°How did he end up like this?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Not a clue,¡± came a male voice. Caroline jumped. A man stood behind her, a young soldier, probably not far beyond his mid-twenties. He had thick black hair, worn short, and the beginnings of a beard growing on vaguely sallow skin. ¡°Sorry,¡± he said, ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to startle you. He¡¯s not one of us. I found him in the woods over east.¡±


    Caroline frowned. ¡°He¡¯s not one of you?¡±


    The man shook his head. ¡°A complete stranger. No idea where he came from.¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t tally. We¡¯re the first ones here.¡±


    ¡°Apparently not.¡±


    It didn¡¯t make sense. The Unity had been very specific: the planet was further out than any man had visited before. Essegena had always been just one star among many. To get here from Belaboras, they¡¯d had to go through the giant wall of gas that everybody called the Dead Zone. And even then they hadn¡¯t been halfway here. Nobody could make it out this far alone.


    Yet evidently somebody had.


    Chris would definitely want to hear about this.


    ¡°Are you alright, Doctor?¡± The man was frowning at her. ¡°Can I get you some water.¡±


    She could still feel the sweat sticky on her forehead. ¡°That would be nice,¡± she said, smiling. What would be the harm? The stranger was out for the count. There was nothing else to be done until Wilding had returned. That might take some time.


    ¡°I¡¯m Macel,¡± said the man, handing her a flask. ¡°Tema talks about you a lot.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡±


    Tema had flushed. Her nose was the first part of her to turn red, and the last to return to a normal colour. That was something Caro had often noticed about her. ¡°Just old stories from when we worked together,¡± said Tema.


    A square-jawed woman behind Macel butted in: ¡°She says you¡¯re the best boss she ever had.¡±


    ¡°Delie,¡± Tema complained, in a shrill voice.


    Caro laughed. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll try to keep up the good work,¡± she said, taking a swig from the flask. She¡¯d not realised how thirsty she was until she felt the water snaking down her throat.


    She lowered the flask to see Lieutenant Anna Bennett striding towards her, arms swinging. ¡°Thirty minutes you¡¯ve been here,¡± she screeched, ¡°and still you insist on ignoring me. I¡¯m the commanding officer here. I will not be sidelined.¡±


    Caro regarded her with narrowed eyes. ¡°I was summoned here to deal with a medical situation. Until that¡¯s settled, my priority is the patient.¡±


    ¡°Your priority should be my three missing soldiers,¡± Bennett hissed.


    Caro raised an eyebrow. ¡°Missing soldiers?¡±


    Tema coughed. ¡°Jem¡¯s not the only bit of news,¡± she said, a touch sheepishly.


    ¡°Jem?¡±


    ¡°Three people are missing,¡± Bennett shouted. ¡°Why haven¡¯t you found them?¡±


    Caro was on the brink of saying something rude, but bit her tongue. ¡°Military concerns are not my area,¡± she said. ¡°As the commanding officer, Lieutenant, I would have thought you¡¯d have the situation well in hand.¡±


    Lieutenant Bennett bristled. ¡°I¡¯ve taken steps to organise the search.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Caro nodded. ¡°Then I won¡¯t get in your way.¡± She turned her back on Lieutenant Bennett. ¡°Is this Jem?¡± she asked, gesturing at the wounded stranger.


    ¡°It¡¯s not his proper name,¡± Tema explained. ¡°He¡¯s not told us that. But I wanted to give him an identity. It makes him feel more like a person.¡±


    ¡°Everybody has to have an identity,¡± Caro agreed. She thought of the little slate headstone in that Borrowood churchyard, standing without a name on freshly-placed dirt. The poor little girl had never had an identity, had never lived, and in death there was nothing for her to latch onto. The slate headstone had been taken away after the week, and the dirt overgrown by creeping plants, and Caro¡¯s memory alone was testament to the child interred there.


    It was dark by the time Wilding returned. Tema had finished one set of stitches and was moving on to another, and Jem was still unconscious. It was for the best. Moving him to the hospital aboard the Eia was going to be difficult. The lower his heart rate was for the journey, the better¡ªespecially given the amount of injuries he had that seemed to be immune to clotting.


    Wilding had brought two nurses with him, as instructed. He¡¯d picked well. Many of the nurses on the staff were youngsters with little or no experience, young enough not to be tied to their homeworlds. Not the two he¡¯d brought. Lily Day had spent the best part of fifteen years working in hospitals on Arvila. Frances Dunn had been doing the rounds on Tol Manase for twice as long. Both wore standard uniform, white tunics with lilac trims and skirts, and the mark of Iscan¨¦ the Healer embroidered on the breast. Lily¡¯s tunic, and the white stockings beneath, had been tinged green¡ªthe telltale grass-stains of a tumble. She had her hair braided into a heavy copper ponytail, pulled forward to hang in front of her. This had survived whatever mishap had befallen her.


    Fran had a fold-out stretcher tucked beneath her arm. ¡°As soon as this stitch is in place, we¡¯ll transfer him to the stretcher,¡± Caro said. Fran took the hint and immediately began to unfold it. Lily, curiously, was empty-handed. ¡°Where are the supplies I asked for?¡±


    Lily looked blankly at Caro. ¡°What supplies?¡±


    ¡°I knew there was something.¡± Wilding had his hands over his face. ¡°All I could remember was the stretcher.¡±


    Caro glared at him. ¡°A man¡¯s life is at stake here,¡± she barked. ¡°Is it that hard to remember a few simple things?¡±


    Wilding shrank back, apologising, and sped off to join his mates by the campfire. Caro sighed. She was hoping she could get the situation stabilised here for at least the time being. The patient not being one of the Advanced Party made things more complicated than she cared for. Who could say what diseases he¡¯d been exposed to? If they¡¯d found him looking perfectly healthy, there¡¯d have been a period of due diligence before he was allowed to set foot on the ship. The state he was in, there was no time for quarantine.


    ¡°Should I run and fetch some coagulants, Ma¡¯am?¡± Lily asked, pushing her braided hair back behind her shoulder. Caro shook her head.


    ¡°No. Don¡¯t waste your energy.¡± It was time for her to make a decision, and there was really only one option her conscience could stomach. Chris wouldn¡¯t like it, she was sure of that. The rest of the Foundational Council would like it even less. But it was the right thing to do. ¡°We need to get him onto the ship. Help me load him onto the stretcher.¡±


    It took five of them to lift him safely. None of the women were winning contests of strength, so Macel offered his services. Between them, they were just about able to get the poor man onto the stretcher. For a second, he stirred, and Caro worried that he might start to panic. But it was clear he was delirious. ¡°The white tower¡¯s fallen,¡± he muttered, as they lowered him down gently onto the stretcher. ¡°Don¡¯t let the dead men kill us, mummy.¡± Lily was wide-eyed at his words, but Caro reminded her that it was just a fever dream or something. There were no dead men walking among them.


    Not yet, anyway, she thought, darkly. She couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that this man might be a lost cause. It was just a gut instinct, and it had been wrong many times in the past.


    But then she remembered a dream she¡¯d had, and it brought her to tears.

 3. The Council Meets

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Ian ~


    So this was Essegena.


    A week had become three, and for the first time the feel of that foreign breeze as Ian stepped out of the metal shell of the Eia had begun to feel like the touch of home. This was his life, free of Elise. Free of the past.


    One small downside to starting afresh on an untouched planet like this, he had decided, was just how quickly the smell of freshly-sawn wood outstayed its welcome. It was honestly quite impressive, the speed with which a small town had sprung up in the valley around the Eia. Each day that passed was filled with the sounds of construction as this little village¡¯s footprint grew steadily wider. And every single building had that same smell. To begin with it had felt exciting, being part of history. Now he¡¯d had enough.


    His position meant he couldn¡¯t really avoid it. Chris had personally chosen him as the Corrack, second only to the Governor. It excluded him from manual labour. In exchange, he had to attend the meetings of the Council. Their meeting place had been built as a matter of high priority, and Chris was keen to make use of it as soon as possible. So Ian found himself trapped in a stinking building, where the air was stuffy and the company stuffier.


    ¡°I¡¯d like to take this opportunity to put on record my congratulations to you, Master Ballard. You have indeed led us to a brand new world.¡± General Mark Bradshaw was a smug man, the kind Ian had always tried to avoid. Piggy eyes and a smarmy grin were etched on his face. The faint traces of a beard dusted the General¡¯s chin. His hairline was well on the way to oblivion. In another life, he¡¯d probably have become a drunkard, abusing his liver and his wife in equal measure. In this life, he¡¯d enjoyed an esteemed career with the Unity¡¯s military. Appearances must be deceiving, Ian thought to himself. Unpleasant as he seemed, Bradshaw had been awarded the highest rank available to him. He must have had some prowess.


    Chris smiled graciously to the General. ¡°Your words are very kind. I don¡¯t wish to start taking credit¡ª¡±


    ¡°That would be wise,¡± Bradshaw cut across. ¡°I was told this was terra nova. The chance to make history, I think you said. To be the first people here. If the rumours are to be believed, that isn¡¯t the case.¡±


    ¡°What rumours are those?¡± said silk-tongued George Prendergast, tucked away in a corner of the room. He¡¯d worn a knee-length doublet of golden silk with a lace fringe, and painted the outline of his eyes in the same shade of gold. Men called him the Hookbill. He claimed the name was a nod to his origins on a spit of land that looked very much like the hookbill¡¯s curved beak. Until he¡¯d spoken, Ian hadn¡¯t realised he was paying attention.


    Prendergast was the Council¡¯s Speaker, and high in the line of succession. If Chris were to die suddenly, his role would be filled first by the Corrack and then by the Speaker. Ian wasn¡¯t sure what would happen if all three of them died prematurely, but he was content to remain in ignorance. That particular contingency would only be relevant if he were dead. Death wasn¡¯t in his plans.


    General Bradshaw looked to the Hookbill. ¡°The rumours that we weren¡¯t the first ones here. That the Advanced Party found a person or persons already living on this world we travelled so far to get to.¡± He paused for a second, drew breath, looked all around the room. Then, with a smirk, faced Chris again. ¡°Now, I don¡¯t usually take too much stock in rumours. Drunk men will make up all kinds of bawdy stories and by morning they¡¯re treated as fact. The Governor here will undoubtedly disavow me of this misinformation, and the matter will be settled. Unless the rumours are true.¡±


    Ian shot Chris a sideways look. What did General Bradshaw know? Or was he asking honestly about rumours he¡¯d heard? Back before the Eia¡¯s crew had been decided, Bradshaw had been one of those gunning for the command¡ªa role which Chris eventually beat him to.


    ¡°If your rumours were true, it would be a reflection on the Unity¡¯s planners, rather than anybody here in this room.¡± Chris spoke evenly, but his face was flushed red. ¡°I was given the same sales pitch as you. If Peulion lied to me, that isn¡¯t my fault.¡±


    ¡°Be that as it may,¡± said Bradshaw, ¡°you are still beholden to the truth. Master Ballard, I don¡¯t believe you to be a dishonest man. Am I a good judge of character?¡±


    Chris met Bradshaw¡¯s gaze. ¡°As far as I have seen.¡±


    Bradshaw broke into his first smile of the meeting. ¡°In that case, I¡¯ll ask you straight up. Are we, to the extent of your knowledge, the first people to come to this world? Let Master Dombric commit it to the record.¡± Dombric, the horse-faced chronicler, held his pen at the ready.


    Every eye in the room was on Chris. Ian wondered how many already knew about Jem. Chris had told him in confidence, but out of six thousand that had come here on the Eia, two hundred worked in the hospital. It only took one loose tongue for the news to get out. Chris swallowed, still focused on Bradshaw, then turned to face the others. ¡°We aren¡¯t the first, no. I don¡¯t believe so. The Advanced Party found a man¡ª¡±


    He was drowned out by a sudden uproar. Half of the council seemed to have found their voices at once. ¡°Where did he come from?¡± said Dombric. Chris opened his mouth a few times to answer, but if he said anything it was drowned out by the hubbub.


    Bradshaw raised his hand, and at once the noise seemed to die down. ¡°Is it not fair that we let Master Ballard answer the questions? We are, after all, a step up from the rabble.¡±


    ¡°If I had more to tell, I would,¡± Chris said. ¡°He¡¯s barely been lucid since the Eia landed. My wife is currently overseeing his treatment in the hospital.¡±


    Dougray Stockton, the portly master biologist, looked like he¡¯d burst a blood vessel in his head. ¡°In the hospital? You allowed this man to be brought aboard the Eia, without knowing where he comes from? There are procedures. What if he¡¯s carrying a disease? We could be wiped out before we know what hit us.¡±


    ¡°The man was in a dire state when Caroline got to him. He was in need of urgent medical care, and the hospital is the only place that can provide that. Caro made the call to forego the normal quarantine procedures in light of the urgency of the situation.¡±


    ¡°And that makes it all okay?¡± Stockton spluttered. ¡°Mistress Ballard¡¯s allowed to roll the dice with six thousand lives because a mystery man was hurt?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s as much a person as you or I,¡± Chris replied. ¡°He¡¯s entitled to the same medical care as us.¡±


    Ancient Edward Ruddingshaw, sat across from Ian, spoke. ¡°Unity statutes. Number two-twenty, if I remember my law correctly. ¡®A precautionary quarantine can be waived in cases where a senior medical officer deems it necessary.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Can be waived,¡± Stockton said. ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean it has to be. It would have been better to wait. Perhaps even to let him die, if no better option was available.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m told he¡¯s being treated in a closed-off ward,¡± said Chris. ¡°In any case, no laws have been violated here. You¡¯d have to raise the matter with Caroline in person. By the letter of the law she¡¯s done no wrong.¡±


    ¡°But Mistress Ballard isn¡¯t here,¡± Stockton pointed out. ¡°Is she afraid to face up to her decisions?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure she¡¯s very busy at the moment,¡± said Oliver Wrack, neatly dressed with hair cut short and a nose larger than most. ¡°Besides, your anger¡¯s misguided. Anybody could pick up a disease. Unless you think we should start quarantining everybody going on or off the ship, we can only keep on as we are and hope for the best.¡±


    Stockton¡¯s mouth twitched a few times, but he said no more.


    ¡°Will Mistress Ballard be joining us today?¡± asked Ruddingshaw. He was easily the oldest man here, and easily the most famous. For years in his prime he¡¯d studied the laws of the Unity, and practiced them to great success. He¡¯d even taken a role in writing those laws, for a short while. Ian had met the man once, years ago. Ruddingshaw and his wife had attended a banquet in honour of some important alumnus of the school Ian was attending. Even then he¡¯d seemed ancient.


    Chris shook his head. ¡°She wishes she could be here,¡± he said. ¡°But there were unavoidable circumstances.¡±


    ¡°A shame,¡± Ruddingshaw said. ¡°I¡¯m rather fond of her.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid she¡¯s taken, Master Ruddingshaw,¡± said Chris, holding up his hand to show the old man his wedding ring. There were a few chuckles.


    Bradshaw, predictably, wasn¡¯t among them. ¡°It must be nice having a wife in such an important position,¡± he said, scowling. ¡°No doubt you can count on her to support you on any vote we take. How fortunate for you.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t ask for more in Caroline,¡± said Chris. ¡°She loves me.¡±


    Bradshaw was nodding along with Chris. ¡°Of course, it¡¯s all just a happy accident that the best doctor the Unity can spare happens to be married to the Governor. If I were of a suspicious mindset, I might suspect that you¡¯ve filled the council with your friends.¡± Bradshaw¡¯s grey eyes were peering into Ian¡¯s. A couple of the others around the table followed his gaze, looking at Ian themselves. So he looked at Chris, and tried his hardest not to take any notice of the rest of them.


    ¡°I had no say in the matter,¡± said Chris, through gritted teeth. ¡°Everything was decided by the Unity.¡±


    ¡°Yes, the Unity.¡± Bradshaw, for some reason, was smiling. ¡°Irmden, no doubt. You¡¯ve been good friends with Commissioner Irmden for quite some time, if I¡¯m not mistaken. All your adult life.¡±


    Chris didn¡¯t deny it. ¡°She¡¯s sat for Pattinsdale for nearly thirty years. What, do you think I¡¯d not make contact with the foremost politician in my area? We all grew up somewhere, Master Bradshaw. I happened to grow up not far from a Commissioner.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t blame you, Master Ballard. A young man could do no better than to seek out useful acquaintances. It¡¯s how you build a career, after all.¡± Bradshaw rubbed at his balding crown. ¡°I¡¯m merely saying that twenty years is a long time to prepare a plan. Commissioner Irmden would have known who all of your friends were, put them all in high places.¡±


    Ian stood, before Chris was outplayed by Bradshaw. ¡°Armand Heramey,¡± he said. ¡°Armand wanted to be Speaker. If the Governor had somehow conspired to fill the Council with his friends, Armand would be here.¡±


    ¡°Or perhaps not,¡± Bradshaw smirked. ¡°Any good politick would make sure he had plausible deniability. And look, you¡¯re here to jump to the defence of your friend the Governor. Rather proves my point, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Not at all, I¡ª¡±


    ¡°You what? You didn¡¯t jump to the Governor¡¯s defence?¡±


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    ¡°Well, yes, I did¡ª¡±


    Bradshaw held his hands aloft. ¡°And so my point is proven.¡±


    Shaking his head with disdain, Ian retook his seat.


    ¡°Ian¡¯s spot on,¡± said Chris. ¡°I wanted Armand here. The Unity said no, and that was that. I don¡¯t have nearly the power you seem to think I do.¡±


    ¡°Or at least that¡¯s the image you want to project,¡± Bradshaw sneered.


    ¡°I don¡¯t project an image,¡± Chris spat. ¡°I govern. As best I can.¡±


    ¡°No doubt this is all of great importance,¡± said Doug Stockton. ¡°Governor, would you prefer it if we stepped outside while you and Master Bradshaw say what you need to say. It does rather feel as though we¡¯re intruding on a private conversation.¡±


    Bradshaw looked chastened. ¡°I was merely stating my piece,¡± he said. ¡°It wasn¡¯t my intention to waste anybody¡¯s time.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps we should return to the order of business,¡± said the Hookbill. ¡°There¡¯s a lot for us to discuss.¡±


    ¡°Quite so,¡± Ruddingshaw agreed. ¡°And only so long in which to discuss it. I fear I¡¯m of an age where I cannot focus for too long on one thing.¡±


    Ian couldn¡¯t help but notice Doug Stockton rolling his eyes at this, but the scientist said nothing. Indeed, nobody said anything for a little while. Then, the Hookbill spoke. ¡°I believe an evening of reverie might be in order. This colony cannot hope to survive for long without good morale. The people are working the day long, and the heat can get oppressive at times.¡±


    ¡°They should be working all day long,¡± said Ben Holden, the master builder. ¡°That¡¯s their job.¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± the Hookbill agreed, ¡°but if they do the same thing day in and day out, without seeing any reward, they may come to the conclusion that there is no point to their labour.¡±


    ¡°The point is to build themselves a home. And the reward is seeing it come to life, piece by piece.¡± Holden was shifting in his seat, his cheeks turning red. ¡°And don¡¯t forget, they¡¯re getting paid as well. They shouldn¡¯t need any more reward.¡±


    Ruddingshaw raised his hand, and the room quietened to listen. ¡°I find myself agreeing with Master Prendergast,¡± he said. ¡°People are always happy for an excuse to unwind, and happy people work better.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Ian put in. ¡°Make a celebration of it. Give them a reason to mingle, and let them make their own fun out of it. You could perhaps give a speech beforehand¡ªmake yourself known to your people. Many of them won¡¯t have a face to put to their new Governor Ballard.¡±


    ¡°The plaza we discussed is not far from being done,¡± said Holden. ¡°Half of the buildings are up already, even if they are only fa?ades. Give me a week and it¡¯ll be the perfect venue.¡±


    Oliver Wrack nodded along. ¡°The stores are overflowing with food. The way things are going, the valley will be self-sufficient before we make a dent in our supply. We can afford to divert some amount for these festivities.¡±


    Around the room the idea went, each member offering their own support. Soon it was Chris against the rest, and Chris looked uncertain. Stony-faced, he chewed on the thought. ¡°A speech, you say?¡±


    ¡°Just a short one.¡±


    He shook his head. ¡°How many people would likely be there? Hundreds, at the least. Possibly thousands.


    ¡°Definitely thousands,¡± piped up Fyffe Peulion.


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t possibly give a good showing,¡± said Chris.


    General Bradshaw had a grim look on his face. He ran a finger along the light dusting of stubble above his lip. ¡°A good Governor must be able to face his people,¡± he said. ¡°A failure to speak would reflect poorly on yourself, I must say. People like to gossip. Do you have the political capital to withstand their prattle?¡±


    ¡°I can certainly outperform you.¡± Chris¡¯ tone was even, but heavy. He was looking across the central table at Bradshaw with eyes narrowed to slits. He held the stare even after he¡¯d finished speaking, and Bradshaw reciprocated in kind, the two men playing out whatever grudge they had in silence over the table.


    ¡°Gentlemen...¡± Stockton stood tentatively from his seat.


    And then Bradshaw smiled, and gave a singular loud clap. ¡°Fantastic! I look forward to it.¡±


    The meeting ended as evening fell. Ian waited for Chris outside the council chambers, in the company of his good friend David Clifford. David was serving as the commanding officer of the Governor¡¯s personal security detail. ¡°Well, not officially,¡± he explained. ¡°I¡¯m just doing the odd shift¡ªyou know, when Chris wants to talk about something.¡± The actual commanding officer was a swarthy bloke with a patchy beard by the name of Marris. As one of the three Captains, General Bradshaw¡¯s direct underlings, David had the authority to insert himself into Marris¡¯ squad at any time, for any reason. No questions asked.


    Ian had a personal security team too. His commander was a Sergeant Pratley, a man whose most defining physical attribute was his extraordinarily hairy hands. Pratley wasn¡¯t about. Ian liked the freedom to go where he chose. There was always to be somebody stationed outside his quarters, Sergeant Pratley had refused to compromise on any less than that, but everything else had been dispensed with. If he was honest, he couldn¡¯t see the need for security here. The best the Unity could provide shouldn¡¯t hold any violent criminals.


    David wouldn¡¯t have looked out of place with the criminals. He had thin lips that fell into a natural sneer, and eyes that seemed to be permanently angry.


    Everybody else had been gone for at least five minutes when Chris finally emerged. ¡°They don¡¯t like me,¡± he said, spotting Ian straight away.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think you should worry,¡± Ian replied, following David as he led Chris away. ¡°Power respects power. They just want to know what you¡¯re made of.¡±


    ¡°And you don¡¯t think I gave a bad showing?¡±


    Ian was silent. David jabbed him in the side. ¡°Caroline?¡± he whispered, and Ian nodded. Admirable as Chris had been in keeping his love for his wife hidden, Bradshaw had painted her as a liability. Time and time again, he¡¯d poked that pressure point. She couldn¡¯t be impartial, if she was married to the Governor. Her judgement was flawed, as evidenced when she broke quarantine for a man who shouldn¡¯t exist. She had a track record of logical failings whenever she held any authority¡ªtime and again she allowed needless empathy to get in the way of the rational thing to do, and not without consequences. Chris had been forced into defending her, and that had eaten into his argument that he wasn¡¯t surrounded by friends.


    In the end, the tension had been relieved by the Hookbill¡¯s suggestion to adjourn the meeting in the hopes of calming the ever-fractious mood.


    ¡°I think the council¡¯s too big,¡± Chris said.


    ¡°It¡¯s too small,¡± Ian replied. ¡°Twelve people, representing six thousand. It¡¯s not democracy.¡±


    Chris shook his head. ¡°I think five would be better. Like it used to be, you know.¡±


    David couldn¡¯t contain his laughter. He spluttered so loudly and so suddenly that a woman walking by stopped to look at him. ¡°In the time of kings?¡±


    ¡°Why not? It worked fine for thousands of years.¡±


    ¡°And then it stopped working fine,¡± Ian said.


    David laughed. ¡°Fitz is right. A rarity, I know, but he does have a point. You¡¯re the Governor, not the King.¡±


    ¡°You know you aren¡¯t supposed to be drinking buddies with the whole government?¡± said Ian. ¡°General Bradshaw¡¯s talking about nepotism because you have a couple of friends on the council. Can you imagine the storm he¡¯d raise if you cut out everybody who isn¡¯t a friend?¡±


    Chris said nothing in reply to that. ¡°Caroline should be at the end of her shift by now,¡± he said. ¡°She¡¯ll be waiting to see me, I expect. She can help me write this speech.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re going to do the speech then?¡±


    ¡°Naturally. I won¡¯t let Bradshaw get one over on me.¡± Chris rubbed his nose. ¡°Come, David. A word if you please.¡±


    With that, Chris and David upped the pace, pulling ahead of Ian. They disappeared from view, in the general direction of the Eia. Ian had had a mind to go there himself, but suddenly he felt like enjoying the fresh air.


    Instead, he found himself lingering in the plaza. The setting sun had bathed it in a golden glow, and the young lovers silhouetted in each other¡¯s embrace on the grass looked like something out of a romantic postcard. Ian smiled to himself. He¡¯d been young and in love once. For what good it had done him.


    He shook himself out of the miasma of his mind. He wouldn¡¯t be bitter, he¡¯d promised himself that much as he left home. He wouldn¡¯t dwell on what had been.


    The plaza was a large hexagon of land, a short walk from the Eia, which had been set aside from the beginning as a common area. In one corner, a small stream ended in a pool. The stream was a fork off the gentle river which flowed through the valley from the mammoth waterfall at the furthest end, the one they were calling the Clearwater. The etymology was obvious. The water that ran through that river was unusually clear, something out of an imagined paradise.


    Other corners were marked by a few small trees. Groves of flowers grew here and there: celandines and lilies, cape jasmine and heart-thorn. The rest was open space, and the perimeter was lined with buildings. This was to be the economic hub of the town, according to the plans Master Holden had created. Several shopfronts had been built, though most were still just empty shells. One was already open for business. The Tavern was pretty much the next door neighbour of the council chambers, two stories of wattle and daub, the windows framed with ebony wood. Its sloping roof was thatched, and smoke billowed from a chimney at the top. It was no mystery why Holden had prioritised getting this place built. He wanted somewhere to ale up, and he knew his workers needed it too.


    Edward Ruddingshaw was wandering in the direction of the Tavern, across the grassy heart of the plaza. He walked arm-in-arm with a jowly woman, her head covered in thick auburn hair upon which rested a hat shaped like a bell. Two others went with them, a bearded man and a dark-eyed woman who looked like they could be siblings. This woman had an identical hat, while the man was in oil-stained overalls. An engineer.


    ¡°What¡¯s the Governor doing, hiding something like that?¡± Ian¡¯s ears pricked up as he heard the man in the overalls speak. He tried to act invisible as Ruddingshaw¡¯s troupe passed.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t call him malicious,¡± said Ruddingshaw. ¡°The man means well, I¡¯m sure, but I wonder if perhaps he¡¯s not as ready for this job as he thought he was.¡±


    The auburn-haired woman nodded. ¡°A governorship is famously difficult.¡±


    ¡°And what of his wife?¡± The man in the overalls was speaking again.


    ¡°Dear Caroline. I¡¯m rather fond of her, I must admit,¡± said Ruddingshaw.


    ¡°Doctor Ballard knows what she¡¯s doing,¡± the dark-eyed woman piped up.


    ¡°Hush, Vi,¡± said her brother. ¡°Nobody said you could talk.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps we should all hush,¡± said the auburn-haired woman, casting a long, knowing look directly at Ian, who hurriedly found something in the opposite direction to demand his full attention. ¡°Open place like this, anybody could be listening.¡±


    Ruddingshaw and his friends disappeared into the Tavern before they said another word. Ian feigned an interest in a nearby tree for a while before changing another glance at the inn, and as he did so he caught a glimpse of the auburn woman watching him. She had a scowl on her face.


    Ian turned his attention to the rest of the plaza. Even late in the day, it was surrounded by the soundtrack of men hard at work on a hundred building sites, harmonised by faint birdsong. There weren¡¯t more than half a dozen people in the plaza itself, himself included. Two women stood talking in the shade of the trees, tumblers of green absinthe in their hands, their clothes made from a material that shimmered in the light. A few men were sat on the grassy floor, playing a card game that seemed to arouse all manner of excitement in them. And a young woman sat alone next to the pool, pale and freckled, with way too much hair. She smiled at Ian when she saw him, but blushed and turned away when he smiled back.


    He found himself a space in the middle of the plaza, as far from others as he could get. Sitting, he let himself be consumed by his memories. Elise came to his mind. He¡¯d thought little of her lately. Once, there had been a spark between them. Even love, maybe. For a full decade, he¡¯d pass every day looking forward to the evening, when he could come home and see her face again.


    After nine years of marriage, Elise began to grow desperate. He couldn¡¯t blame her. She¡¯d wanted children, she¡¯d never made a secret of that, and Ian had tried to oblige. But it had never happened. They¡¯d spent a year trying unorthodox strategies. Once, having picked up the idea in a book she read, Elise dragged him to a play-park a mile or so from their home. The theory was that they could induce a pregnancy by visiting places a child might enjoy. He¡¯d known it for bunk the moment she mentioned it, but humoured her nonetheless. And when the play-park hadn¡¯t worked, he¡¯d humoured her a dozen times more.


    In the end, it hadn¡¯t been their children, or rather their lack thereof, that led their marriage to ruin. One day, while they ate a meal together, it struck Ian just how much he hated his wife. It was visceral, a violent aversion to everything she did. Her little foibles were suddenly so annoying. He¡¯d spent less and less time at home after that. It was too painful to be in her company. He¡¯d taken Chris¡¯ invitation without a second thought.


    Elise didn¡¯t know. She¡¯d come with him if she did. She was probably waiting for him right now. He could almost see her, sat in the garden at the back of their little cottage, looking up at the stars. Perhaps she was crying. Or perhaps she understood. They¡¯d been on borrowed time from the start.


    He was distracted by the sound of footsteps on grass. Looking up, he saw the blushing woman was no longer by the pool. She¡¯d moved closer to him. Now she was made a show of looking in the opposite direction, twirling strands of dirty blonde between her fingers. He stood up with a sigh and walked towards her.


    ¡°Do you want something?¡± he asked. Without a word, the woman sprang to her feet and skittered off away from the plaza. Now, what could she have wanted?

 4. Mettysnatchers

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ David ~


    The western slope of the valley was treacherous. Here, the terrain was steep, banks of sharply-inclined dirt that fell away beneath firm feet. Out of the dirt grew a motley of trees, with narrow trunks of white bark or with wider trunks of redwood. They made tempting handholds. The soldiers learned quite quickly not to rely on them. The white trees were brittle, prone to snapping with the weight of a grown man. One coccyx had already been broken when its owner went tumbling down the bank.


    The red trees held firm, but they were often infested by little insects with aquamarine thoraces and painful bites. David had half a dozen itchy spots on his hands¡ªand he¡¯d been careful to avoid the bugs.


    The order to go on surveyance had come as a surprise, David couldn¡¯t lie about that. He¡¯d questioned General Bradshaw loudly. ¡°I¡¯m a captain,¡± he said, ¡°not a footsoldier.¡± He was one of three Captains, as it went, and in charge of a full third of the armed forces. Hard work wasn¡¯t what he¡¯d signed up for. The bloke who¡¯d accepted his registration had assured him that his family name and the case of cash he¡¯d donated were enough to mean he could earn his retirement by following Chris around and sitting behind a desk. It seemed to him that General Bradshaw had taken some perverse pleasure in reminding him that he had to follow his superiors¡¯ orders.


    In the end, the joke was on Bradshaw. Lieutenant Jackson¡¯s team were a laugh. Jackson himself had been raised in a town a dozen miles or so from Borrowood. His grandfather¡¯s grandfather had once worked for David¡¯s grandfather¡¯s grandfather. This was all the ammunition Jackson¡¯s softly spoken Sergeant Tunnock had needed to crack an hour¡¯s worth of jokes about Lieutenant Jackson eventually clambering above David in the hierarchy.


    Arrogance wasn¡¯t appreciated. It would have made him very happy to point out that, as a close personal friend of the Governor, he was basically guaranteed to stay above Jackson no matter what. But that would have made him seem conceited. Captain Hollis of the Carax division was the classic case study here. He¡¯d been famously pompous¡ªand rightfully so, given his noble birth and lofty accomplishments. All that pomp had lost its effect when one of his soldiers got fed up one night and strung him up from the tallest tower.


    He did get a knot named after him, so there were upsides, but the knot was really the work of the man who killed him.


    Jackson had a casual attitude to uniform. His hair was slicked back, and his sleeves rolled up to expose muscular arms. Most of the other soldiers followed his lead, taking various liberties with their uniforms. David could have chastised the lot of them. Instead, he copied them. It was a hot day, and traipsing about in full serge could get awfully sweaty.


    The squad rested a while once they got to the top of the slope. It was David¡¯s suggestion. There was a muscle in his left leg that seemed to be struggling, and the ideal case was to avoid hurting it. Jackson had been happy to oblige. There were plenty of big thick trees here, making a canopy so dense in places that the sky wasn¡¯t visible. Birds sang, and small animals pitter-pattered underfoot.


    Sergeant Tunnock took out a pad of vellum paper from his pack, and perched himself on a mossy rock. ¡°Let me know if you get eyes on one of these critters,¡± he said, to anybody who fancied listening.


    One of the others, red-nosed Jim Kilbirnie, snickered. ¡°You gonna draw a pretty picture, Ade? Think the animals here are posers?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the poser,¡± said Tunnock. The retort fell flat.


    The trees here were home to a colony of marsupials, tiny wee furry things that squeaked and scampered about, carrying nuts and berries and little pebbles in between their tiny hands. They were all over the valley as well, though there they seemed to prefer to emerge at night when the construction had stopped. On the first night here, on an evening walk with Lord Constable Mannam and Colonel Gamball, David had lost his supper. It was a treat of nuts and cinnamon, spun in sugared honey and toasted until it was rock solid. Metties, they were called. They were a favourite of his. But this particular one had caught the eye of one these marsupials, who had swooped down unseen and grabbed it out of his hand as he was about to take a bite.


    Suffice to say, he¡¯d been the butt of the jokes for the rest of the night.


    David had taken to calling them mettysnatchers, these furry bastards; he had a ruder name for them too, which he thought best not to say out loud. Judging by the amount of them here, he¡¯d just followed Lieutenant Jackson to the Mettysnatcher Homeworld.


    ¡°What¡¯s that one holding?¡± One of the soldiers, a rangy man with a scraggly beard, was pointing at a mettysnatcher scampering across the mossy branches of a gnarled tree. It definitely wasn¡¯t a nut.


    The call was taken up by a man with a dozen hairs on his head and half as many teeth in his mouth, and the accent of a scrumpy-drinking farmer. ¡°It looks like a little man.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just a piece of wood,¡± said Sergeant Tunnock, shaking his head.


    ¡°My arse it is,¡± Scrumpy replied. ¡°Look, you can see the face.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re seeing things,¡± laughed one of his mates.


    David reached for the ground. His hands closed around a loose pebble, which he prised free of the dirt and lobbed at the mettysnatcher. His aim was terrible, and the stone hit the branch the creature was on, taking out some of the bark. In any case, the mettysnatcher¡ªevidently startled by the sudden appearance of a projectile¡ªdropped whatever it was carrying in its mouth and disappeared into the undergrowth.


    ¡°Nice throw,¡± said Tunnock.


    The maguffin had fallen off the tree when the mettysnatcher dropped it, and with the impact had somehow managed to get hidden beneath an old leaf. David walked slowly over to it, and, after rummaging for a few seconds, picked it up. It was about the size of a man¡¯s hand, and in its brief time on the ground had picked up a few insect passengers. Their bites were like fire on David¡¯s hand.


    ¡°What is it?¡± called one of the soldiers. David didn¡¯t reply.


    But Scrumpy was right, in a way. So was Sergeant Tunnock. It was a piece of wood, whittled and hewn into the shape of a man, naked apart from a tangle of cloth around his loins. David had seen similar figurines in the past, in museums, relics of the savages who had been the first civilised humans. It had no business being here. Nobody had ever set foot on this world before, Governor Ballard had specifically said as much.


    He dropped it into his pocket, quickly so none of them would notice. ¡°Sergeant Tunnock was right. It¡¯s just a piece of wood.¡±


    The woods became known to Jackson¡¯s team as the Mettywood, on account of the little creatures that roamed there. A scratch of the pencil and that name was etched into their sketched maps. By the time David got back to his chambers, the day having passed into the evening, the Mettywood was an official name. He hoped the name ¡®mettysnatcher¡¯ stuck, because otherwise the people of the future would have a whale of a time trying to work out how a magical woodland and an overly-sweet treat were in any way connected.


    He didn¡¯t stay long in his quarters, just long enough to take the figurine from his pocket and give it a look over. It had a certain rough quality to it, as if carved by a child. The grooves scratched into the wood for a face were uneven. The wood itself was chipped in places, and scored like the blade had run off course. This was no master craftsman¡¯s work. It was the work of an apprentice at best¡ªand a pretty poor one.


    But whoever had made it, they did not belong on Essegena. They should not exist. And yet clearly they had, clearly they¡¯d wandered this selfsame valley, and they¡¯d left this hideous carved man as proof.


    Chris would want to know.


    But not now. Chris had plenty on his plate at the moment, in charge of a colony that had it all to do if it was to become some sort of functional society. It wouldn¡¯t be fair of David to burden him at this moment. Later, when things were settled, and everyone had found their role in the routine, he could share this with the Governor. For now, it was better he kept it to himself.


    Of course, that would mean he couldn¡¯t talk about it, not with anyone, and there had to be somebody he could share it with. He¡¯d be positively mad otherwise.


    And so it was that David found himself walking from his chambers with the idol stuffed in the pocket of his coat, wrapped loosely in two layers of fabric wrap. The Lord Constable was a man he was very loosely acquainted with, but their commands had briefly overlapped some years back, and they¡¯d spent more than a few nights at cards together, on the way to Essegena. He seemed like a rational man. More to the point, he seemed not to be in the payroll of General Bradshaw.


    Everybody had their loyalty. David had learned that when he was far lower down the ranks. Sure, they might argue that they stood for peace, or integrity, or whatever admirable quality they wanted to project, but at the end of the day there was a leader behind every officer. On Essegena, those leaders were General Bradshaw and Governor Ballard. Anybody who David told about the figurine would probably relay that information to whichever leader they stood for. Chris would learn in time, and he¡¯d not be angry if he found out before David was ready to tell. Bradshaw would be angry. He¡¯d also use the information against Chris.


    That was not an option.


    So with Angie Munro¡¯s loyalties clearly tied to the man she rode, the only Captain David could trust was Captain Mannam.


    Fortunately, the weather had been consistently balmy since the Eia arrived. Even at this late hour, as the sun made its descent, it was usually still warm. Routines had emerged. The Lord Constable could almost always be found on the grass next to the Clearwater river, getting handily drunk. Close to the Eia, the river was usually crowded¡ªbut just a short walk northward, people became sparser. Mannam¡¯s drinking spot of choice was a short walk from the valley¡¯s only permanent drinking establishment, the Tavern in the plaza. Doubtless the spot had been chosen so that empty glasses need not be empty for long.


    There was a strip of grassland sunken from the ground level of the plaza. All manner of trees and flowers grew here, and had for some time. A couple of long-since-fallen logs made natural benches. Captain Mannam was stood next to one of these, drinking with a pair of uniformed officers. It was impossible not to recognise him; he had tightly curled hair atop a craggy, square face. He also had a tendency to wear his parade-wear dolman when he wasn¡¯t on parade¡ªor indeed on duty. Next to him, David recognised old Colonel Tastock, the top button of his tunic undone and his kepi in his hand.


    Tastock obviously recognised David too. He nudged Mannam as David approached, and whispered something. Mannam smirked.


    ¡°If it isn¡¯t Captain Clifford,¡± said Mannam. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, there¡¯s none of those creatures here. Your metties are safe.¡±


    ¡°With you around? I¡¯m not so sure.¡±


    ¡°I never had a sweet tooth,¡± Mannam slapped Tastock on the back. ¡°As for Gordon here¡ªnow there¡¯s a man could eat anything so long as it was over-sugared.¡±


    ¡°The doctor says I shouldn¡¯t,¡± said Colonel Tastock.


    ¡°I¡¯m not interrupting anything, am I?¡± David only knew Colonel Tastock very vaguely. He wasn¡¯t sure if the old soldier could be trusted.


    But Mannam shook his head. ¡°Just swapping old stories. We used to serve together, Gordon and I¡ªtwenty years in the same unit, wasn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Twenty-two,¡± Tastock said.


    ¡°The point is, we¡¯ve known each other for a long time.¡± Mannam lifted his glass to his lips and drained it of its remaining froth. ¡°You can never replace an old friend, not truly.¡±


    The other officer was a younger man, a waxed moustache on an angular face. He held out a hand for David to shake. ¡°The name¡¯s Bathart,¡± he said. Then, hastily: ¡°Captain.¡±


    ¡°Young Lieutenant Bathart¡¯s looking to move up in the world,¡± said Mannam, with a grin, ¡°and he¡¯s got loose purse-strings. There¡¯s a man you want as a drinking buddy.¡±


    David nodded along. ¡°Do you mind if we have a quick word, Captain? I¡¯ve something I¡¯d like to show you.¡±


    ¡°Not at all,¡± said Mannam. He turned to his companions. ¡°Same time tomorrow, fellas? I¡¯ll have to speak with ¨¢ine and get a standing order going.¡±


    They followed the shoreline upstream. About two dozen metres along, the wild growth became too thick for them to keep going, so they cut inside a bit.


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    ¡°I thought you had something to show me,¡± said Mannam. ¡°Are you planning on following the river to its source?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not something I want just anyone seeing. Not much further, I promise.¡±


    ¡°You should come here more often,¡± said Mannam. ¡°There¡¯s always room for one more where drinking¡¯s concerned.¡±


    ¡°Maybe another time,¡± said David.


    ¡°I will get a drink down you one of these days.¡±


    David laughed. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t be the first to try.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not used to being refused,¡± said Mannam, ¡°but there¡¯s no shame in saying no to a drink. Now what was it you wanted to show me?¡±


    ¡°Let me find a surface.¡±


    Here and there, the flat grass was broken by small outcrops of limestone, most barely wide enough to accommodate a single person sat on top of them. David led Mannam over to a nearby shelf of rock. This one was flatter than most, and obscured from the valley by a dirt bank and a line of cowed trees. Perfectly private.


    He looked surreptitiously to left and right, just in case someone over by the water was watching. Mannam¡¯s companions seemed to have no interest in anything other than the bottoms of their glasses. None were paying David any mind. Then he reached into his pocket, withdrew the bandaged figurine, laid it out on the nearby rock. He peeled back the gauze. In the light of the setting sun, the figure beneath looked strangely sinister. A good job it was carved from wood, and not a living thing. ¡°What do you make of this?¡±


    Mannam reached out to touch the figure. He ran a finger along the carved face, tracing the etched mouth, then fumbled for his glasses and put them back on. ¡°It¡¯s a carving,¡± he said. ¡°A man, I should think.¡±


    David nodded. ¡°It looks old to me,¡± he said.


    ¡°Quite,¡± agreed Mannam. ¡°I didn¡¯t realise you were so into your antiques, Captain Clifford. It¡¯s a marvellous piece, I think, but I hardly see how it counts as business. We¡¯re here to look to the future, after all, not the past.¡±


    ¡°I found it in the woods here, on the valley¡¯s perimeter. However old it is, it was made here.¡±


    Mannam found the idea laughable, judging from the way he burst into barely-stifled laughter. ¡°That isn¡¯t possible, Captain Clifford¡ªup until a month ago not a soul had set foot here.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t help that,¡± said David. ¡°Fact is I found it.¡±


    ¡°Of course there is the possibility that it was simply misplaced,¡± said Mannam. ¡°These rich buggers think of nothing but their family history. Perhaps one of them wanted to bring their family heirloom along, and it got snatched. Then whoever took it dumped it out of fear of being caught. Strange new world like this, no real idea of where anything is¡ªthe woods around the valley are an obvious place to dump something.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s possible,¡± David agreed. ¡°But unlikely, I¡¯d say.¡±


    Mannam straightened his glasses. ¡°Whatever it is, it¡¯s certainly interesting. I¡¯ve seen a great many old artefacts in my time. Nothing that looks quite like this. I¡¯d like to hold onto it, if you don¡¯t mind.¡±


    David shrugged, unconcerned. The figurine was a curiosity, sure, but he wasn¡¯t attached to it. Mannam, as Lord Constable and as something of a boffin of antiquities, would have far more success in identifying its provenance. ¡°If you learn anything about it, I¡¯d be interested to know,¡± he said, ¡°but there¡¯s no reason for me to keep it. What would I do? Put it on my mantel?¡±


    Mannam wound the fabric wrapping around the figurine again. Not too far away, a spectacularly rotund soldier stood drinking alone. From his uniform, he was a Constabulary man. Mannam waved him over. The man scurried across, drops of spilt cider dribbling down his beard, the buttons of his uniform threatening to burst, and Mannam handed him the wrapped figure. ¡°Run this into storage, Corporal,¡± he said. ¡°Mark it as property of the Lord Constable¡ªI don¡¯t want anybody snooping where they shouldn¡¯t be.¡±


    ¡°Sir.¡± The corporal took his leave.


    As soon as he was gone, Mannam shook his head. ¡°Why must I be tormented with useless soldiers? That¡¯s one of my best officers, and he can¡¯t even have a drink without making a mess.¡±


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t judge people on how they drink,¡± said David. ¡°We all know you wouldn¡¯t have a career if you¡¯d been judged.¡±


    Mannam let out a miserly laugh. ¡°That¡¯s true. I don¡¯t like it, but I can¡¯t deny it.¡±


    David had planned on letting Mannam return to his reverie, but instead the two wandered in the opposite direction. The first hint of the night¡¯s chill had begun to creep in, though it was still far from dusk. Perhaps he should have brought an overcoat.


    At first Mannam talked shop. He was interested to know if David had had any luck finding the three missing soldiers, and through this interest David hazarded a guess that Mannam¡¯s Constabulary hadn¡¯t had any joy. It was silly that they weren¡¯t working together. General Bradshaw had them at cross-purposes, covering the same ground rather than pooling their resources. Mannam had some choice words to describe Bradshaw.


    ¡°The real mystery of it all is the stranger who appeared in their place,¡± said David. Tragic as their loss was, there was an abundance of rational explanations for the soldiers¡¯ disappearance. They could have got turned around, or been attacked by the local wildlife. Maybe they¡¯d trodden on uneven ground and now their broken bodies were at the bottom of a crevasse. But a man appearing out of nowhere... well, that defied conventional explanation. ¡°Maybe he knows something.¡±


    ¡°I went through the same thought process,¡± said Mannam.


    ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°And nothing. I¡¯ve been to interview the man in the hospital. Three times, in fact,¡± said Mannam. ¡°Fine use of my time that was,¡± he spat. ¡°The man talks gibberish. Half of what he says isn¡¯t in sentences, and the half that is doesn¡¯t tally with reality. He talks of towns that don¡¯t exist, people that aren¡¯t in our records. He¡¯s even made up words sometimes. It¡¯s all in the file, but I don¡¯t see that it¡¯ll do us any good.¡±


    ¡°So why file it?¡±


    ¡°Call me a completionist,¡± said Mannam. ¡°Funny thing: I never used to like keeping records. Goodman Tastock will tell you all about the time he spent busting my balls just to get me to fill in the logs. But I¡¯ve been an officer of rank for these past ten years, and so I don¡¯t have to do the writing. It¡¯s someone else¡¯s hand that¡¯s getting the cramps. So I¡¯ve started having everything written down.¡±


    As they walked further up the river, the sound of laughter and the smell of smoke grew fainter. The grass began to give away, first to uneven bits of rocky ground and then to a forest of thin trees with sparse leaves. Beyond them, the sheer rock of the valley¡¯s northern tip rose high, and above it a sliver of moon shone faintly. The beige always seemed to emerge before the still-hidden green.


    A small crowd had gathered at the treeline. A pit fire, gently smouldering, had been lit beside them. There were a dozen men and women, or thereabouts, all barefoot and sat in a rough circle. In their midst was a man with a neat, gold-brown beard. He wore around his neck a pendant¡ªa golden wheel, from out of which twenty hooked tendrils grew. ¡°They don¡¯t want you to worship,¡± the man was saying. ¡°They think if they keep us silent, we¡¯ll forget about the Gods. But how can we forget about the Gods, when they¡¯re still with us? This is a so-called new start. We¡¯re supposed to be escaping the hegemony of a Unity that denies their own creators. Where is the Lightness? Where are the priests?¡±


    David glanced at Mannam, who was watching with an expression of mild interest. ¡°These damned preachers,¡± he said. ¡°He should be shut up.¡±


    ¡°Let them speak,¡± said Mannam. ¡°There¡¯s no law against it.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s fomenting discontent.¡±


    ¡°These sorts always burn themselves out in the end. Once the anger dies, the audience goes, and then they¡¯re preaching to the wind.¡± Mannam cocked his head. ¡°Unless you¡¯re scared that what he¡¯s saying might be true?¡±


    David laughed. ¡°Spooky stories,¡± he scoffed. ¡°The things primitive Man made up to help him understand this universe. We¡¯re supposed to be beyond that now.¡±


    ¡°Supposed to be. Aye.¡± Mannam spat bitterly. ¡°Since when has mankind ever paid attention to what it¡¯s supposed to be? I still remember Tol Manase¡ªand if a bit of faith keeps people from wholesale slaughter, I can support that.¡±


    ¡°It just seems unnecessary to me,¡± said David. ¡°Surely they know it¡¯s all a fiction?¡±


    Mannam shrugged. ¡°You¡¯ve been up amongst the stars. The universe is cold, and empty, and it doesn¡¯t give a rat¡¯s arse about us. Maybe the fiction makes that all seem a bit less scary to people.¡±


    The bearded man was still preaching to the ragged crowd, holding his pendant as he spoke. David bit his top lip. ¡°As long as they stick to the fiction.¡±


    General Bradshaw came to him the following day, while he was finishing his lunch. It was a generous meal, a larger portion than he¡¯d normally allow himself. He¡¯d brought a few tins of his favourite potted rabbit with him, for the journey. While he was preparing his dinner, he¡¯d found that there was an uneven amount left. He could spread it out over two portions, but either both of them would be slightly thinner than usual or one of them one would be barely a sliver. Instead he chose to have it all in one. He¡¯d been looking forward to it all morning. His mouth had started watering when he opened the last tin, and it was still watering when he set the plate down in front of him on his desk.


    He held off on eating it for as long as he could. It was one of those weird things, where he didn¡¯t want to finish it up. It would be so good, just like it always was, and he was getting hungrier and hungrier as the afternoon wore on, but when it was gone there was no more. In all he spent the better part of an hour looking at it before he caved.


    The General¡¯s arrival made it all taste sour. He had a full mouth when Bradshaw entered the room¡ªwithout having knocked first¡ªand swallowed it all so fast it made his diaphragm hurt.


    ¡°General Bradshaw.¡± David¡¯s chair scraped on the steel floor as he stood up and bowed his head just slightly, the standard courtesy that was due a general. Bradshaw looked him up and down, and then his eyes roved around the room. It wasn¡¯t a big office, but it had no need to be. He wasn¡¯t a big man. He didn¡¯t take up that much room. As long as he had his desk and a chair, he was satisfied.


    Bradshaw¡¯s eyes soon found their way back to David. ¡°Dinner time,¡± he said, a grin curling onto his lips. ¡°What are we having?¡±


    ¡°Potted rabbit, sir. It¡¯s very nice.¡±


    ¡°Am I supposed to take your word for that, Captain?¡±


    David shook his head. ¡°I¡¯ve none to offer you, I¡¯m afraid, sir.¡±


    To that, General Bradshaw reached a stubby pinky to David¡¯s plate, where half of the rabbit was still piled. He scooped a lump of the meat up on the end of his finger, brought it slowly to his lips, then retched as he ate it. ¡°A good job,¡± he said, between coughs. ¡°That is disgusting stuff. Once upon a time, a certain sort of seedy businessman, the kind who likely wouldn¡¯t know a scruple if he was bitten by one, made good money spooning piles of questionable slop into tin cans and writing ¡®rations¡¯ on the side. Even they¡¯d not try to pass this crap off as food, and believe me they served many a crock.¡±


    ¡°What campaign was that in, sir?¡± He couldn¡¯t resist asking the question. Mark Bradshaw had a lengthy career in the Unity military, several decades of climbing the ranks from an enlisted man to a general. He¡¯d played the game well, cosied up to important people and avoided the catastrophic blunders that ended many an ambitious career. He was a man who deserved some respect for his achievements. But he¡¯d never served in the field. It was his great shame. Detractors called him the Lickspittle General, many behind his back and a few to his face.


    The man grunted, veins pulsing in his fat neck. ¡°Give me a battle and I¡¯ll fight it. I¡¯ll not be mocked for being born in a time of peace.¡±


    The fact of the matter was that Bradshaw had made friends in high places. True, warfare had been minimal for the last fifteen years, but more than half of the General¡¯s career had come while the Unity were still fighting the last wars of subjugation against disaffected colonists. David knew for a fact that a thirty-year-old Lieutenant Mark Bradshaw had been transferred out of his hometown unit, where he¡¯d spent his entire career thereto, just days before they were sent to the bloodbath on Tol Manase.


    Now was not the time to push him, though. Better to let him feel his pride. ¡°What brings you to me, sir?¡± It was habit for ranking officers to send a summons to those they wanted to talk to, who would make a point of going to see them as close to immediately as they could. There had been no summons, no indication that Bradshaw wanted anything.


    ¡°I¡¯m not in the habit of having my actions questioned.¡± Which meant he didn¡¯t want to tell David his reason. He¡¯d been close enough to David¡¯s office that it was worth his while to just pop in, and for a secret purpose. Angie Munro¡¯s office was a little way down the hall. She¡¯d been promoted to the rank of captain within a month of enlisting, with Bradshaw¡¯s commendation. She¡¯d been given one of the Essegena colony¡¯s three captaincies at the expense of far better qualified candidates, again thanks to the word of Bradshaw. It was common gossip that she was his shag on the side. Possibly he¡¯d been with her, though David wasn¡¯t sure why that had to be a secret. Bradshaw¡¯s wife had been dead for years; she surely wouldn¡¯t object to his breaking their wedding vows now.


    David took a spoonful of his potted rabbit into his mouth, rolling it around with his tongue. ¡°I won¡¯t tell your daughters. Promise.¡±


    Bradshaw¡¯s face clouded. ¡°Whatever game you¡¯re playing, Clifford, I¡¯ll have them left out of it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not playing a game, General.¡±


    ¡°Pah.¡± Bradshaw spat. Moist flakes of chewed-up duck sprayed all over the room. ¡°I shall have to watch you closely, I see. For now, business. Three of my soldiers are unaccounted for.¡±


    Of course David was familiar with the case. He¡¯d be hard pushed not to be, even if he didn¡¯t take pride in doing his job well. The missing soldiers¡¯ unit commander, a Lieutenant Bennett, had taken to showing her face in his office once a day to make sure he was aware. One time, he¡¯d tried hiding under his desk in the hope she might leave, but she saw him, and he had to feign interest in the Unity logo carved into the wooden underside.


    ¡°The last sight of them was on the day the Advanced Party landed,¡± Bradshaw continued, ¡°which means they¡¯ve now been absent for a month. Mannam had no good news. I trust you can make me a happier man.¡±


    David nodded. ¡°I¡¯ve sent two patrols out every day. Groups of three, heading in different directions, with pathfinding spray and orders not to stray too far. I rotate the people, so it¡¯s not always the same ones searching. There¡¯s a team under one Sergeant Malleston based at the site of the first camp, in case the missing troops wander back.¡±


    ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°Other than their helmets, nothing¡ªand the Advanced Party found them before we all arrived. Since then... not a trace. The odd report of plants trampled underfoot. One of Malleston¡¯s men swears he heard screaming up in the high glades, two nights running¡ªbut no evidence of anything come the morning.¡±


    Bradshaw chewed on David¡¯s answer for a second. ¡°Send word to this Sergeant Malleston that he should start work turning the camp into a fortification. If nothing else, we¡¯ll have a foothold outside the valley.¡±


    ¡°Should I send some more men?¡±


    ¡°Not just yet. Weigh up your lieutenants. Somebody will have to take over from Malleston eventually, we can¡¯t have a sergeant in charge of a fort. But until you hear otherwise from me, keep things as they are. As for the patrols, scale it back. One a day.¡±


    ¡°Just one?¡±


    ¡°Just one.¡± Bradshaw nodded curtly. ¡°It¡¯s been a month, Captain. Sad as it is I think they¡¯re almost certainly dead. Their bodies will show up eventually. The dead don¡¯t move around, after all. No need to throw so many men at the job. I want them where I can command them.¡±


    ¡°If you say so, sir.¡±


    ¡°I do say so,¡± said Bradshaw, turning.


    General Bradshaw was one of those people who seemed to take forever to leave. Eventually, what felt like a good six hours after he started to make for the doorway, the General was gone. The door swung gently shut behind him, without enough force to close properly. It balanced against the frame. David had to walk all the way around his desk to the door and click it shut. That was the sort of thing Bradshaw liked to do, he knew. Just an unending stream of little annoyances. One angry overreaction and Bradshaw won.


    So if he kept his cool, Bradshaw wouldn¡¯t win. And after all, he got paid just the same whether he walked to shut the door properly or just stayed sat in his seat.

 5. The Foresleepers Curse

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Caroline ~


    A few days. That¡¯s all it took¡ªa few days that felt like hours. Everything that had once been exciting and fresh became mundane, routine. Chris had been keen for her to spend the first month or two showing her face about the growing town. Caro had spurned that idea. What was important was the man Jem. She¡¯d leaned into her work, taken personal charge of his care.


    Jem¡¯s condition hadn¡¯t improved. He was spending no more than the odd minute or two lucid. To begin with, Caro had furnished the nurses with instructions to seek her out immediately if ever he began to talk. Inevitably, by the time she had actually managed to get to him he¡¯d degenerated into ramblings, or passed out. So instead the nurses were told to try and talk to him, and write down anything he told them. He¡¯d told them nothing of substance.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Miss Caroline,¡± the young Janna Davis had said, contrite, when asked why her report on Jem said only that he¡¯d awoken, ¡°but I couldn¡¯t think that anything he said was worth writing down.¡±


    ¡°Write it down anyway,¡± Caro had told her.


    The hospital could be a lonely place. With each passing day, the Eia grew emptier, as another building was finished and filled with people. Half of the ship¡¯s population had moved out into the town, and most of the rest stayed aboard only to sleep. That wasn¡¯t an option for the hospital. The power demands were too great. Fyffe Peulion, the master engineer, had estimated that it would take a year or more before Essegena was capable of providing enough power to keep it running. In the meantime, they had to run off the ship¡¯s battery.


    When each shift finished, Caro made her way to the washroom at the front of the hospital, just behind the reception desk. There, she liked to run herself a hot shower and lose herself in the steam and her thoughts. Off the ship, it was a choice between hot water and running water. She couldn¡¯t have both. So she always took her time in the washroom.


    She¡¯d worked the soap to a fine lather when she heard footsteps in the washroom. ¡°Doctor Ballard,¡± came a voice, ¡°is that you in there?¡±


    Caro didn¡¯t acknowledge this other, but the woman called again: ¡°Doctor Ballard, it¡¯s Emmeline. I wonder if I might have a word?¡±


    She stopped the water and reached for the towel she¡¯d hung on a rail beside. Draping it around her, she pulled the curtain of the shower back to scowl at Emmeline Maynard. Emmeline, in the time they¡¯d spent together, had done little to endear herself to Caro. She was a corpulent woman, a bustling matron with strawberry-blonde hair and a shrill voice which she was too fond of using.


    ¡°Is there anything I can help you with?¡± Caro asked. ¡°I was trying to take a shower.¡±


    ¡°Sorry I had to interrupt you, Doctor Ballard, but there were some things I wanted to talk about before you left for the day. I was worried I mightn¡¯t catch you.¡±


    Caro sighed. ¡°What¡¯s the problem?¡±


    ¡°The man Jem,¡± said Emmeline. ¡°It¡¯s been nearly a month. Don¡¯t you think it¡¯s time we reconsidered the wisdom of keeping him alive?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing to reconsider. He cannot be allowed to die.¡±


    Emmeline shook her head. ¡°His wounds aren¡¯t healing. If he¡¯s going to die sooner or later, surely we¡¯d be better off letting him die now. The supplies we¡¯re wasting on him could be invaluable later on.¡±


    ¡°Wasting? We¡¯re not wasting a thing. We swore an oath, Doctor Maynard, every one of us. To do everything in our power to keep our patients alive and well. If you like, you can come to my office and we¡¯ll have a read of it. There¡¯s a copy somewhere.¡±


    ¡°I know the oath.¡± Emmeline glanced over her shoulder. ¡°Look,¡± she said, her voice quietened to little more than a whisper. ¡°I wanted to speak to you here because Staniforth won¡¯t come in.¡± She had a fair point. Rupert Staniforth was a surly, self-confident doctor with a strict code of chivalry. To enter a room where women were showering would be to dishonour everything he held dear to him.


    Caro frowned. ¡°What does Staniforth have to do with anything?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s after your job,¡± said Emmeline. ¡°He wants a coup. Thinks if he can find some pretext to bring you down, he¡¯ll be able to walk into the top job and get all the glamour that goes with it. I thought you should know.¡±


    ¡°So why come in here kicking off about supplies? You could have just said what needed to be said.¡±


    Emmeline shook her head. ¡°I stand by it. Staniforth will use anything against you, and I do mean anything. We run low on supplies because of your pig-headedness, and that¡¯s his attack written for him.¡±


    Caro pondered that. She couldn¡¯t speak to Staniforth¡¯s tenacity, but if it was half of what she expected it to be he¡¯d keep poking her with sticks until he found a crack. And then he¡¯d turn that crack into a gaping hole.


    Chris wouldn¡¯t have her back. The realisation came suddenly, setting a sheet of ice over her heart. He¡¯d fill her ear with sweetness, gift her expensive silks, but he¡¯d cut her loose to save his reputation. The colony was too important to him. She¡¯d be less than a woman. The Caroline who didn¡¯t wear scrubs was a piece in Chris¡¯ great plan, without a bone of individuality.


    But that didn¡¯t mean she could just let Jem die.


    ¡°It¡¯s too soon to make any decisions,¡± she said. ¡°A few days and maybe I¡¯ll reconsider. For now, nothing is to change. And that¡¯s an order, Emmeline.¡±


    Emmeline smiled thinly at her. ¡°You¡¯re the boss.¡± She turned without another word and left the washroom.


    Caro glanced back at the shower, and mulled going back for a second run. The water would have cooled by now, and she couldn¡¯t really be bothered to wait for it to heat up again. And anyway, she was almost dry. She finishing towelling off and threw some clothes on quickly.


    In the reception room, she found George Prendergast waiting for her. He wore, in addition to his usual doublet, a long tunic, that fell almost to the floor. He sneered, and Caro scowled at him. The Hookbill was a slimy little fellow, his waxy skin stretched over gaunt cheekbones, whose machinations had deprived Armand of a place in the colony. That was enough for Caro to despise him. When she saw he¡¯d waited around to catch her, she nearly hit him. But Viola Watling was at the reception desk watching, and a bloke with a bleeding finger was sat at the opposite side of the waiting room.


    ¡°My dear Mistress Ballard,¡± the Hookbill began¡ªmaking her sound like an old lady who sold scones and jam from a garden lined with foxgloves. ¡°I¡¯d hoped we might talk.¡±


    She must have given him an especially frosty glare, if the way he recoiled was any indication. Not good. ¡®A Heramey always smiles for her enemies¡¯, Nana Raine had always said. Save the scowls for later solitude. ¡°What¡¯s the matter?¡± She made sure to glue a sweet smile to her face when she spoke.


    ¡°There¡¯s somebody who you¡¯d be well-advised to meet.¡±


    ¡°Is that your opinion or someone¡¯s that matters?¡±


    The Hookbill bristled. He parted his lips, showing his tongue as he ran it across his teeth. ¡°I¡¯m not here to exchange insults. I know you are a Foresleeper.¡±


    ¡°A lie.¡± Caro tried to keep her voice calm. She looked over at Viola, busy writing something in the ledger. What if she could hear? Being a Foresleeper wasn¡¯t something to advertise. Those people who wouldn¡¯t assume she was a malicious actor would pity her, and think her unsuitable for proper employment. Even a rumour could end her career. People of greater importance had been left dead when the word ¡®Foresleeper¡¯ was whispered too loudly around them. The purge of the augurs hadn¡¯t even been twenty years ago. Anybody who saw things in their dreams was taken away¡ªthe Augur of Leiandrice, who spoke with the voice of all women, had been arrested; the High Commissioner himself had been toppled and killed. They¡¯d come for Nana Raine, too. She¡¯d sworn and spat like an old goat as they carried her away, and her heart had given out before they took her wherever it was they took the Foresleepers.


    And so Caro was always on edge when the word was brought up.


    It didn¡¯t help that it was true. Sometimes, the dreams she had were more vivid than normal. They whispered secret truths to her, concealed in obscure visual metaphors. It was a gift she¡¯d inherited from her mother, who had in turn inherited it from her mother. But she didn¡¯t talk about it. Even Chris didn¡¯t know. There was no way the Hookbill could have. He was guessing, that was the only explanation, and it just happened that he¡¯d guessed right.


    But it was a damaging guess.


    Worse, the Hookbill knew it. ¡°Is that so?¡± His voice, soft as a whisper, disarmed her for a second. Then she snapped to reality.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be returning to my quarters now,¡± she said, speaking tersely. ¡°If you have more to say, I suggest you say it while I walk.¡±


    And that he did. She moved at a brisk pace, hoping she could walk faster than him, but his legs were longer. He¡¯d caught up before she got across the reception room.


    ¡°First thing¡¯s first,¡± she said, once they were in a corridor without other people. ¡°Where are you getting your information? Nobody knows about me. How come you do?¡±


    He raised his eyebrows. ¡°Isn¡¯t it obvious?¡±


    For the second time in a few minutes, she could have hit him. In fact, her hands had balled into tight fists without her noticing, the skin pressed pale. ¡°If you¡¯re going to be obtuse, if you¡¯re going to talk in riddles, if you want to keep being a twat, then you might as well find someone else to talk to. I¡¯m not in the mood. I¡¯ve just finished a long night shift. Now I want to see my husband. Every second we spend talking is a second wasted, as far as I¡¯m concerned. So consider this your last chance. Get to your point.¡±


    ¡°Haven¡¯t your dreams warned you not to treat me like a child?¡±


    ¡°Funnily enough, you don¡¯t feature in my dreams.¡±


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    The Hookbill cleared his throat. ¡°Would it surprise you to learn that you aren¡¯t the only Foresleeper on this planet? You might try to hide it, but the signs are there. Your eyes, for instance. They¡¯re the brightest green I¡¯ve ever seen.¡±


    She never meant to, but she stopped moving. ¡°I was always told there were no physical signs.¡±


    The Hookbill¡¯s lip twitched. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry. Most people won¡¯t notice. It¡¯s very subtle. But once you notice it, it¡¯s impossible to miss¡ªyou¡¯re a misaligned plug socket on an otherwise-symmetrical wall.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve never been with a girl, have you?¡±


    ¡°Once.¡± The sarcasm went straight over his head. Instead, the mood turned to melancholy. And was that a tear sparkling on his eye, just for a second, before he blinked it away? ¡°My wife is long dead. My children, too. Their graves are now beneath a school.¡± He snapped back to normal¡ªthe slimy version of normal that he embodied¡ªin an instant. ¡°Tell me, how long have you known about your... sight?¡±


    How long was it? She remembered having bad dreams, a long time ago. Dreams of a needle in her thigh. She¡¯d just had her shots. Father said that was a natural thing for little girls to dream about. Nana Raine asked questions¡ªsilly questions, like the colour of the needle, and what the air smelled like. When Caro had a dream about the jackdaws in their tower, Nana Raine had told her about her curse. That had been near thirty years ago now.


    The Hookbill nodded when she gave him the figure. ¡°You¡¯ve lived with it for your whole life. Learned not to let it show. Only a select few would be able to spot you.¡±


    ¡°Including you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m very skilled. There are some people for whom these dreams are a new terror.¡±


    Caro frowned. ¡°Is that so?¡±


    ¡°Her name is Bessily,¡± said the Hookbill. ¡°I¡¯ve told her you will meet her in the Tavern, this afternoon. To talk.¡±


    ¡°And if I don¡¯t?¡±


    The Hookbill shrugged. ¡°Whether you do or don¡¯t meet the girl is of no consequence to me,¡± he said. ¡°But it would be a real pity if such a vulnerable young thing was allowed to feel abandoned, when she most needed a friend.¡±


    He slunk away, gathering the trailing folds of his tunic in hand and disappearing somewhere into the depths of the Eia. When he was gone, Caro let out a relieved breath.


    She wasn¡¯t quite sure why she went to the plaza. Leaving the Hookbill, she¡¯d intended to spend the afternoon in Chris¡¯ company. That would justify not showing up to meet this Bessily. But Chris had buggered off an hour or so after she made it back, to do some urgent work that he¡¯d apparently just thought of. It was boring on her own.


    For a while she¡¯d thumbed through a book of old folk stories that Ian Fitzhenry had given her years ago. The cover was falling apart, and she knew all the stories, but it was her go-to, whenever she wanted a distraction. Knowing how everything would end made it easier for her to just let the words wash over her, to let another¡¯s life become hers for a little while. On all her darkest nights, she¡¯d read from the book. The story of the boy on the log had warmed her heart the day Chris turned her down. Mallent the swan had cheered her up when Freya Warlin fell. She¡¯d escaped from the spectre of Nana Raine¡¯s death with the little king of Averache.


    Every page of the book was imprinted with memories, and they all came flooding forward with full force when she tried to read. She set the book aside and settled for silence. When the silence became boredom, she¡¯d set off for the Tavern.


    In the end, she was glad she went. The walk from her chambers to the plaza was a long and quiet one, and it had quickly turned introspective for her. It would upset Bessily if she just didn¡¯t appear. That wasn¡¯t fair. She¡¯d been let down herself in the past.


    And Bessily would be scared, presumably. Those dreams were not pleasant.


    She took a seat at a table far to the back of the Tavern, where she could watch the doorway. Not that she knew who to look out for. The Hookbill hadn¡¯t described Bessily to her, nor had she ever met the girl.


    Caro was recognisable though, that much she knew. It went with the territory of being married to the Governor, especially having an uncommon hair colour. She¡¯d deliberately worn her hair loose and flowing, in the hopes that Bessily would recognise her.


    A petite blonde waitress came by to give her a cup of water and a menu on vellum, which she studied thoroughly. Every meal on offer sounded like a gourmet. If only she hadn¡¯t filled up on chunks of chocolate while she¡¯d been reading. She made a note to come back here another time, when she had an appetite. Maybe she could even bring Chris.


    Her water was nearly gone when the young woman appeared. She¡¯d pushed open the door to the eatery slowly, walked in almost hesitantly, and quickly slunk into the nearest vacant seat. Caro had watched her all the while. Eventually, after looking sheepishly to left and right a few times, the woman stood up again, and sidled up to Caro¡¯s table.


    ¡°Excuse me,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m looking for Mistress Ballard.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve found her, sweet,¡± said Caro. ¡°Take a seat. Can I assume you¡¯re Bessily?¡±


    Bessily nodded. She had the bright shining emeralds for eyes that the Hookbill had said was the Foresleeper¡¯s tell. They were set amidst a soft, rose-cheeked face. Her hair, black as silk, was tied crudely away, and her hands and clothes were stained with dirt. It made her incongruous amongst the Tavern¡¯s clientele, most of whom¡ªmoreso than Caro¡ªhad dressed up in the high fashions of the Unity elite. More than a few dirty looks had headed her way.


    Caro waved over to the waitress, signalling for two more cups of water. ¡°I understand you¡¯re having some trouble with dreams.¡±


    ¡°Nightmares. I think I¡¯m losing my mind.¡±


    It struck Caro just how young Bessily was. She must have been barely in her twenties, almost young enough to be her daughter. She put a hand on Bessily¡¯s. ¡°No, sweet, you¡¯re not losing your mind. Dreams are a fickle beast. Tell me about them.¡±


    ¡°They don¡¯t come every night,¡± said Bessily. ¡°I mean, I do have dreams every night, but they¡¯re normally just ordinary ones. These ones are different, they¡¯re...¡± She spun a finger round in the air as she fumbled for the right word. ¡°They feel almost¡ª¡±


    ¡°Real?¡± Caro offered, and the girl nodded.


    ¡°More real than real, if that makes sense. I know as soon as they start, and I hate it. It feels like I¡¯m intruding.¡± Bessily¡¯s voice seemed to be piping more as she relayed her experiences. ¡°It¡¯s like I¡¯m seeing things I shouldn¡¯t be seeing, and my body knows it, so it just feels sick all over. You probably think I¡¯m insane.¡±


    Caro shook her head. ¡°If I thought you were insane, I¡¯d be referring you to a psychiatrist. There are plenty of them.¡±


    Bessily smiled a little at that. ¡°I wonder if perhaps a psychiatrist would do me good.¡±


    ¡°They have their place. It isn¡¯t here. These dreams¡ªwhat happens in them?¡±


    ¡°All sorts. Sometimes it¡¯s happy things. A mother and a child, a field of flowers in spring, stuff like that.¡±


    ¡°Aqueous lilies?¡± She¡¯d dreamt of flowers too. A happy dream, in a happy place, underscored by unhappy words.


    Bessily nodded. ¡°Hundreds of them. Thousands. Like soldiers all lined up.¡±


    ¡°And is there a hill behind them? An old crumbling tower, with jackdaws nesting in it?¡±


    The girl¡¯s eyes shot open. ¡°Have you had the same dream?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not impossible,¡± Caro agreed. In truth, she¡¯d had it a few times. It was worse than most. The flowers were nice, sure, but there was always a dark voice coming from somewhere she could never place, saying words she could neither hear nor understand. And she always walked towards the tower. She¡¯d never got all the way to it. The dread grew slowly, but it was undeniable.


    ¡°Once, I walked to the tower,¡± Bessily said. ¡°It was like I didn¡¯t have any choice. I was there sniffing the flowers, and then I sort of forgot them. There was only the tower¡ªand the closer I got, the more important it seemed to be that I carried on going. Like my heart might explode if I dared to stop. The jackdaws flew away when I got too close.¡±


    Caro had never got that close. ¡°What was inside the tower? What did you see?¡± It was a struggle to keep her tone measured, and belie the pang of excitement she¡¯d suddenly felt.


    She didn¡¯t answer.


    ¡°Two cups of water.¡± The waitress appeared from nowhere and set the cups down on the table. Her voice was velvet, feather-light. ¡°And would you like anything to eat?¡±


    ¡°Not just yet,¡± said Caro. ¡°But perhaps in a little bit.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± smiled the waitress. Gathering her skirts, she span around and vanished into the throng.


    Bessily had a doleful look about her. Her brows were set leaden-heavy above her eyes. ¡°How do I make these dreams stop?¡±


    Caro wished she could give Bessily the answer she wanted. She¡¯d asked herself the same question, many times over, staring at her reflection in the bedchamber mirror and demanding that she fix herself. If she hadn¡¯t had a relative to help her... People had been institutionalised for less. At the height of the purge, actually being a Foresleeper was unnecessary. The High Commissioner had been impeached and arrested for daring to defend his people. Commissioner Lougherie had died in incarceration despite never having a prophetic dream in his life.


    Caro had been young then, but she¡¯d understood plain. The dreams weren¡¯t going to go away.


    She felt like a bitch for telling Bessily that, especially as bluntly as she did, but it was needful. The girl couldn¡¯t labour under false belief.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t have to be a bad thing, though,¡± she said. ¡°You get to see things nobody else gets to.¡±


    ¡°Things I don¡¯t want to see. I¡¯d rather they were just dreams, just stupid, meaningless dreams.¡± Bessily lifted her cup and tipped it back, spilling water all down her front.


    Caro was conscious that Bessily¡¯s voice was getting louder. Her attire was already drawing odd looks from some of the nearby patrons. If they felt inclined to listen in, it might turn into a witch-hunt. She gestured at Bessily to quieten a little. ¡°Please don¡¯t shout, sweet. We don¡¯t want people overhearing.¡±


    ¡°Sorry,¡± said Bessily, overcorrecting and speaking with a voice so quiet Caro could barely hear her. ¡°These dreams... do they have to come true?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°Most of the time they¡¯re only dreams. There might be a message, perhaps a feeling, but you¡¯re not literally seeing the future. Things change, Bessily. We have free will. You¡¯d be surprised at how well even the best laid plans get torn apart by people just doing their own thing. We¡¯re unpredictable.¡±


    They talked for some time after that. Bessily was full of questions; she alternated between asking them with the eager enthusiasm of a curious child, and probing softly as though she feared the answers she¡¯d find. The girl was frustratingly vague, describing her dreams in only the broadest terms, and seldom straying to detail. On occasion, she gave some hint at her life, or her worries, before she realised what she was saying and clammed up. Pressing for information only rewarded Caro with silence.


    Bessily did seem keen to learn more about the Foresleepers, not that Caro knew much to tell her. Nana Raine had told her that the Foresleeper¡¯s dream could be prophetic, but not how, and she¡¯d shared very little history. Caro had had to learn that for herself. It was a sad history from start to finish.


    ¡°It used to be said that the Foresleeper was a vessel of the Gods,¡± she said, trying to think of something that didn¡¯t end up with the death of the Foresleeper. ¡°In the primitive cultures, a Foresleeper was worshipped. Adem, they were called. They were the ones chosen to be kings and holy men.¡± Until the next dreamer came along, and the old one was cast aside. But she left that part unsaid. Even when she¡¯d tried, she hadn¡¯t been able to think of a truly cheerful story. She wasn¡¯t sure if any Foresleeper had ever had a happy life.


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t happen anymore,¡± said Bessily, with a grimace. ¡°People don¡¯t even talk to me¡ªexcept the girls in my tenement, and that¡¯s only because we¡¯re living in the same building. I can tell that they can¡¯t stand me.¡±


    ¡°What gives you that impression, sweet?¡±


    Bessily shrugged. ¡°Experience, I suppose. A lifetime of it.¡± Her voice was small. ¡°Essegena was supposed to be my clean start.¡±


    Caro could have wept. Instead, she leaned across the table and pulled Bessily into a tight hug. ¡°There¡¯s no reason it can¡¯t be,¡± she said. ¡°You seem like a sweet girl, Bessily. Of course people will want to be friends with you.¡±


    ¡°Not when I tell them I¡¯m a Foresleeper.¡±


    ¡°Well, no. But perhaps you could not tell them that.¡±


    She let go of Bessily, whose eyes seemed to be glinting now. ¡°Are there others here?¡±


    Caro shook her head. ¡°I¡¯ve not heard of any. It¡¯s not something people shout about, you understand. If you need to talk to anybody, you come to me. You never know who you can trust.¡±


    ¡°But I can trust you?¡±


    ¡°Always.¡±


    She left Bessily just as the sun was beginning its descent. A stillness had settled over the valley, cool and gentle, holding with it the scent of pine needles. Just like that lonely dream she often had¡ªa woman calling for absent friends, and hearing only silence in return. The dream was sad, but filled with hope. There was always a light over the trees in her dream, a voice on the edge of the wind¡¯s breath. The promise that tomorrow would come and the hard days would end. A sweet thought indeed. She smiled to think of it.

 6. The Dead Kings Deck

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Ian ~


    It had rained all through the night and well into the morning. The rain had stopped now, and the blazy sun had come to replace it, but the wet smell still lingered. The ground was damp and muddy underfoot, and Ian¡¯s boots squelched as he walked. In several places, Master Holden¡¯s workers had laid duckboards as a rough demarcation of what would in time become paved roads. Ian took advantage of this as a way of keeping himself from getting stuck in the mulch.


    He¡¯d have been lying to say he didn¡¯t miss the journey. There¡¯d been a sort of camaraderie, while the Eia made its slow way to Essegena. Being trapped together on the ship had been a common ground. Most evenings, Ian had drunk in the bar there. Some bright spark had repurposed a storage closet near to the hydroponics dome, and made a killing selling alcohol of all kinds. Watered down, of course.


    The cards tended to come out, once people had a few drinks down them. Selicke was usually suggested. Every man and his mother thought they had the talent to conquer the selicke deck. But it was a complicated game at the best of times, impossible to understand when drunk, and the bar¡¯s proprietors had banned it after one brawny soldier had lost a thumb in an argument. Thereafter, they usually played simpler pairing games. It was usually the same crowd, soldiers and crofters and labourers, and when the brawny soldier returned with his thumb sewn back on the bar had cheered as one.


    A few nights before they¡¯d made planetfall, the bar had had a new patron. All eyes had turned hungrily to the beautiful young woman in the flowing white dress when she arrived. Most had traced the slit in the side of the dress upwards, past toned calves, towards the heavenly entrance hidden at the summit of her legs. Molly Bradshaw had long hair, so soft it begged to be touched, and she had teeth that sparkled in her mouth. She didn¡¯t look a bit like her father¡¯s daughter.


    She came in with a swagger, like she knew all the eyes were on her. And why wouldn¡¯t they be? In all the time Ian had been drinking, there¡¯d not been another woman here other than ¨¢ine, the bartender, who still carried the weight of her last pregnancy.


    Molly had ordered the most expensive tipple available, and laughed when ¨¢ine asked for payment. ¡°My father¡¯s the General,¡± she said, with mock offense. ¡°He can always have you shot, if you want payment that bad.¡±


    Course, Molly had forced her way into the card game too. The bony farmhand who vacated his seat at the table for her was practically salivating as she sat down. ¡°Deal me in, boys. Selicke, is it?¡±


    ¡°Not in this house,¡± said Oparne, a farm labourer with coiled black hair and a gravelly voice. ¡°Game¡¯s banned.¡±


    Molly had insisted. ¡°No such thing. Tonight we play selicke.¡±


    ¨¢ine, obviously hearing, had scurried over. ¡°Selicke isn¡¯t allowed here¡ªit causes too many fights.¡±


    Molly had fixed her with a scowl. ¡°I shall start a fight with you, if you keep bothering me. You pour drinks. I play cards.¡±


    ¡°I must insist¡ª¡±


    ¡°Must you?¡± Molly had cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. ¡°Remember who my father is. Remember what he could have done to you, if you keep pissing me off. And then ask yourself again if you must insist.¡±


    ¨¢ine swallowed, and backed away. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t do such a thing.¡±


    Molly had smirked. ¡°Try me,¡± she¡¯d said, barely more than a whisper. Then, turning back to the table: ¡°I¡¯d like to start the cards now. Who is dealing?¡±


    And then Ian had stood. ¡°Nobody. There will be no selicke tonight, not here. Goodwife ¨¢ine has told you.¡±


    Molly had met him with laughter. ¡°Who the fuck are you? Sit down, old man, or you¡¯ll make a fool of yourself. Remember, my father is the General. General Bradshaw.¡±


    ¡°And I am the Corrack. The only man with the power to overrule me on this ship is Governor Ballard himself, and I have told you that there will be no selicke tonight.¡±


    ¡°Pairs, then.¡± Molly had sniffed. ¡°But with a wager, for some interest. Ten copperheads?¡±


    That had been a great night. Molly had whined when the cards fell against her, cheered when they went her way, and not noticed as her dress caught beneath her in her seat. Ian could afford to lose the money, and he¡¯d been treated to a wonderful view of Molly¡¯s shapely leg and the hint of an arse above it.


    And then the final turn had come. The game was on a knife-edge, those copperheads a whisper away... and Molly had revealed her last hand. Two kings, one green and one red. Not bad. Ian had given her a deliberate look of disappointment, eyes downcast, and she¡¯d risen to celebrate. And just as her reaching fingers touched the copperheads, he¡¯d dropped the bomb. He had two kings, too. They were both black. In pairs, a face-pair of any value trumps any pair of a lower value. But two faces of the same colour always trump differently-coloured faces.


    Two kings of the same colour were a guaranteed win.


    Molly hadn¡¯t been happy. ¡°This is a stitch-up,¡± she shouted. ¡°You fixed the cards. I¡¯ll tell my father. He¡¯ll have you stripped of your position¡ªcheat.¡±


    Ian had only smiled, as he scooped the twenty copperheads into his leather pouch. ¡°Sit down, or you¡¯ll make a fool of yourself.¡±


    Molly Bradshaw hadn¡¯t been back.


    And now the bar had closed, its owners moving to premises on the planet¡¯s surface, and the clientele had gone about their own lives. Those days were gone. Essegena was the future.


    When it wasn¡¯t muddy and wet, it was a lovely place to be.


    Sergeant Pratley had conned Ian into making use of his security retinue. It wasn¡¯t even like the man had done anything clever, and to be honest Ian was furious with himself for falling for the play. The Sergeant had been stood outside Ian¡¯s quarters, taking his shift, when Ian emerged. When Ian had walked away from the room, so Sergeant Pratley had followed him. And a few minutes later, when Ian reminded Sergeant Pratley that he neither wanted nor had asked for an escort, the man simply denied that he was escorting Ian. ¡°It just so happens that we¡¯re going the same way,¡± he said.


    And what a coincidence. Sergeant Pratley had just happened to go down the same winding detours and cut-throughs that Ian was taking. At no point during the various double-backs and meanderings did their entirely independent paths ever diverge. By the time he¡¯d got to the fresh air of the outdoors, he¡¯d just accepted that the Sergeant was going to accompany him now.


    It wasn¡¯t the worst thing in the world, he reflected. Sure, having a permanent shadow was a bit irritating, but it wasn¡¯t like Pratley was a talker. He spoke pretty much only when spoken to, and even then he seemed to limit himself to gruff one-word answers. The biggest perk was one Ian hadn¡¯t even considered. They were wandering down a rough street of residential accommodations¡ªat this point a series of buildings in various degrees of completion ranging from ¡®only the foundations¡¯ to ¡®some timber frames have been put on top of the foundations¡¯¡ªwhen Ian spotted the girl from the plaza walking towards him.


    She must have spotted him too, because her face went instantly red as a rose. She gave him a bashful smile, and in fact started to head towards him¡ªnot much, just slightly redirecting her path so she¡¯d brush past him. At that moment, Sergeant Pratley¡ªwho had been following close behind Ian¡ªleaned forward to confess that he hadn¡¯t actually come the same way as Ian by chance, but was indeed serving as his personal guard. The girl¡¯s eyes shot wide, and she scampered off.


    Having the Sergeant was a bit like having a superpower. If Ian ever saw someone approaching who he didn¡¯t like, all he had to do was start talking to Pratley and he wouldn¡¯t have to deal with the conversation. Perhaps he¡¯d been too quick to pooh the whole private security thing.


    Still, there was an emptiness about it. Most of the people he passed looked at him like he was another species entirely. It didn¡¯t matter that there was no reverence in their eyes. He was second only to Chris in the order of priority, the man who would act in the role of Governor for an unspecified interim period if something were to befall Chris, but that didn¡¯t make him better than the people building the houses, or trying to get agriculture going. Each person who stared at him was equally as human as he was, all people living under the same sun, and every single one of them was a master of some skill he hadn¡¯t a hope in.


    What really cut was the fact that people were looking at him like he was different. He knew what was going on in their minds. It had been the same thought he¡¯d had, a young adolescent drinking in every time a hero of the Unity came to the island of Ivyne. Once, he¡¯d seen the High Commissioner. Coningsby, his name was, a man with lemon-yellow hair that curled around big red ears. He¡¯d come to Ivyne for some diplomatic purpose, and they¡¯d all gone to see him come.


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Chris had missed the High Commissioner, and Dani Carrigan had too. They¡¯d both disappeared for twenty minutes, though they insisted it was a coincidence that they both rejoined the group sweaty and red-faced at the same time. The rest of the group were all there to watch as Coningsby made the walk from his private vessel to the towering outpost he¡¯d come to visit. He had a lot of security with him, a private army almost. Ian had watched him with awe. Imagine being one of those people, he¡¯d thought, the ones who have their own personal soldiers. What he wouldn¡¯t give to be like them.


    Coningsby, back then, had been the pinnacle of humanity to Ian¡¯s mind. He was of the golden class, from the elite ranks whose doors are closed to those born outwith. Ian had actually met Coningbsy again, just before boarding the Eia. The man was old now, frail, his hair bleached white and his legs a mess of varicose veins. He walked with a stick, and no private security guards followed him around¡ªonly an attendant in an immaculately-pressed tunic. The scowl the attendant had worn permanently was the scowl of a man who was employed to wipe a former High Commissioner¡¯s arse. As it turned out, Coningsby was an ordinary human.


    Ian had learned that, eventually. How many others had, from the four-thousand-strong crowd who had seen Coningsby that day? A handful, maybe. Not many. In the same vein, how many of the people gaping at him like he was of a superior breed of human being would come to know him personally? Some would, for sure. Maybe even a lot of them, given time. But some wouldn¡¯t. Some would live out their days convinced that Ian Fitzhenry wasn¡¯t the same sort of man they were. That was the worst feeling. He was immortal in their heads, and perfect. How could he live up to that, when he was so mortal, so imperfect?


    By the time they reached the plaza, he¡¯d had enough of the ¡®soldier-escort¡¯ experiment. ¡°You can leave me now,¡± he said to Sergeant Pratley, as they crossed onto the grassland. Sergeant Pratley nodded curtly at Ian, then turned on his heel and walked towards the Tavern, hands clasped together behind his back. A man of taste. Ian watched the Sergeant leave for a while, conscious of the burden of self that he¡¯d cleared.


    At some point, he stopped watching Sergeant Pratley leave and started to look at the town which was beginning to take shape. Here, a lot of the buildings were more than just a foundation. Some even had the frames of their roofs put on. It was going to be the outer edge. Ian had briefly glimpsed at the plans from a copy in Chris¡¯ office. Residential buildings that could house twenty each, with a fountain at the end of the street. The fountain would come much later. The rest of it would probably be done soon enough.


    ¡°It¡¯s amazing, isn¡¯t it?¡± Ian spun around to see who had spoken. The Hookbill was sat beneath the shade of one of the stubby trees that dotted the valley, today in a doublet of powder-blue. He had a deck of playing cards in his hand, which he was casually shuffling. He wore his hair long, nearly down to his shoulders, but he kept his face so closely shaven it looked like puberty had never reached him. His skin was pale as sour milk, almost waxy. And somehow he always smelled like lavender.


    ¡°I do apologise, Master Prendergast. I didn¡¯t see you there.¡±


    The Hookbill merely shook his head, a wry smile on his face. ¡°That was the game.¡±


    Ian sat next to him. He had to admit, the cool air beneath the tree was a welcome change from the heat of the sun. ¡°This is a good spot,¡± he said. The Hookbill continued to shuffle the cards. ¡°What¡¯s amazing?¡± Ian added.


    The Hookbill pointed at a man carrying a felled log in his hands, brow drenched in sweat. ¡°That.¡± Then he pointed at the half-built frame of a house, where a burly carpenter was hammering floorboards into place. ¡°And that.¡± Then, at a woman bellowing instructions at a couple of scrawny lads, barely adults, who scurried off out of sight. ¡°This place is alive. How long has it been now? Two months?¡±


    Ian nodded. ¡°Give or take a day.¡±


    ¡°Two weeks more and the bulk of the work will be done. A quarter of a year, to build a city. Isn¡¯t that fascinating?¡±


    He grunted a response. If he was honest with himself, he wasn¡¯t sure it was all that impressive. On the face of it, three months was a very good turnaround time. But that was with three hundred people working towards the same goal, building to simple specifications designed for the express purpose of throwing up a town as fast as possible, with the carrot on a stick that if no town got built they¡¯d have no home to live in. And it was all temporary, too. Once they had quarries going, and foundries, the houses would be torn down and remade¡ªsome of them, at least¡ªin a more durable design. That would take a lot more than a few months to do. ¡°Everyone has a job to do,¡± he said.


    ¡°Quite,¡± the Hookbill agreed. ¡°And you know, I¡¯d say that¡¯s one of the grand failings of the Unity plan.¡±


    Ian shot him a dirty look. ¡°That everyone has a job?¡±


    ¡°For the time being they do. Look at them all¡ªbusy, busy, busy. They have got a city to build, after all. But what happens when they¡¯re done? Half of the people here are builders, nothing more. What happens to them when there¡¯s nothing to build?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯ll always be something to build.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps that¡¯s true.¡± The Hookbill let his cards drop to the ground. The stack collapsed into a messy pile. ¡°They say that nine in ten people never leave their homeworld. A lot of these people have only known one planet their whole lives. This is a great adventure. And when the thrill of the adventure wears off, they¡¯ll marry, they¡¯ll raise children, they¡¯ll do everything they would have done if there was no such thing as the Unity.¡±


    A gentle gust blew the cards a bit. Ian reached to catch some of those that had strayed the furthest. They were intricate designs, detailed pictures in pink and green and yellow ink. One in particular caught his eye. The King, the most valuable card in the deck. But this particular King was uncharacteristically gruesome¡ªhis eyes bloodshot and tendrils of blood dripping from his severed neck. Ian couldn¡¯t bring himself to look for too long. The King seemed to stare back at him, as if he were pleading to be saved. Ian threw the cards in the Hookbill¡¯s general direction.


    ¡°Tell me about the cards,¡± he said. The Hookbill looked at him, putting the cards into a neat stack again and resuming his shuffle without ever so much as glancing at the deck.


    ¡°It would surprise you how much you can learn, if you know what to look out for. You see Master Holden there?¡± The Hookbill pointed at the master builder, standing amidst the construction, talking to a woman with cropped grey hair. This gave him his place on the Foundational Council and his lordly reevedom. There was nothing untoward about him being present while a town was built around him. And he had nothing to do with cards. ¡°What do you reckon he¡¯s talking about?¡±


    Ian shrugged. ¡°The building, I¡¯d guess.¡±


    ¡°He could be talking about the building, yes. It is his job to oversee the building. But what about the lady with him? She¡¯s wearing a sundress and open-toed shoes. Does she look like she belongs on a building site?¡± Ian supposed not.


    ¡°How does this relate to your cards?¡±


    ¡°I think Master Holden might be conspiring.¡±


    Ian looked at the Hookbill with wide eyes. ¡°Conspiring against who?¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t like to say,¡± the Hookbill said. ¡°But what could be more suspicious than a man holding a private conversation in the one place he knows nobody will listen in to his conversations?¡±


    It made sense. If the woman had worn more suitable clothing, it would have looked like any old boring conversation. Even with her being dressed more for leisure than labour, Ian would have thought nothing was amiss without the Hookbill to prompt him.


    All of a sudden, the Hookbill laughed. ¡°The truth is, Master Holden isn¡¯t conspiring. Nothing of the sort. That¡¯s his lady wife. I doubt they¡¯re saying anything which would be of interest to you or me. But it had you thinking nonetheless. You¡¯ll begin to notice suspicious people everywhere. The two guards you saw having a hushed conversation when you passed them on your way to get a drink. The pretty girl who looks at the floor every time you catch her eye. The woman who always seems to turn up wherever you are. What are they talking about? What do they know? What do they tell their friends when you¡¯ve gone?¡±


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t begin to imagine¡ª¡±


    ¡°Do you know who you won¡¯t notice? The man in the corner, playing cards by himself. He¡¯s minding his own business, he¡¯s out of the way. He doesn¡¯t have any friends. Even if he heard something he isn¡¯t supposed to, who would he tell? This valley is full of secrets, Master Fitzhenry. Keep yours close. Trust nobody unless they give you a reason to trust them.¡±


    The Hookbill stood sluggishly, squeezing the cards into the pocket of his trousers. ¡°Why are you telling me this?¡± Ian asked. ¡°Aren¡¯t you worried I might not be trustworthy?¡±


    ¡°I already know your secrets. The past you buried. You couldn¡¯t hurt me if you wanted to.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know a thing.¡± Ian hoped he sounded confident. Thoughts of Dani floated unbidden to the surface of his mind, and he blinked as though it might drive her away. She was stronger when his eyes were closed.


    ¡°Maybe you¡¯d like to think so. But knowledge is my business, Fitzhenry. I trade in secrets¡ªand I am excellent at what I do.¡±


    George Prendergast fingered his cards. ¡°Everybody has secrets, Fitzhenry. Isn¡¯t it awfully arrogant to think yours are somehow better hidden than anybody else¡¯s? If you bury your darkest hours in a shallow grave, don¡¯t be surprised when they poke through the dirt.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t share her name here,¡± said the Hookbill, his voice a whisper. ¡°You run, Fitzhenry. You run from the things you did.¡±


    Ian shook his head. ¡°Nothing wrong with running.¡±


    ¡°Indeed. Rivers run, and from their running course springs the very heart of civilisation. All that makes us more than mere beast, we owe it to the rivers. But nobody can run forever. Even the river must eventually break its back on the shore of a vast sea.¡±


    Ian grimaced. ¡°I can run far enough.¡±


    ¡°The man is brave,¡± said the Hookbill. ¡°But he is wrong. Essegena is the sea. This is it, Fitzhenry, the farthest edge of the universe. There¡¯s nowhere else to go. Where will you run to, when your ghosts catch up to you?¡±


    ¡°There are no ghosts here.¡± Dani was no more real than Harvis Shatterlance or Tembenel the Weaver or the Knights of the Darkhand, great heroes from the stories. She¡¯d been crafted in the image of a real woman, but a woman long dead. She lived now in Ian¡¯s mind, and nothing more.


    Yet the Hookbill seemed to look directly at the spectre on Ian¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Aren¡¯t there?¡±


    ¡°No. There aren¡¯t.¡±


    Before Ian could respond, the Hookbill was gone. Ian watched him for a while as he weaved between workers. Then he lost sight of him somewhere, and that was that.

 7. She With Emerald Eyes

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Macel ~


    The valley was alive with the smell of cooked meat.


    Word had spread early that morning that there would be festivities of some sort. The Governor was apparently eager to properly welcome everyone to the new colony. There would be food, songs, reverie, all in great plenty. If that hadn¡¯t been enough to goad Macel out, Captain Clifford had arrived to debrief the Advanced Party at mid-day, ready for their assignments to a new position. As he dismissed them, he¡¯d pressed into each person¡¯s hand five heavy coins.


    ¡°Twenty bushels,¡± Sam had exclaimed, as they made their way to the Eia and its cider bars. ¡°Twenty bushels each.¡±


    A man can feed his whole family on twenty bushels a year. It seemed every relative over the age of sixty liked to say that, whenever an occasion brought them to Macel. It wasn¡¯t true anymore, but a hundred bushels was a nice prize nonetheless.


    The bloke in charge of planning the town out had done a good job, if the handful of buildings which had already sprung up were anything to go by. The plaza had taken shape almost overnight. It was a large patch of open ground, soft grass blemished with trees and thick with colourful flowers, surrounded by a hexagon of buildings and timber frames. A bonfire had been set up at one end, near to building with a stuccoed front and barely a frame behind. The fire crackled away noisily as people chatted and danced around the edge.


    ¡°Look at this place,¡± said Sam. ¡°It¡¯ll be crawling with girls.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s about fifty-fifty,¡± said Macel.


    Sam snorted. ¡°Not sure I¡¯ve got the stamina for fifty. Five will do me fine.¡±


    The sun was beginning to disappear behind the hills when they arrived. A small crowd had converged around a hastily-erected hurney pitch, where red-faced men and women battled over the scratch. Macel had once enjoyed hurney. That was before he¡¯d broken his leg in a game, and missed the opportunity to take the summer tabbard to the top of the Merrowain Heights. Corrin Fleck had taken his place, and boasted about it for the next eight years, and Macel hadn¡¯t watched a second of hurney since.


    That was, until Sam nudged him. ¡°Is that Delie?¡±


    She looked barely recognisable on the hurney pitch, hair tied tightly into a ponytail and a sweatband on her forehead. She was running around in a frenzy, from one end to the other, throwing her arms in frustration every time her teammates lost control of the ball or passed it to somebody that wasn¡¯t her. Her eyes were wide anyway, and set into her sweat-drenched face they made her look like a maniac.


    ¡°She never said she was the sporting type,¡± said Macel.


    ¡°It figures though,¡± said Sam. ¡°Have you seen her when she¡¯s changing? Girl¡¯s toned.¡±


    ¡°Field drills can do most of that,¡± said Macel. ¡°A good diet will do the rest.¡±


    Sam cackled. ¡°Exactly why you or I will never look anything like she does,¡± he laughed. ¡°That and the tits. Look, that¡¯s stall¡¯s flogging pints for a copperhead.¡± Sam disappeared into the crowd. Macel didn¡¯t see where he went, so he stayed to watch the game. Delie had received the ball from tawny-skinned Dana Shroot, and knocked down the opposition¡¯s stakes with a well-placed throw of the ball. Macel applauded as Delie¡¯s teammates mobbed her.


    Sam returned just as the game was coming to an end, balancing two pints for each of them, and they meandered away from the pitch, supping. Governor Ballard was stood on the balcony of the big building by the bonfire as they approached, flanked by his wife and a greying man Macel didn¡¯t know. The Governor was dressed in the fineries normally reserved for Commissioners, a liseran sash across a double-breasted jacket of white, and a soft-topped kepi in the same colours. The man at his side wore the same, without the kepi and with white flashes on his sash. The Governor¡¯s wife looked like fire personified, dressed all in red and with a blaze of orange hair atop her head.


    As the sun gave its last light, Governor Ballard raised his hand for silence, the palm pointed out to face the crowd. A hush fell around them in a wave, as people noticed the Governor and fell silent. He smiled at the quiet for a second, then spoke:


    ¡°It¡¯s good to see so many of you here,¡± he said, his voice magnified by a microphone in the grey-haired man¡¯s hand. ¡°Today is a day for us to celebrate. We¡¯re at the beginning of an adventure. We are the history makers, all of us. This town is our town. This world is our world.¡±


    ¡°Not much of a speaker, is he?¡± Matt Grogan had sidled up beside them at some point. ¡°It¡¯s like he¡¯s making the whole thing up on the fly.¡±


    Sam nodded. ¡°I bet he¡¯s nervous. I would be, standing up there with a whole planet watching you. Anyway, as far as I¡¯m concerned his speech can be a steaming crock. He gets a pass from me for this awesome party.¡±


    Macel turned to Sam. ¡°Is it awesome?¡±


    ¡°Did you not see the price of those drinks?¡± Sam shrugged. ¡°What¡¯s not to love? There¡¯s food, there¡¯s women. We even got to see Delie playing scratch. Speaking of, here she comes. What delights has she brought for us?¡±


    Up on the balcony, Governor Ballard was still talking, but Macel had lost interest in what he had to say. Adela, out of her hurney clothes and into something that used less material to cover more of her body, had come with friends. The long-legged blonde had dolled up for the occasion, her lips and cheeks painted a crimson that matched the dress she wore. And there was another. Her hair was as black as her face was pale, braided at her back, and her eyes smiled. His heart skipped.


    Macel had seen her before, on the Eia before they landed. They¡¯d been in one of the bars on the ship, the only two there. Macel had sat watching her for twenty minutes, nursing the same cup of ale, waiting for the right moment to go over to her and introduce himself. The moment never came. She finished her drink and left the bar, and he hadn¡¯t seen her again.


    What were the chances she¡¯d be here with Delie tonight?


    Delie and her friends were only a short walk away, but to Macel it seemed to take forever. He was trying to think of the perfect way to open a conversation with the girl. It quickly turned into overthinking, as he ran a million hypothetical scenarios through his head, most of them involving his first line backfiring and him trying to salvage a failing operation. In the end, he never managed to think of anything clever at all. He was brought out of a daydream he hadn¡¯t noticed himself falling into by Delie, now only two feet away from him, flicking him on the cheek.


    ¡°Oi. Dreamer. Anyone home?¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    Delie rolled her eyes. ¡°You can speak proper words, Macel, it won¡¯t kill you.¡± She pointed at the blonde. ¡°Inge Mjelde.¡±


    ¡°A pleasure,¡± said Inge Mjelde, holding a dainty painted-finger hand out for Macel to shake. The look on her face was one generally reserved for people experiencing the opposite of pleasure, but he figured it was better for his self-esteem if he took her on her word.


    He knew what was next. Delie turned to the other girl, beside her, and Macel wanted to tell her to slow down. I¡¯m not ready yet, he felt like screaming, give me time to think of something clever. Then it was too late.


    ¡°And this is Bessily Edwards.¡± Bessily Edwards said nothing, but blushed a little and looked away.


    ¡°Shit, that man next to the Governor¡¯s a silver fox, isn¡¯t he?¡± said Inge, before the silence could get awkward.


    ¡°Ian Fitzhenry,¡± said Matt Grogan. ¡°Keep away. Word is he killed a girl once.¡±


    Delie raised an eyebrow. ¡°That¡¯s hardly likely.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true,¡± Matt insisted. ¡°He cut her apart. When they found her, he¡¯d sorted all her limbs alphabetically.¡±


    Delie burst out laughing. ¡°You say some ridiculous shit, Matt, you know that?¡±


    That obviously annoyed Matt. He dropped a shoulder and shoved Macel aside as he strode away.


    ¡°Was that you I saw on the hurney pitch?¡± Sam had been chomping at the bit to get to the teasing. ¡°She was good, wasn¡¯t she, Macel?¡±


    Macel nodded, uncertain. ¡°I saw you score.¡±


    ¡°I always do,¡± said Delie, smiling sweetly. ¡°I¡¯m the best.¡±


    ¡°Bollocks,¡± Sam scoffed.


    Delie sighed. ¡°Come on, Inge. Let¡¯s go. You too, Sam.¡±


    ¡°Why me?¡±


    ¡°Are you dense?¡± Macel saw Delie nodding in his direction, and Sam¡¯s silent ¡°oh¡±.


    Before she left, Delie came right up close to Macel, so close she was pressing his nose in with her forehead. ¡°You be good to Bess,¡± she whispered, ¡°she¡¯s had a hard time recently.¡± And then they were gone, and Macel was alone with the girl he was infatuated with.


    That was his in. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± he said. She looked up at him, and he got a good look at her face for the first time. She was pretty in a subtle way¡ªthe kind of woman he liked to think he would have come up with if he was designing his perfect lady, though in reality he knew he would end up designing something far more a caricature of femininity. There was a look of Flossie about her. Flossie Mayborn had been the apple of his eye for many of his formative years. He¡¯d been in love with her before he knew there was such a thing as love, and when he did catch on he realised he¡¯d loved her since they were children. But when they courted in the glades, he found that Flossie Mayborn was a pathetic scrape of a girl.


    As well as being pretty, Bessily looked upset. She wasn¡¯t weeping. Put out was probably the best way to describe it. ¡°What do you mean? Do I look sick?¡± She contorted her neck, examining her body as best she could.


    ¡°You don¡¯t look sick,¡± Macel said. ¡°I only meant... sorry, Delie said you¡¯d been having a hard time. I wanted to know if you were okay. As soon as I¡¯m in front of a pretty girl, I seem to forget how to talk.¡±


    ¡°Am I a pretty girl?¡±


    ¡°Depends.¡±


    ¡°Depends? You¡¯re supposed to say ¡®yes¡¯.¡±


    ¡°Even if it¡¯s not true?¡±


    Bessily recoiled. ¡°Is that how it is?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to need you to define ¡®pretty¡¯,¡± said Macel. ¡°You¡¯re definitely not repulsive.¡±


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Her lip twitched. ¡°Not repulsive.¡± She ran the words around her mouth with a sour look on her face that said she didn¡¯t like the taste. ¡°I¡¯ve had worse,¡± she said, but she looked hurt all the same.


    ¡°I like your name though. Bessily, was it?¡±


    ¡°For the princess. I assume, at least. Mother never said.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± He shuffled his feet.


    Bessily tugged at a strand of hair. ¡°You can call me Bess if you like. It¡¯s shorter.¡±


    ¡°It is,¡± he nodded. ¡°Bess, then.¡± He watched her for a second. Her eyes were like emeralds, he saw, glittering in the firelight. She had a soft face, a young face, the kind that just begged to be stroked. But he couldn¡¯t do that. She wouldn¡¯t like it. Instead, he coughed awkwardly.


    ¡°You never told me your name,¡± she said.


    ¡°Macel. Not for the princess.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of Princess Macel,¡± Bessily frowned.


    He shook his head. ¡°There isn¡¯t one. I was just being funny. Sorry, I¡¯m just confusing you.¡±


    Bessily laughed uncertainly. ¡°Okay then, Macel,¡± she said, a hopeful look in her eyes. ¡°Will you dance with me?¡± The Governor¡¯s speech had finished now, he realised, and somebody had started to play music around the fire. The song being sung was a bawdy one, ¡®The Roving Maiden¡¯, with lyrics that were a little suspect. The tune was upbeat enough. Bessily held out her hand, and he took it gratefully. He was a clumsy dancer, and self-conscious too, but at least he wouldn¡¯t have to speak.


    They danced in place for at least an hour, as the night turned crisp around them. ¡®The Roving Maiden¡¯ gave way to ¡®Fire Eyes¡¯ and ¡®In The Woods¡¯, and several other fast-paced tunes. And then came some slower ones. He¡¯d spent the entirety of ¡®Captain Gable¡¯ getting lost in her eyes, half wanting to kiss her and half afraid to in case he was too early and blew his chance. By the time they stopped, midway through a song he didn¡¯t know about an ancient battle, he was red-faced and doused in sweat. Bess was too.


    She held tightly to his hand as they made their way to the edge of the plaza, to the shade of a skyscraping willow. ¡°Let me get you a drink,¡± he said, as she sat on the floor panting for breath. She answered with a smile. He turned to try and find a drinkseller, but he had no idea where the stall was. Sam had definitely gone off towards the edge of the plaza, but which edge?


    As he wandered the grass perimeter, he caught a glimpse of Tema Caerlin, looking radiant in a dress of aquamarine and with a ribbon of the same colour tied in her blonde tresses. She had a drink in her hand. From the way she was holding herself, she was on the brink of throwing it in the face of Eric Scobie.


    ¡°It¡¯s not happening,¡± she said, as Macel approached.


    Eric either didn¡¯t care or didn¡¯t hear. He reached for her chest, a leer on his face. ¡°Just a quick play,¡± he said, as Tema recoiled from him. He was definitely drunk, moreso than most here. The odour of alcohol was palpable on his breath. No doubt he¡¯d regret this in the morning¡ªif indeed he remembered what he¡¯d done. Macel hurried towards him, so he¡¯d not have chance to go beyond drunken passes.


    A tanned woman stood with Tema slapped Eric hard across the face. He held his hand up to the tender skin. ¡°Oww.¡±


    ¡°She said no, Eric,¡± said Macel, striding between them. ¡°Try somewhere else.¡± Eric scowled at the unwelcome intruder in his night, but staggered away. Macel watched him go, off into the darkness, then turned back to Tema. ¡°Are you okay?¡± he said.


    She nodded. ¡°Took me by surprise, that¡¯s all.¡± Her voice was a little shaky, but she had a smile on her face. If Eric had upset her, she was trying hard not to let it show. It probably wasn¡¯t doing her any favours to dwell on it.


    ¡°I can stick around if you want,¡± said Macel. ¡°In case he comes back.¡±


    ¡°I can manage,¡± said Tema, wrapping an arm around the other woman. ¡°Viola¡¯s got my back.¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re sure.¡± He pointed at her drink, which she was gripping so tightly that the cup was squeezed in around her hand, and the liquid inside nearly pushed to overflow. ¡°Where did you get that? I can¡¯t find a stall.¡±


    ¡°Straight across,¡± said Tema¡¯s friend Viola, pointing at the other side of the plaza, where through a narrow gap in the throng the hand-painted words ¡°pint for a copperhead¡± could be seen.


    Macel thanked Viola and set off again through the crowd. The singer had stopped singing, and now some mournful woodwind had taken his place. The sound was far too weak to keep people dancing, and they¡¯d all begun to resume their chatter. It left the crowd comparatively sedentary. Easier to navigate. He tried to hone in on the tune as he walked. It almost seemed familiar¡ªevery now and then it would swell or quieten and a bar would play that he was sure he knew¡ªbut he couldn¡¯t place it.


    ¡°You¡¯d best not be planning on giving me one of them big ones,¡± said the bloke manning the stall, as Macel approached. ¡°That¡¯s all anyone¡¯s given me all night. It¡¯s taking the piss.¡±


    In fact, Macel had started to take the twenty-bushel coin from his pocket. He dropped it and rummaged for something else. The pockets were nearly barren. He¡¯d been hoping to get change by breaking the twenty. There was just a single copperhead in his pocket, along with a lightly-rusted tink as small as his fingernail.


    He showed the man his coins. ¡°What can I buy for these two?¡±


    ¡°I got a few things,¡± said the man. ¡°Nothing strong, mind.¡±


    Macel came away flush with drinks but shorn of useful money. If Bess wanted anything else, she¡¯d have to find the money herself.


    He wasn¡¯t completely sure where he¡¯d left her, so as he weaved his way through the plaza he looked left and right. And when he made it across to the willow, there was no sign of her. He circled the willow a couple of times, in case he¡¯d somehow missed her, and called her name once. It was a useless gesture. There were so many people about that she¡¯d never hear him calling, and even if she did, he wouldn¡¯t be able to hear her reply.


    After five minutes, he was satisfied that she wasn¡¯t on the ground. She wasn¡¯t dancing, either. The sorrowful woodwind hadn¡¯t let up. She could be anywhere. Fantastic, he thought, I¡¯ve scared her off. Bessily wasn¡¯t the first girl who¡¯d scarpered at the first opportunity.


    He found her by happenstance, at the far edge of the plaza. He¡¯d begun to search for his friends, for Sam or Delie, when he spotted Bessily leaning against a half-built wall of freshly quarried stone, half asleep. She perked up as he approached.


    ¡°I thought you weren¡¯t coming back,¡± she said. ¡°You were gone a long time.¡±


    ¡°You moved.¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°You¡¯re here now.¡± She reached forward and grabbed one of the drinks from his hand. There was a little tiny drinking straw in the bottle, the kind that screams out ¡®drink me slowly¡¯. This was advice ignored by Bess, who threw it aside and drained half the drink in a single gulp. A second later, she spat it to the ground. ¡°What is this?¡±


    ¡°Vilsa juice,¡± he said.


    ¡°Vilsa juice? There¡¯s no alcohol in vilsa juice. How can I get drunk on vilsa juice?¡±


    ¡°Who says you need to get drunk?¡±


    The suggestion left Bess looking scandalised. ¡°Where¡¯s the fun in that?¡±


    It really depended on what she meant by fun. ¡°The juice is refreshing,¡± he said. ¡°And it¡¯s good for you.¡±


    ¡°Alcohol¡¯s good for me,¡± Bess retorted, but her heart wasn¡¯t in it. She took a demure sip from her remaining half a drink, then smiled weakly. ¡°Sorry, I wasn¡¯t trying to be rude. I¡¯m used to drinking, is all. Helps me forget I¡¯ve got no-one to talk to.¡±


    Macel sat down beside her. ¡°You can talk to me, if you want.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d like that.¡±


    Lost in idle chatter they drifted away from the party, through the ghostly shells of the unfinished town and towards the eastern edge, where the valley rose into clear glades. The air was cool here. A sharp breeze blew, throwing their hair into their faces and chilling them. Bess, clearly possessed of more forethought, had a small fur-lined jacket on. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was more than Macel had, and he couldn¡¯t help but envy her for it. Even with it on, she shivered every now and then.


    As they passed beneath a tree bearded by shredded bark, the most awful cacophony rang out above them. A bird, a magnificent specimen with a peaked bill and soft rose down, was raging from its nest. The reason was plain to see. Its baby, freshly hatched to judge from the cracked eggshell all around, had fallen from the nest. It lingered in the thick knot of a stooped branch, wings flapping impotently, a mournful chirping escaping its mouth.


    The knot was slightly too high to reach, but that made no odds to Bess. She was halfway up the tree, shinning like a cat, before Macel had a chance to react. Her feet, shorn of impractical shoes, curled around thin branches that buckled with her weight. Macel had visions of the whole thing coming down around her.


    ¡°Give me a hand,¡± she called to him. ¡°Prop me up.¡±


    ¡°Come on down, Bess, you¡¯ll hurt yourself.¡±


    She stubbornly pressed on higher. ¡°The poor thing¡¯s stuck,¡± she said. She had her hand fully in the knot. The baby bird was chattering away while its mother raised hell again, but Bess was not deterred. A few seconds later, something gave, and the baby came away in her hand. She lifted it up, into the nest, and at once its mother came over to make a fuss of it, picking at its feathers with her beak. ¡°It¡¯s the sap,¡± said Bess. ¡°It¡¯s so sticky. It¡¯s all on my hands, look.¡± She waggled a hand at Macel, and in the same instant lost her balance.


    ¡°Bess!¡± Macel had no time to run to catch her. It all happened in the same second, Bess stumbling and Bess falling and Bess landing on the ground like a crumpled puppet. When he got to her she was in a foetal position, scrunched tightly to the ground. ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    She kicked out a leg. ¡°I think so,¡± she said. The leg was bleeding, a thick serpent of red tracing the flesh, but she could move it okay. With his help she got to her feet. She was a touch uneven, but in general she could move. She hobbled along abashed for a little while. Then she laughed. ¡°You must think I¡¯m an absolute klutz,¡± she said, between giggles.


    ¡°Would it offend you if I said yes?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t get offended.¡± Bess swayed as she walked, and stumbled into Macel¡¯s arms. He held her there until she thought to stand, laughing all the while.


    By the time they reached the crest of the hill, he was comfortable in her company. They¡¯d discussed the long journey to the new world. Bess was full of stories of her days working in the stables, and her nights rooming with Delie. Macel liked the way Bess told stories. There was a sense of wonder in her voice whenever she spoke, like she was a child discovering the story for the first time herself.


    They found a patch of grass, flat, between two spindly trees with yellow-brown trunks. Little chattering rodents flitted from one tree to the other, pausing on hind legs to observe the intruders in their domain. ¡°They¡¯re sweet,¡± said Bess. ¡°I want one.¡±


    From this vantage, they could see the entire valley. The party in the plaza seemed like a peaceful candleglow. In the distance, Macel could see the huge waterfall that cascaded down the cliffs on the valley¡¯s northern edge to feed the Clearwater. The terrain at that edge of the valley was harsher, sheer rock faces and jagged boulders popping up in place of the friendly hills and gentle slopes they¡¯d settled on as their home.


    ¡°It¡¯s nicer here,¡± said Bess.


    Macel frowned. ¡°How do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you feel it? Down in the valley, it¡¯s... heavy, I suppose. Like something¡¯s pressing down on you. Not so much that you can¡¯t enjoy yourself, but when it lifts it¡¯s like being set free. Oh, you must have felt it.¡±


    He shook his head. ¡°I didn¡¯t feel a thing.¡± Except for the blister that was forming where his boot had rubbed, but that wasn¡¯t really relevant to the discussion at hand.


    Bess laughed. ¡°I¡¯m going mad,¡± she said. ¡°Mad Bess.¡± She lay back suddenly, resting her head on his leg with her head tilted to gaze at the sky above. ¡°Look at the stars. They¡¯re so different to home.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the same stars,¡± said Macel. ¡°We¡¯re just looking at them differently.¡±


    ¡°A whole new perspective. Perhaps my parents should come here¡ªa new perspective would do them some good.¡±


    His ears pricked up. Bess had wanted somebody to talk to, but thus far they¡¯d only made disposable small-talk. This was the first time he¡¯d heard her mention something real. All of a sudden, he wasn¡¯t sure what to do with his hands. They were just hanging there, useless. They ought to be comforting her somehow. He started to stroke her hair, just gently with the tip of his finger. It was soft, like black velvet. Flossie Mayborn¡¯s hair had been soft, too, silk in his hands.


    Bess murmured something, too softly for him to hear. Was she asking him to stop maybe? If she was, she didn¡¯t ask again. ¡°I used to have a sister,¡± she said, with a sigh. ¡°Do you have any sisters?¡±


    ¡°Just the one,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s my mother¡¯s greatest regret. Girls are untrustworthy, if you ask her, and too prone to corrupting their bodies with pleasure. My mother¡¯s not a very nice person. In any case, Tanis is with the Temple now, a sworn sister. So in a manner of speaking, I¡¯m an only child.¡±


    Quiet fell then. For a few seconds he could hear nothing but the breaths Bess took and the sound of a small animal scurrying in the grass nearby. Then she spoke. ¡°I suppose I am too. Elly was only three when...¡± She went very quiet then, and Macel saw her stiffen. He put a hand on hers and took in the silence. It felt nice just to be with her. He¡¯d never felt that with a girl before. Usually he was scrambling for something to say, until he¡¯d spoken for too long and driven her away.


    Perhaps I should kiss her, he thought. But would it be appreciated? Wouldn¡¯t it be better to wait for her to lean into the kiss? That way at least he¡¯d know she wanted it. He stayed still for a small eternity in that little heaven, just caressing her hand and letting the indescribable fragrance of her hair lap at him. He could have stayed there even longer.


    The stars transported him a million miles away, to the Heights, to a memory. His parents had been disappointed when he¡¯d come back, unbetrothed to Flossie. They¡¯d been matched beneath an open sky, as they always used to say. He¡¯d asked his father once how he¡¯d know he was happy. ¡°When I was with your mother,¡± his father had said, ¡°there was a moment when I knew I wanted to kiss her.¡±


    ¡°And how did you know she wanted to be kissed?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t,¡± was father¡¯s response. ¡°But it was worth the chance.¡±


    Was Bessily worth the chance? He squeezed her palm, and looked over to her.


    I guess I¡¯ll never know, he thought. Bessily had fallen asleep, bathed in slender moonlight. He watched her every aspect¡ªthe curve of her breasts as they rose and fell, the way her nose twitched as she dreamed, the gentle swaying of her hair in the breeze. He watched until he fell into a sleep of his own.

 8. Two Sisters

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Tema ~


    At the edge of the plaza, beyond the heat of the bonfire, the night had a chill. Tema wrapped her arms tightly around herself and cursed her choice of attire. The dress was a favourite of hers, something she¡¯d clung to for years. A light blue number, taffeta, with a ruffled bodice. She remembered the day she¡¯d bought it, just a little after her twentieth birthday. Remembered the way her heart thumped. The girl who rang her up was so sweet, gushing about how cute Tema would look in it, but Tema could only stare at her feet and blush like a tomato.


    She¡¯d run all the way home so she could try the dress on. It didn¡¯t fit right then, but she hadn¡¯t cared. She¡¯d fallen asleep in it. For at least half a year, she¡¯d put it on every evening when she got home from work. ¡°I¡¯ll wear this to a party one day,¡± she¡¯d promised herself.


    Now, with the cold air biting at her bare legs, she regretted that promise.


    The party was enjoyable, as they go. Alcohol had been made available in great plenty, pints for a copperhead, and Viola and Cherry had made the most of it. Their conversation had devolved into a series of giggles which were a language to themselves. But the language was impenetrable to the sober mind, and Tema had barely drunk a drop. At Viola¡¯s insistence, she¡¯d had one drink. That was as far as she was prepared to go. She¡¯d spent years preparing for this moment, making sure she was ready. She could do her make-up as well as any girl on Essegena. Through hundreds of hours of practice she could speak with an effortless soprano. And she could do all this perfectly fine while she was sober.


    She hadn¡¯t tried while drunk. When she was younger, she knew, her voice went deeper when she was drunk. What if that happened again? What if her carefully-cultivated pretty image was shattered by a moment of baritone, and she didn¡¯t even remember it come the morning? No, nobody here knew who she was. It was better not to take the risk.


    So she stood with her paralytic friends, and nursed a cup of water. Over by the fire, a soldier kept meeting her gaze. He¡¯d come to her once already, begged her to dance with him. She¡¯d had to fight an urge to laugh in his face. She¡¯d turned him down, flattered nonetheless, and thought that might be the end of it. But he just kept on looking. Why couldn¡¯t he get the message? She looked at her friends. Cherry was laughing so hard her face matched the scarlet of her dress. Blessed with large teeth, she could never fully close her mouth. She¡¯d leaned into it¡ªalways laughing or beaming with mouth wide open. Viola, slight and small, had always a golden glow behind her face, and eyes that shone like sunlight. Her hair was beautiful, the stuff of envy. She had somehow come into possession of a bottle of some spirit or other, which she was in the process of downing. Overflow spilled down her neck.


    ¡°That¡¯s enough.¡± Tema reached over and prised the bottle from Viola¡¯s hands. She let it fall to the ground, and looked around the plaza. The soldier kept looking her way. He was going to come over to her again sooner or later, she could feel it, and neither of her friends was in a fit state to back her up this time. Suddenly, an idea came to her mind. ¡°Come on,¡± she said, pulling Viola along with her, and walked directly towards the soldier. The man looked as though his greatest prayers had come true.


    Viola muttered something inaudible, and descended into laughter again. Tema just squeezed her arm a bit tighter and walked on. As she grew closer, the soldier¡¯s grin grew wider, and she began to doubt herself. What was she doing? This was going to go completely wrong. She had visions of him getting what he wanted, plying her with drinks until she thought it was a good idea to take off her dress and show him what she had underneath. And then he¡¯d beat her silly and she¡¯d have to crawl to the hospital.


    ¡°Changed your mind?¡± said the soldier, loud enough that a couple of people next to him looked his way. Tema shook her head.


    ¡°She¡¯s had too much,¡± she said, indicating Viola. ¡°A couple of you soldiers should help her to the hospital, make sure she gets there safely.¡± The soldier looked put out, so she added: ¡°It would be a very noble gesture. Girls love noble gestures.¡±


    That seemed to settle it. The soldier nudged his mate, who had been sat by the fireside, paying Tema no mind, and whispered something in his ear. The way they staggered about, Tema was half-expecting one of them to lose their balance and fall into the bonfire. That didn¡¯t happen, but the two soldiers did take Viola¡¯s arms. They walked with her towards the Eia, and Tema took a deep breath as they left.


    She thought about rejoining Cherry, but there was no point. Cherry had found a man from somewhere and was locking faces with him. So Tema sat down on the wooden stool vacated by the soldier¡¯s mate. The flames were close enough to have an effect. Her legs were warm for the first time since Governor Ballard had finished speaking.


    Looking into the fire, her mind began to wander to thoughts of that soldier. She was a woman, young and single. She was supposed to want to find a man. She¡¯d had no hesitation in turning him down. Part of that was fear, she knew. Drunk, horny soldiers were unlikely to take her as she was. Why take a chance? But surely she should have been disappointed to have to reject him? She was flattered he¡¯d sought her out¡ªher and not any of the other women here¡ªbut repulsed by the thought of what he wanted to do with her.


    Would Tasha have been repulsed by it? She¡¯d always measured herself up to her sister. The woman she¡¯d been in her dreams was made in the image of Tasha, and that was the image Tema had worked to reflect. Tasha always liked to talk about how she really wanted a little sister. That was when it was convenient. As soon as Tema¡¯s life had become an awkward reality, Tasha¡¯s true colours had come through. The sisters had not spoken since.


    It was better that way.


    Things would have been different were Aunt Danyer still living. Aunt Danyer knew everything, understood everything, could explain everything. By the love they both bore for their aunt, Tema and Tasha would have been bound together until the old wounds healed over. Instead their paths had diverged, and never again the twain shall meet.


    The fire crackled an elegy for those happier times. Tema sipped at her water and tried to pretend it was something better-tasting.


    ¡°Excuse me,¡± came a deep voice behind her. She stiffened. Surely the soldier couldn¡¯t have got back already.


    ¡°I¡¯m not interested,¡± she said, turning around. ¡°I thought I made that quite clear.¡±


    A familiar face smiled at her. ¡°Relax,¡± said Oliver Wrack, the very last man she wanted to see here. He held his hand up in front of her face, wiggling the fingers to show off a gold ring. ¡°You know I¡¯m married!¡± A smile creased a scrappy moustache.


    Her breathing was suddenly a lot heavier. She¡¯d come to the far end of the known universe to be free of the past. For nearly a week she¡¯d thought it had worked. People took her as she was now, not as she was a decade ago, and it was a refreshing change. But that had come to an abrupt end. It wasn¡¯t even like it was someone she¡¯d met once. No, it had to be her brother-in-law. And if Oliver was here, Tasha was sure to be somewhere.


    She could feel tears starting to run down her face, smearing her make-up. A few words from Oliver and she¡¯d be an outcast here as well. Why must they have come here? Why couldn¡¯t they find their own colony?


    Oliver smiled. ¡°There¡¯s no need to cry, Tema. I¡¯m glad I¡¯ve found you.¡±


    ¡°What do you want?¡±


    ¡°To talk to you. If you¡¯ll let me. We didn¡¯t exactly end on good terms last time, I know, and I¡¯m sorry. But I¡¯ve grown since then. Tash has too.¡±


    ¡°Tasha¡¯s here?¡± She looked around frantically, in case her sister was hiding behind a tree or something.


    Oliver chuckled. ¡°She¡¯s not at the party, no. She¡¯s not the type for mindless drinking.¡±


    That much was certainly true. Even before, Tash had judged Tema for enjoying a drink. Parties were a social game for her, nothing more, and there was nothing to be won at a frenzy like this.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t told Tasha you¡¯re here,¡± Oliver said. ¡°But I know she¡¯s got a lot to tell you.¡± He held out a hand. ¡°So, how about it?¡±


    For a second, she felt like telling him to get lost. That would feel good, for sure, but it wouldn¡¯t really help her out. There wasn¡¯t anything left for her to do at the party, and the soldier would probably be back to bother her eventually. So she forced a smile she wasn¡¯t really feeling. ¡°Okay,¡± she said, taking the offered hand. Oliver pulled her to her feet, and began to walk away from the fire.


    ¡°Hold up,¡± she said, trying to keep pace with him. ¡°You¡¯re walking too fast.¡± He stopped and turned to her.


    ¡°Those shoes can¡¯t be helping you out,¡± he said. ¡°They don¡¯t look at all comfortable.¡± They were leather lined with velvet, the same shade of blue as her dress, with cute bows on the toes and heels four inches high. She could walk in them, just barely, but she couldn¡¯t run.


    ¡°They go with my dress,¡± she said.


    Oliver rolled his eyes. ¡°I will never understand the way a woman¡¯s mind works,¡± he said. ¡°You and Tash are two peas.¡±


    Tema grimaced. ¡°I never liked peas that much.¡±


    It didn¡¯t take long for the party to be far behind them. The songs and smoke gave way to a narrow street lined with wooden buildings in various stages of construction. The way they were packed, a stray spark from the bonfire would be all it would take to burn the whole place down. It shouldn¡¯t happen. There were dozens of safeguards that should have been put in place. All the same, Tema was quite happy to be sleeping aboard ship. It was safer aboard ship. The metal walls of her chambers would never catch fire.


    ¡°How did you know to look for me?¡± she asked.


    ¡°You have an uncommon name,¡± said Oliver. ¡°I heard the Governor¡¯s wife talking about a Doctor Caerlin, and you find me a Caerlin that¡¯s not related to my Tash.¡± It had been eight years, and she still found herself wincing every time she heard her sister¡¯s name. Oliver must have seen, because he stopped walking and put his hands on her shoulders. ¡°She never hated you. You need to understand that.¡±


    ¡°She said I was unnatural. That I was ruining her wedding just by being there. Or did you miss that part?¡±


    He shook his head. ¡°I never said she wasn¡¯t wrong to do that. But you know, she spent the whole honeymoon crying. Because she hated how she¡¯d behaved. Can you imagine how upset a person would have to be to go to Icewind and not enjoy the sights?¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t feel sorry for her,¡± said Tema. ¡°However upset she was, I was ten times worse. She was family, and all I had left.¡±


    ¡°She still is,¡± said Oliver.


    The conversation wavered. ¡°Will you excuse me for a second?¡± said Tema. ¡°Lady problems.¡± She dashed behind a nearby tree¡ªa squat, leafy thing with a solid trunk and a thick canopy that seemed designed to hide in for a second. She pushed her way beneath the leaves, and was surprised to find a spacious den there. If she looked through at exactly the right angle, she could just about see Oliver¡ªin fairness, he was stood with his back to her. In this spot, he probably wouldn¡¯t have been able to see anything even if he¡¯d tried to peep.


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    While she crouched beneath the tree, far from dignified, she thought back to the last time she¡¯d seen Tash. Nervous as she was, she thought her sister of all people would understand. And she¡¯d walked home embarrassed and drenched from the pond she¡¯d been pushed into.


    She wasn¡¯t really sure she wanted to talk to Tash now.


    But there were only so many people here. She could slip away from Oliver now, yes, but eventually she¡¯d bump into Tasha. All the things she hadn¡¯t said would come out eventually.


    Oliver turned to face her as she approached. ¡°All better?¡± he said, that stupid smile on his face. It almost looked friendly.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to get jumped, am I?¡±


    He looked affronted. ¡°What sort of man do you think I am? This is home.¡± He was pointing at a slightly fancier wooden building than the others. It was built at the foot of one of the valley¡¯s slopes, in the shade of two taller trees like the one she¡¯d sheltered under. And it was far from finished. The windows were just holes cut roughly into the wooden walls.


    A low fence ran along the perimeter of the house¡¯s land. There was enough space to make a decent garden, but at the moment it was occupied only by tree stumps and a few patches of whatever passed for grass on this planet. A man with a gun leaned against the fence. A soldier. He wore a black overcoat, with the emblem of a white horse embroidered on the breast. The Caerlin mark.


    ¡°Evening, Master Wrack,¡± the man said, as they approached. ¡°You found the lady then.¡±


    ¡°I did indeed, Jon,¡± said Oliver. The man¡ªJon, as Oliver had called him¡ªlooked Tema up and down, and grunted something that sounded like an approval. His was a weathered face, gaunt cheekbones framing tired flesh. Once, his hair might have matched the dark brown of his eyes. Even by the dim light of night, Tema could see the grey. Tema watched him out of the corner of her eye as she walked past, but he didn¡¯t seem interested. ¡°Perks of being somebody important,¡± Oliver explained. ¡°We get our own security.¡±


    ¡°Why does he have the horse on his uniform?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you recognise it? It¡¯s your family¡¯s mark. Tash wanted us to take it on. I take it that¡¯s okay with you?¡±


    Tema nodded. She wasn¡¯t going to use it. Somebody else might as well.


    The house still smelled brand new. Inside and outside alike were unpolished and unpainted wood, with little in the way of decoration. Some of the pencil measurements were still visible on the walls. ¡°Excuse the emptiness,¡± said Oliver. ¡°This is only a temporary house. We can pretty things up when we have a more permanent structure.¡±


    The floor was a bare hardwood, the sort which amplified the sound of every footstep. They¡¯d not gone four paces past the threshold when a pair of clacking heels started towards them. Attached to the heels was a pale maid in a dress of forest green. She emerged from one of the small side doors of the house¡¯s hallway, across from the stairs. She was pretty, Tema noticed. Her hair was a similar shade of blonde to Tema¡¯s, but it suited her ghost-white skin much better. And it was far longer, almost down to the small of her back. Tema¡¯s barely touched her shoulders.


    ¡°I¡¯ve just put the coffee on for the Lady,¡± the maid said, her voice a bird¡¯s song from soft pink lips. ¡°Should I make some more?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t realise hot drinks were your responsibility, Eva. Is Mam Argent not here? Or little Nickie?¡±


    Eva shook her head. ¡°The Lady let Nickie go to the big party. Mam Argent went to bed after she served the dinner.¡±


    Oliver nodded. ¡°I suppose it is quite late. In that case, make mine something stronger, Eva. There should be some absinthe in the liquor cabinet.¡± He looked at Tema, and Eva did too.


    She tried to put on a gracious smile. ¡°That would be great, thanks.¡± Eva curtsied and scuttled back through the door she¡¯d come from. At least, Tema thought it was the same door. The house¡¯s main hallway was huge, a corridor opening out into a soaring foyer that stretched four stories into the sky. Half a dozen different doors opened into this foyer, on the ground floor alone.


    Oliver walked across to the nearest door. It was slightly ajar, and a faint light was coming through from the other side. He pushed it gently. ¡°Honey,¡± he called.


    ¡°Oliver?¡± came the reply, the voice one Tema knew so very well. She cringed now to hear it. ¡°Where have you been?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got a present for you.¡± He waved Tema over. She followed him through into the room. It was a sitting room, or at least it would be when it was finished and furnished. At the moment it was a bare room with a couple of carved chairs and a table. Tash was sat with her back to the door, reading in the light of a small lantern resting on the table. Brown tresses hung down. Tash had always been proud of her hair¡ªproud of the fact that she didn¡¯t have to do anything with it to be the envy of the village. Tema waited in the doorway while Oliver rushed to Tash and gave her a peck on the cheek.


    ¡°Eva¡¯s making coffee,¡± Tash said, turning to pull Oliver into a hug. Her face had filled out since last time Tema had seen her. Back then, Tasha had been thin everywhere. She¡¯d taken on a healthier weight now, fat resting on her cheeks to give them a bounce.


    He nodded. ¡°We¡¯ve seen her.¡±


    ¡°We?¡± Tash looked confused for a second. Then she seemed to catch sight of Tema for the first time. She froze in place, staring directly at the door. ¡°Oliver, who is this?¡±


    For a second Tema thought about leaving. Her heart was thumping a million times a minute, and her throat was suddenly dry. It wasn¡¯t far to go¡ªa couple of steps and she¡¯d be out of the door. Surprise alone would give her enough of a headstart to beat Oliver out. But she felt a firm hand on her shoulder. ¡°Don¡¯t run,¡± Oliver whispered in her ear. ¡°It¡¯ll only be harder next time.¡±


    She swallowed hard. ¡°Hiya Tash,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ve changed a bit.¡±


    And there it was. The faintest flicker of recognition. Tash¡¯s eyes widened, and her mouth bobbed open and closed a few times without any sound coming out. ¡°You were serious, weren¡¯t you? I thought you were just joking with me.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not my humour, Tash.¡±


    Oliver took a seat beside Tash, and spoke curtly to her: ¡°don¡¯t be so standoffish.¡±


    ¡°Well, what do you want me to say?¡± she snapped. ¡°Dresses don¡¯t make a woman.¡±


    ¡°Being a woman does, though.¡±


    ¡°And there¡¯s only one woman here, two if you count Eva.¡±


    Oliver leaned back, away from Tash, so no part of them was touching. ¡°I think you¡¯re being rude now,¡± he said. ¡°I look at her, and I see a woman. Tema, am I right? Are you a woman?¡±


    Tema nodded. ¡°I am.¡±


    ¡°There we go,¡± Oliver scolded, a hard edge rising in his voice. ¡°Looks like a duck, quacks like a duck. I thought it would be a nice thing for you to see your sister again, Tash. I thought I was doing a nice thing for my wife. But I don¡¯t expect Tema¡¯s going to stay here for much longer if you¡¯re gonna keep insulting her very being. I wouldn¡¯t blame her if she never thinks to come back.¡±


    ¡°Who do you think you are to lecture me?¡± Tash¡¯s voice was raised. It always went whiny when she shouted, like an instrument out of tune. ¡°You¡¯re my husband.¡±


    ¡°Yes. I¡¯m your husband. Which means I¡¯ve shared your bed every single night for the past eight years. You¡¯re always saying how much you want to have your family back. Well, there she is¡ªthe only family you¡¯ve got, and you¡¯re driving her away.¡± It made Tema a little bit uncomfortable, having Oliver¡¯s quivering finger pointed her way while he made his point. But it worked a treat. Tash¡¯s hardened face melted as tears pressed their way to the surface


    ¡°Can I start again?¡±


    Tema wanted to tell her ¡®no¡¯, to leave and never come back. Tasha was as rude as she¡¯d expected. But she wasn¡¯t even close to finding a husband. Tasha was the only family she had.


    At Oliver¡¯s encouragement, Tema ran as fast as her shoes would let her, across the room to Tash, who stood to meet her in a hug. ¡°Of course you can, Tash.¡±


    ¡°Where have you been? I wanted to say sorry for the wedding, but they said you¡¯d moved out of your house. Oh, I thought I¡¯d never find you.¡± She released Tema, and gestured to the chairs. ¡°Sit down, sit down. We need to talk.¡±


    ¡°We do,¡± Tema affirmed. ¡°And I think we should start with the apology.¡±


    ¡°Yes. Yes. I was a beast. You¡¯re my... uh, my little sister. I¡¯m supposed to be kind to you. I¡¯m sorry, Tema. For every way I wronged you.¡± Tash shuddered, as though physically repulsed by the words. ¡°I¡¯ve never been good at apologising.¡±


    Oliver gave Tema a nod, hidden from Tash¡¯s eye line. I won¡¯t let her say those things again. Still, Tash did not deserve Tema¡¯s affections. She deserved to rot alone. But Tema was a fool, and romantic at heart, and it would be nice to have the old Tash back in her life. She reached across the table, squeezed Tash¡¯s hand. ¡°You¡¯re good enough for me.¡± For a while then, they said nothing. It was enough to be able to look at her sister, and see love in her eyes. She¡¯d thought up so many things to say if she ever saw Tash again. Somehow, none of them seemed appropriate.


    The door opened and Eva the maid came in, carrying a tray full of coffee and cakes. She set them down on the table and started to leave the room. ¡°Oh, Eva,¡± called Tasha, ¡°are you turning in for the night?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d like to, Mistress Wrack. If that¡¯s okay.¡±


    Tash nodded. ¡°Can you do me one last favour before you go?¡±


    ¡°Of course, Mistress Wrack.¡±


    ¡°The blanket, please.¡±


    Tema looked at her sister. ¡°It¡¯s not that cold, is it?¡±


    Tash laughed. ¡°You tell me, you¡¯re the one with bare legs. I¡¯m going to have to teach you how to dress for the weather. No, it¡¯s not too cold. But you¡¯ll like this, I promise you.¡±


    The blanket had clearly not been stored far away. It couldn¡¯t have been a minute before Eva was back with it. It was a thick grey wool, the kind that would be so cosy to snuggle under on a cold winter¡¯s day. And it was so soft to the touch. ¡°It¡¯s wonderful,¡± Tema said.


    Oliver laughed. ¡°Open it out,¡± he said. So she did. It was a little too big for the table, so as she unfolded it the edges slipped down the side, brushing against her legs. And in the middle was a white horse.


    ¡°We had it custom-made,¡± said Tasha. ¡°And yes, Aunt Danyer would love it. We¡¯re thinking it would make something of a family heirloom. What do you reckon?¡±


    Tema agreed. ¡°Yes, it would. You just need to have some children now to pass it down to.¡±


    Tash patted her belly gently. ¡°We¡¯ve been working on that. That¡¯s one of the things I wanted to say.¡±


    It took a few seconds for Tema to put the pieces together. When she did, her eyes widened. ¡°Are you?¡±


    Tash nodded slowly. ¡°Three months to go. Then we¡¯ll have to start calling you Auntie Tema.¡±


    She could feel her face flush. She fanned herself with her hand. And it was Tash¡¯s turn to reach across the table and squeeze her hand tightly. ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re here, Tema. I want you to be a big part of her life.¡±


    ¡°Her?¡±


    ¡°Or his. I don¡¯t know. I haven¡¯t been for a scan yet.¡± Tash picked up one of the cakes from the table and bit into it. It made Tema hungry. When had she last eaten? She couldn¡¯t remember¡ªbefore the party started.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you pop to the hospital tomorrow? I¡¯ll be working all afternoon, I could take care of it for you.¡±


    Tash nodded. ¡°Yeah. That would be nice. Now, help us eat these cakes. Mam Argent is a wonderful baker.¡±


    And Tasha wasn¡¯t wrong. The cakes were excellent, as was the coffee. And they talked and laughed, just like old times, until every last crumb was gone. And then they talked and laughed some more.


    Oliver departed at some point, retiring to bed, and then it was only Tema and Tasha. They¡¯d not talked like this for decades. It felt for a few minutes like they were back in the little shack in the woods, watching Jaina slave away over a kitchen fire. They¡¯d been such awful gossips when they were both small. The curse of adulthood had taken that away. In those innocent days they¡¯d stayed out in the grove till the late hours of the evening. Goodwife Jaina usually had to come chasing after them, bashing her metal pots together and chasing them out of the grove. What a giggle they had. The game was to try and get indoors and cleaned up around the dinner table before Goody Jaina got back inside. Afterwards they¡¯d sit together by the hearth in downy nightwear, hot milk and butter crackers for both of them, and yawn away until they were sent to bed.


    Here there was no hot milk and butter crackers, and no downy nightwear. Only the yawning. When it started to get in the way of their chatter, Tema stood to leave. ¡°It¡¯s time I went,¡± she said. ¡°I do have to work tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°Not without a hug,¡± said Tash, standing herself. The blanket fell to the ground. Tash pulled Tema in tightly for the hug. She smelled of chamomile, no doubt from the perfume she always wore. At this stage, her sweat probably smelled of chamomile. She squeezed Tema. ¡°Are those real tits? I thought you¡¯d just filled a bra with tissue paper.¡±


    ¡°The girls are all natural, Fr¨¦reves be thanked.¡± The hug dissipated, and Tema took a step back.


    Tasha looked at Tema. ¡°I¡¯m glad you came. It¡¯s nice to see my brother again.¡±


    It was as if time had stopped still, and sent the ground tumbling beneath Tema¡¯s feet. She¡¯d had her hopes up. Tasha had promised to be better, and she¡¯d believed her. More fool her, apparently. ¡°I¡¯m not your brother,¡± she said.


    ¡°Course you are,¡± said Tasha. ¡°We used to bath together, remember? I¡¯ve seen everything you have.¡±


    That was it. Tema started running, face turned away so Tasha wouldn¡¯t see the tears and think she¡¯d won. Her heels clopped heavy on the wooden floor. ¡°I¡¯m your sister,¡± she wanted to say, ¡°and if you don¡¯t want to accept that then we can be strangers again instead.¡± Instead she murmured something vague and incomprehensible, and wondered why the tears hadn¡¯t started yet. I used to cry so easily. Why can¡¯t I cry anymore?

 9. Mama

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Tasha ~


    Tasha watched the stars with a tear in her eye. She was out in the yard around the house, sat on a makeshift bench she¡¯d made by draping a stray plank in blankets. The cold air of the night stole through her clothes as though they weren¡¯t there.


    What a fine fool I am.


    Tema had left without a goodbye, and Tasha hadn¡¯t even begged her to stay. It wasn¡¯t like she¡¯d meant to cause offence. Tema needed to understand that it was hard for Tasha. She¡¯d grown up with a brother. It didn¡¯t matter how womanly Tema looked, how sultry Tema sounded, that imprint of memory was hard to shake away.


    But whether she¡¯d meant to or not, she¡¯d upset Tema, and she hadn¡¯t even tried to explain herself. Like a prime idiot, she¡¯d just stayed put, as the pretty girl before her ran tearful into the night. Tema was pretty. She hadn¡¯t expected that. The last time they¡¯d seen one another, Tema¡¯s hair had been short but shaggy, and no amount of caked foundation had covered the blue stubble over her lip. Their estrangement had been kind to Tema. She¡¯d blossomed into a lovely woman. They could have rekindled their relationship, shared the happiness of the old times again. If only she hadn¡¯t been so abrasive.


    Oliver always said she was brash. ¡°If you had a bit more tact, you¡¯d have more friends.¡± Honest, she described herself. And usually she was. Tonight, if anything she¡¯d been bitter.


    She¡¯d been yawning while she was talking with Tema, but when she was alone somehow she¡¯d found that she wasn¡¯t all that tired anymore. Without meaning to, she¡¯d found a comfortable spot outside, and lay there, on her back, watching the stars. Something about the sky unnerved her. The constellations she¡¯d grown up with, the familiar formations, did not exist here. There were different constellations, shapes nobody had seen yet. Where the Belaboran sky had been home to a big pink moon, this planet had two, sisters in green and beige. She¡¯d never seen a dual moon before.


    Essegena was a world all alone. She¡¯d seen Oliver¡¯s charts, read Oliver¡¯s briefings. In this whole solar system, orbiting around a star more remote than most, there was only one solitary planet and its two sister-moons.


    Tasha wondered what it would be like, to be a planet in the depths of space, with no celestial bodies for company save the sun you orbited. Like a young girl, with no siblings or cousins, nobody to love her but the mother who gave her life.


    They said this was the edge of space, but surely that couldn¡¯t be true. She¡¯d always been told that space was infinite. There were hundreds of thousands of stars up there, each one impossibly massive and yet so small from down here. How small must Tasha have been to them?


    They¡¯d grown up in a fancy manor, her and Tema, but the family¡¯s well of money was long since dry. Over the years, sections of the house had been closed away. The less they lived in, the less they¡¯d have to spend on bills. By the time Tasha was born, the Caerlin family lived in just four of their home¡¯s thousand rooms.


    Once, when she was five or six, she¡¯d broken into a forbidden portion of the house. It hadn¡¯t been occupied for years. Birds had nested in the hallway, but they¡¯d long gone, leaving behind only a few twigs. The walls were lined with portraits. She lost track of time, gazing at the men and women and children in their regal finery, imagining, and old Goodwife Maria the cook had caught her when she came to bring her in for dinner. ¡°I¡¯ll have to tell your mother,¡± Maria had said, ignoring Tasha¡¯s pleadings as she dragged her along by the collar of her dress.


    Mother had struck her when she was found out, of course. She didn¡¯t want her only daughter to go gallivanting off and get lost. There was a war on. As Tasha nursed a red-raw bottom, so her mother had told her not to talk about what she saw.


    But Tash made sure her mother knew that it was Maria who¡¯d torn her dress. The next morning, Goodwife Maria was gone. Aunt Danyer had come in the night to help around the house until a new maidservant could be found. Tash asked Aunt Danyer about the portraits, one day when they were doing the washing up together. She hadn¡¯t had a say in the matter. Aunt Danyer seemed to have some sort of gift for precognition. She knew as soon as she arrived that Tasha had questions. A few chunks of chocolate under the table was all it took for Tash to forget that she wasn¡¯t to talk about the hall of portraits.


    That night, Aunt Danyer had carried Tash out of bed and sat her on her knee in a spot in the garden, next to the fountain that had been allowed to run dry. They¡¯d spent the night gazing up at the stars. ¡°The people in those paintings,¡± Danyer had told her, ¡°are the ones who came before you. They¡¯re a part of you, Tasha, and you couldn¡¯t be who you are without them. They¡¯re up there, in the stars, watching you. And you¡¯re going to do them proud.¡±


    She¡¯d crossed the stars, gone to the far end of the universe, and she hadn¡¯t found her ancestors. But the universe was a big place, she knew. No doubt she¡¯d just passed them by. She wondered if they were watching her now, those men and women. She wondered if Aunt Danyer was watching her too. And she wondered if they were proud of her.


    She ran a hand over her belly. Her child, her little treasure. Years from now, when she was reunited with Aunt Danyer and Granddad Mordant and all the people she¡¯d never known in life, she¡¯d be able to look down at the person who was growing inside her. And she¡¯d be able to watch her grandchildren and great-grandchildren learning the stories of ¡°Grandma Tash¡±, who¡¯s watching them from the stars.


    At no point did she remember going to bed, but she supposed she must have done. She woke the following morning to the bedroom door shutting. Oliver, she presumed, leaving for work. He seemed to be working all the time, leaving early in the mornings and often not returning until dusk. It was nice that he was putting in the effort for her, but she would have liked to see him from time to time. She¡¯d have to have a word with him about that, when he returned. She was his wife, after all. She deserved to be his top priority.


    It wasn¡¯t easy for her to get out of bed. The covers were so warm and comfy, and the bedroom¡ªstill completely unfurnished save for the bed and a small box with a few changes of clothes¡ªlooked cold. But when she eventually forced herself to her feet, she found it wasn¡¯t that cold after all. In fact, every day since she arrived it had been warm and, other than a couple of light drizzles, dry. They didn¡¯t know everything about this planet yet, and Tash knew a lot less than the people in charge. It might have been the height of summer, and soon to cool off. Or it might have been the height of winter, with better weather to come.


    Either way, she was going to enjoy the day.


    She threw on a light cotton sundress, one of the few things she owned that were loose enough to hide her growing bump, and headed to the kitchen to find some breakfast.


    The cook, convivial Comestine Argent, was busy cutting up a bird when Tash entered the room. Spatters of blood spangled the front of her apron. ¡°Morning, Lady,¡± she said.


    ¡°Good morning, Mam Argent,¡± Tash said.


    Stini held aloft the big kitchen knife in her hand. It was dripping with blood. ¡°You¡¯ll forgive me for not curtsying,¡± she said, ¡°but I don¡¯t like to make a mess more than I need to. It¡¯s not easy getting bloodstains out of wood.¡±


    Tash laughed. ¡°You don¡¯t need to curtsy for me anyway,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s old-fashioned.¡± But she did rather enjoy it. Still, she had plenty of staff here. She wasn¡¯t really sure what Oliver had done, but he¡¯d come home one day, a few weeks before they boarded the Eia, to tell her that he¡¯d made her dreams come true. They were going to have a fine house, and the finest household staff. That was the day she¡¯d conceived, so he really had made all her dreams come true that day.


    She looked at the dead bird, which seemed rather sorry for itself in half a dozen pieces. ¡°Where did that come from?¡±


    ¡°Sharp brought it in this morning. I guess someone found game nearby,¡± Stini shrugged. ¡°And about time, too. I can only do so many things with the dross we get from the ship¡¯s stores. At least this meat¡¯s fresh. Pardon me for being frank, Lady, but the food the reeve picks out is not fit for a woman of your stature.¡±


    All of a sudden, her appetite was gone. The bird lying dead in her kitchen had been alive and well just hours ago. It had probably never seen a human before. To Tasha, that was patently unfair. She had to get out. Walking through the door into the hallway, she collided with Nickie, the young kitchen assistant. Poor Nickie tumbled to the ground, clutching her shoulder and still having the grace to apologise for getting in the way. Tasha ignored her.


    Emmy¡ªthe taller of Tasha¡¯s two housemaids, with a cheery face and twisting blonde locks hanging down from dark roots to sit on her shoulders¡ªhad appeared on the stairs, wasting no time in getting there to scrub the banisters. She pressed herself tight against the wall so Tasha could get past. ¡°Uh, Lady, I¡ª¡±


    When Tasha turned back, she saw Emmy red-faced with embarrassment. ¡°Something the matter, Emmy?¡±


    Emmy shook her head. ¡°No. Sorry to disturb you, Lady, only Goodwife Mabeth asked me to let you know. She¡¯ll be late to the house today, and Miss Eva too. They¡¯ve gone to worship.¡± Mabeth Calder was an old owl, a woman who¡¯d spent many a year in service to Tasha and her family. She¡¯d been the close companion and leal ladiesmaid of Aunt Danyer, for as long as Tasha could remember. When Aunt Danyer passed away, her brother¡ªTasha¡¯s father¡ªhad inherited Goodwife Mabeth. Quite what bargaining Oliver had driven to persuade Father to part from Mabeth was unclear, but Tasha wished she¡¯d been present for that conversation. It would have been entertaining, no doubt.


    Goodwife Mabeth was passing religious, Tasha knew, just like her Caerlin masters. She very seldom went to the church, but then Lightness Pollatelne was dry and dreary, and Lightness Gilkes before him was a tyrant. Attendance at church had always been abysmal. It hadn¡¯t always been that way, but six years of war had left half the town dead and made faithless men of the rest¡ªor so Goodwife Mabeth said.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to be so red, Emmy,¡± said Tasha, to the blushing girl. ¡°It doesn¡¯t go with your dress.¡±


    Emmy went even redder, and Tasha left her. The stairs, as yet just bare wood, wound around the hallway three times, each time stopping on the landing of another floor. Tasha had her chambers on the second of these floors, above the staff accommodation. Only her ladiesmaid, Sesala Roe, had rooms on the same floor as Tasha. She was expected to be available at Tasha¡¯s whim, so it made little sense for her to be roomed a flight of stairs away. Tasha had never been to the top floor, nor would she. Oliver had been quite plain on that. It was his private workplace, and Lieutenant Sharp had strict instructions not to let anybody up there¡ªTasha included.


    She found Sesala Roe in the second floor hallway. As her ladiesmaid, Sesi was her personal confidante. Her uniform was a sheath dress in a deep forest-green, with a white band on the collar, pouffed out with a broad petticoat. While the rest of the household staff were given a black uniform common to all families, the ladiesmaid¡¯s attire was expected to match the colours of the family mark. It was supposed to reflect the fact that she was the personal property of the woman of the family. There were some who called it slavery. To them, Tasha could but scoff. Sesi was paid a fair wage and she was free to leave at any time.


    Sesi seldom smiled, but something about her made Tash feel always at ease. It was like there was a hidden smile locked behind those dark eyes, invisible but so definitely there. She liked to wear her hair tightly bound in a ponytail that she pulled round to fall in front of her shoulder, framing a face the shape of an ochre heart. Not today. Today, her hair was loose.


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    Tash made to walk past Sesi, but the maid got between her and the door. ¡°You can¡¯t mean to go out like that, Lady,¡± she said. ¡°Come. Let me fix your hair.¡±


    ¡°Let it be,¡± Tash protested.


    Sesi put her hands on her hips. ¡°I cannot, Lady. It¡¯s my job.¡±


    And so Tash found herself back in her bedroom, staring out of the empty windowframe while Sesi wrestled with her hair.


    ¡°You¡¯re very quiet this morning, Lady,¡± Sesi said, roughly pushing through a tangle. ¡°It¡¯s unlike you. Are you feeling well?¡±


    Tash nodded. ¡°I¡¯m fine, Sesi.¡± She didn¡¯t feel like going into the matter of Tema. That could wait for another time.


    ¡°Perhaps some breakfast. You¡¯ll be better prepared to face the day after some food.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± She hadn¡¯t meant it, but Tash knew she¡¯d raised her voice. Sesi froze up, her brush still painfully wrapped in Tash¡¯s hair. She was suddenly incredibly aware of every bristle that rested on her scalp.


    After a few seconds, Sesi carried on brushing Tash¡¯s hair as if nothing had happened. ¡°You have lots of tangles today, Lady, you should wash for longer.¡±


    ¡°The only running water¡¯s on the ship, Sesi,¡± Tash said. ¡°I¡¯ve not been able to shower.¡±


    Sesi nodded. ¡°Of course not. No matter. Your hair is looking perfect now.¡± She moved to the other side of the wooden chair Tash was sat on, and crouched down in front of her. ¡°Just a touch of make-up before we¡¯re done.¡±


    Tash shook her head. ¡°Not today, Sesi, if you don¡¯t mind.¡±


    The ladiesmaid studied Tash¡¯s face for a while, holding the stare, her blue eyes fixed on Tash¡¯s. Then she stood up with a broad smile. ¡°You are plenty beautiful without it.¡±


    Outside the window, Tash could see the valley, scores of people hard at work turning it into an urban pit. Three young children weaved between the workers, laughing and screaming at one another as they ran. Some of the wealthier families that had paid their way into the colony had children already, who they had brought with them, and Oliver had mentioned something about a ballot for the less well-off. There had been concerns, he¡¯d told her, that the nearly twenty-year gap between the youngest colonist and the oldest child born on the planet would cause issues further down the line. The solution was to bring a small number of children along to bridge the gap.


    She wondered if those children were really happy. They hadn¡¯t asked to be uprooted from their lives and transplanted across the universe. They¡¯d been bargaining chips to ensure their parents got their own wishes, nothing more.


    At least her child would be born here. He or she wouldn¡¯t have to leave behind their friends and their home, not if they didn¡¯t want to.


    ¡°Am I doing the right thing, Sesi?¡±


    ¡°Lady?¡±


    ¡°This is no place to raise a child, is it? Nothing¡¯s finished, nothing¡¯s properly built. We¡¯re all just pretending to be pioneers. There were animals here before we came, and all we¡¯ll end up doing is destroying them so we can keep pretending.¡± She could feel that she was crying, though she was trying desperately hard not to. She rubbed her face dry. It was a good job she hadn¡¯t let Sesi do her make-up.


    Sesi knelt beside Tash and squeezed her hand. ¡°Lady, this is a good thing you¡¯re doing. Life is the greatest gift you can give.¡±


    ¡°Even if my child won¡¯t have basic comforts? There¡¯s not even any running water.¡±


    ¡°That will come soon. By the time your child is born, this will be as much home as anywhere else ever was. But why measure your child¡¯s worth by the amenities they enjoy? Humankind made do for thousands of years without even one of our modern comforts.¡±


    That wasn¡¯t the point, though. Tasha wasn¡¯t an ancient human, and her child wouldn¡¯t be either. They were modern people. She and Oliver had done so much to make sure any children they had would grow up in absolute luxury. What was all that for if they couldn¡¯t guarantee the luxury would exist? Perhaps she should have stayed at home, in the house with so many boarded-up rooms. Everything was so much better than it was here.


    But Tema was here. She¡¯d missed her sister so much during their estrangement. Fate had brought them together again on this world. If she¡¯d stayed at home, she might never have seen Tema again. She¡¯d have died an old woman, wondering if Tema ever still thought about her.


    And now she could die knowing Tema couldn¡¯t abide her.


    She left for the hospital with Sesi following on close behind. As she passed by the kitchen, she found herself taken in by the smell of a bird being cooked. The thought of its taste made her mouth water. She didn¡¯t feel sorry for the bird anymore. It was a lucky creature. A death to make her lunch better was a worthy death indeed.


    Upon arrival, the Eia¡¯s landing ramp had been bolted into the ground, the ship¡¯s huge door permanently opened. A faint trail of dried dirt ran up the middle of the ramp, where hundreds of passing feet had tracked it in.


    Tasha had never liked being on the Eia. It was more a prison than anything. The whole way here, with nothing but the metal walls and the airtight doorways keeping her from an endless oblivion, she¡¯d felt a growing anxiety. It trapped her. When she spoke to Oliver, he¡¯d suggested they at least wait until their new house was completed before moving in. After all, they had a luxury stateroom to make the most of. But it wasn¡¯t an option for her. The Eia was death, nothing less.


    Since they¡¯d moved into the house, a little over a fortnight after the Eia¡¯s arrival, she¡¯d refused to go back inside. And now here she was, back again. It was typical of Tema¡¯s stubbornness that she¡¯d have the hospital be inside the Eia.


    ¡°You¡¯re tense, Lady,¡± said Sesi.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡±


    ¡°No. Your shoulders are all hunched up. You should relax, Lady.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be so tense if you¡¯d stop telling me to relax, Goodwife Sesala,¡± Tash shouted. She could feel her face flushed. What an arse she was! Sesi was just doing her job, she didn¡¯t deserve to be shouted at.


    But Sesi was smiling broadly. ¡°There you go, Lady,¡± she said. ¡°The tension is gone.¡±


    And suddenly she realised that Sesi was right. Her shoulders hung loosely in place. She sighed, letting her face nuzzle into her chest. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Sesi, I shouldn¡¯t have yelled.¡±


    Sesi shook her head. ¡°No, Lady. You are the Lady of the household. It is your right to yell.¡±


    They wandered the maze of corridors leading to the ship¡¯s hospital, engaging in light conversation. Sesi seemed to hold herself back, always taking the time to phrase herself in a diplomatic manner, but she was good company nonetheless. She let Tash take the lead as they worked through a series of frivolous topics. Tash was rather taken with the yellow flowers that seemed to grow throughout the valley, but Sesi was less impressed¡ªflowers weren¡¯t really something that interested her, and in any case she disliked the colour yellow, so really she couldn¡¯t care less whether they were celandines or winter jasmine or something different altogether. On the other hand, Sesi thought the little green birds with the pot-bellies and the mottled feathers that had followed them yesterday were adorable. To Tash, birds were just annoying flappy things that shat everywhere.


    They carried their conversation as far as the hospital¡¯s little reception area. It was a small waiting room, with a sterile feel that wasn¡¯t quite disguised by the paintings hung up on all the walls. The content of the paintings didn¡¯t help. They were all very much the same, severe portraits of serious-looking men and women who¡ªjudging by the labels underneath the pictures¡ªhad been important in the field of medicine once, many hundreds of years ago.


    Tash supposed she should have remembered who the people in the paintings were. She had spent a year and a half at Raconesta, the most respected medical school in all of Belaboras. But she¡¯d never been enamoured with the past. What was the point, when it was already done? Nothing she could ever do would have any bearing on what had already happened. And the people who were in the history books were probably stuffy old pricks anyway.


    A round-faced woman with dark brown hair and eyes to match was sat behind a little desk, holding a pen loosely over a sheaf of paper. ¡°Can I help you, Miss?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m here to see Doctor Caerlin,¡± Tash said. ¡°Tasha Wrack.¡±


    The woman rummaged through the pile of papers until she found the sheet she was looking for, then ran her finger down a list of names, stopping when she got to Tasha¡¯s. ¡°Doctor Caerlin¡¯s with another patient at the moment. Would you like me to take you to her office?¡±


    Tash nodded. ¡°Please.¡±


    The woman stood up and motioned to her to follow. She did, but when Sesi began to come along the woman stopped. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t take your name.¡±


    ¡°Sesala Roe.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s my ladiesmaid,¡± Tash said. ¡°She comes with me.¡±


    The woman shook her head. ¡°Not unless she has an appointment or she¡¯s in need of treatment.¡±


    ¡°I have an appointment. That¡¯s good enough, surely.¡±


    ¡°Sorry. That¡¯s the rules, I¡¯m afraid, Miss Tasha.¡±


    Tash pursed her lips. It was absurd that she couldn¡¯t bring her ladiesmaid in with her, and she had half a mind to make her feelings known.


    ¡°It¡¯s quite alright, Lady,¡± said Sesi, ever dignified. Tash turned to see her ladiesmaid settling down on one of the hard chairs that lined the sides of the waiting room. ¡°I¡¯ll sit here until you are finished.¡±


    The woman continued to apologise, even when they¡¯d left Sesi and the waiting room far behind. ¡°I¡¯m very sorry, Miss, I know how much better it is to have company. There¡¯s pressure from the Council, you see. They don¡¯t think we¡¯ve been doing enough to uphold the safety protocols. So we have to do everything by the book, you see, or¡ª¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no need to wear yourself out grovelling,¡± Tash said, cutting the woman off. ¡°You¡¯re doing your job, I get that. But you¡¯re really starting to irritate me. You know my husband¡¯s a reeve? That makes me a lady of great standing. I don¡¯t like irritants.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, Miss,¡± the woman said, then immediately covered her mouth.


    Tash looked at her... and then she laughed. She wasn¡¯t sure why she was laughing, but something about the situation had really tickled her, and even worse it seemed the more she laughed the harder she laughed. Her laughter itself was amusing her. The woman watched her with bewildered eyes for a few seconds, before gently chortling herself.


    And just as suddenly as she¡¯d started laughing, Tash stopped. Nothing funny had happened, and if anything her hysterics were an embarrassment. ¡°Don¡¯t apologise again.¡±


    She could hear voices coming from a nearby room. A man was screaming something incoherent while a woman tried to console him with soothing platitudes. Judging by his screams, it didn¡¯t seem to be working.


    ¡°Get some anaesthetics, Vi,¡± said a familiar voice. Tema, no mistake. A few seconds later, a scrape of a girl burst out of one of the wards, looked Tash in the eye, then squeaked and darted off out of sight.


    ¡°Viola¡¯s like a mouse,¡± said the woman escorting Tash. It was a pertinent observation, she mused. ¡°Come along, we¡¯re not far from Doctor Caerlin¡¯s office.¡±


    Tash wanted to know what was going on. ¡°I can hear her in there.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s busy. She¡¯ll see you when it¡¯s time.¡± The woman laid a hand around Tash¡¯s waist, trying to pull her away from the half-open door to the ward. Tash slipped free and pushed the door fully open. Inside, she could see Tema, hair tied back out of the way, covered in sweat and blood. She was leaning over a man on a hospital bed covered in bloody bandages.


    What happened to him? Tash wondered. His cries belied the pain he must have been in.


    ¡°No,¡± said the woman, appearing in the doorway beside Tasha. ¡°I can¡¯t have you wandering around.¡±


    The man seemed to catch sight of Tash then, and he stopped his screaming. He fell silent as he looked at her. And then he pointed squarely at the doorway, directly at her. Tema turned to face her, as did a handful of other staff scattered around the room. In all, there were eight pairs of eyes staring at Tash then, and her face burned. She wasn¡¯t used to having this much attention on her.


    All of her attention was on the man in the hospital bed. His hand shook violently as he pointed at her. She could see his eyes were bloodshot, and the skin around them was yellowed and sunken. ¡°Mama,¡± he said. His voice was hoarse, but the words were unmistakeable. ¡°Mama, I see you.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s time to go, Miss.¡± The woman tugged on her shoulder, but she dug in.


    The man cried out in pain, then returned to his lucidity. ¡°Mama, he¡¯s here. Don¡¯t let him take me, mama. Don¡¯t let the shadow-man take me.¡±


    Tash let her eyes flick briefly away from the man, and in that instant she managed to lock eyes with her sister. Tema had a scowl on her face. ¡°Go to my office,¡± she said, through thin lips. ¡°I¡¯ll see you there.¡± When they were little children growing up together, Tema had always been the bossy one. The fact that she was three years younger than Tasha hadn¡¯t stopped her from making the commands, and Tash had learned that she had a powerful slap. It was always easier just to do what Tema wanted. But Tema hadn¡¯t used that commanding tone since she was seven years old.


    Reluctantly, Tash backed away. The woman tried to get a hand on her back and push her along, but she shrugged her off. ¡°I can walk myself. You don¡¯t need to push me.¡± She turned and started out of the door. As she left the ward, she heard the man crying out:


    ¡°Mama,¡± he yelled. ¡°No, mama, come back. Don¡¯t leave me. Mama.¡±


    When the ward door was shut behind her, and his screams finally drowned out, she realised that she was crying.

 10. The Grimalkin

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Caroline ~


    High in the treetops, a nightingale sang its warbling song. It darted suddenly from its perch, shooting right past General Bradshaw¡¯s face and prompting him to curse loudly. This amused the others, Chris especially. He was in good spirits today. It was hard to see why.


    Caroline pulled tight the lapels of her coat. Chris could have picked a warmer day than today to go off to the camp on the high plateau, though at least it wasn¡¯t raining. That was a blessing of some sort. They¡¯d arrived in the midst of a sunny spell, but that had given out, and for the past week it had alternated between insipid drizzle and belting rain. The ground was still damp from last night¡¯s fall, and her boots were slick enough with mud as it was. She needn¡¯t have spent all that time polishing them.


    They were ten. General Bradshaw had lead the way out of the valley, heading a deputation from the Council. For some reason he¡¯d insisted on bringing his eldest daughter along. The excuse was that Molly Bradshaw was a soldier, and the General was entitled to have an escort with him. Oliver Wrack had brought along his Lieutenant, after all. Caro was dubious. Molly wasn¡¯t dressed like a soldier. She wore a waistcoat of steel blue over a cotton blouse, and while her overcoat was made of the same woollen serge as a standard field uniform, she¡¯d had it drawn in to tightly hug her figure. Her breeches, too, hugged tightly to her curves. A floral clip of bright crimson hung in the dark braids of her hair. It was a fetching outfit¡ªbut it wasn¡¯t uniform.


    Of course, none of the men had noticed. Chris spent the entirety of the walk to the camp in hushed conversation with Oliver Wrack, while Wrack¡¯s Lieutenant lurked behind them. Once or twice Caro saw them glancing at Molly¡¯s rear, as though they weren¡¯t both married men twice her age. The Hookbill, the other member of the Council to come, kept to the back of the formation, silently watching with inscrutable eyes. As always, the rims of his eyes were coloured to match his doublet¡ªtoday a lemon-yellow.


    At the camp, they were greeted by Sergeant Malleston, the commander of the barebones garrison there. Malleston was a rake of a man, with a long, narrow nose and an oversized mouth. He wore his uniform with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows; the other soldiers at the camp had gone one step further, and dispensed with their thick overcoats entirely, wearing only the brown jerkins they wore beneath. They peered out at the deputation with muddy faces, from the darkened doorways of wet sod-houses. Some progress had been made towards a permanent fortification; the canvas walls which had been up on Caro¡¯s last visit were gone, replaced by timber. The fort was not yet inhabitable, even if the sod-houses were damp and dingy.


    After formalities, Sergeant Malleston chose two of his soldiers to join the procession¡ªstocky Matt Grogan, with untidy hair and a scrappy beard, and petite Kinnet Moray, who had a wave of brown hair down to her chin and a partially-healed scar beneath her right eye. A gaunt Constabulary officer, Lieutenant Baxendale, tagged along to complete the set. A heavy topcoat of green wool kept the cold off, and covered up the gaudier yellows that made up half of the Constabulary¡¯s uniform.


    The route involved a long walk down a grassy incline, swinging left to pass through a narrow gulch at times barely wide enough for them to walk in single file. It was in this canyon, at a point where a gently burbling stream took over all the floor space and forced them to walk in the water, that General Bradshaw was set upon by the nightingale. He flapped an arm at it, but it was gone, soaring to the crest of the hills and out of sight.


    As the rest of them laughed at the red-faced General¡ªhis daughter Molly included¡ªthe Hookbill approached Caro. ¡°I trust you didn¡¯t leave poor Bessily waiting for you?¡± he said, swooping in to whisper in her ear. She could feel the spittle that landed on her, and rubbed it away.


    ¡°I talked to her,¡± she said. ¡°And a good job, too. The girl would be scared out of her wits with someone like you following her around.¡±


    The Hookbill didn¡¯t rise to the bait. ¡°She¡¯s lucky to have you on her side,¡± he said. ¡°Just as we¡¯re lucky to have you on the Council.¡±


    ¡°Flattery will get you nowhere,¡± said Caro.


    ¡°I don¡¯t deal in flattery, Mistress Ballard.¡±


    Caro was rescued from the Hookbill by a shout from her husband. ¡°I hope you¡¯re not bothering my wife, Prendergast.¡±


    ¡°I was discussing a private matter with Mistress Ballard,¡± said the Hookbill, turning. ¡°Or does a man not have the right to speak to a physician in confidence?¡± He moved away, and Chris came over instead. When he put his hand on her shoulder, she batted him away.


    ¡°I can handle myself, Chris,¡± she said. ¡°I don¡¯t need you always fighting my corner.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re my wife. I¡¯ll always fight alongside you.¡± Chris leaned in to kiss her.


    Caro giggled. ¡°There¡¯s a time and place,¡± she said, pushing him away.


    They¡¯d been delayed by a sheer rock face, high enough that they couldn¡¯t get up without clambering in an undignified manner. Grogan had made his way up to the top and was lying on his belly, leaning over the edge with his hand outstretched. Moray was knelt at the base of this escarpment, struggling with a pop-up rope ladder. Molly Bradshaw approached, a real swagger in her step. ¡°Here,¡± she said, taking the ladder from Moray¡¯s hands. ¡°It works like this.¡± She tugged on something, and the ladder came to life in her hands. Moray took it back off her, a grateful smile, and Molly Bradshaw walked away laughing.


    ¡°I¡¯m confused, General,¡± said Caro, as Moray set to feeding the ladder up towards Grogan¡¯s grateful grasp. ¡°In what capacity is your daughter with us today?¡±


    ¡°Molly will be carrying on my name,¡± said Bradshaw. ¡°She needs to learn the ins and outs.¡±


    ¡°So no official capacity then?¡± said Caro. Both Bradshaws scowled at her.


    She felt a hand on her shoulder. Chris. ¡°Try not to piss off the General, Caro,¡± he said, out of the side of his mouth.


    Sergeant Malleston was the first up the ladder, when Grogan had it secure. Caro went after Chris, with only the soldier Moray left to bring up the rear. Moray had difficulty with the ladder; one of the rungs kept getting twisted around her leg, and she couldn¡¯t get a foothold. Molly Bradshaw watched the whole thing unfold from her perch atop the rockface, taking great amusement from it.


    ¡°Here,¡± said Caro, reaching down to Moray and helping her up.


    No sooner had Moray reached solid ground than Molly was on her. ¡°Fair¡¯s fair: that was pathetic,¡± she said. ¡°Are you supposed to be a soldier? I haven¡¯t had a crease like that for years.¡±


    Moray avoided Molly¡¯s gaze. Caro didn¡¯t blame her. If she said anything to defend herself, General Bradshaw would intervene on his daughter¡¯s behalf. A footsoldier couldn¡¯t stand up to the General himself. Instead, she sought Caro¡¯s eye. ¡°Thanks for the help, Doctor Ballard,¡± she said, with a mild lisp.


    Molly snorted. ¡°What sort of soldier needs your help, Mistress Ballard? With all due respect, you¡¯re not exactly a paragon of strength.¡±


    Caro turned to Molly, shooting daggers from her eyes. ¡°Next time you think of a hilarious comment, keep it to yourself. You¡¯re not exactly a paragon of comedy, Mistress Bradshaw.¡± She switched on a copperhead to a sweet smile. ¡°With all due respect.¡± And Caro walked away, before Molly Bradshaw had time to formulate a response.


    ¡°This is the place,¡± said Sergeant Malleston finally, after twenty more minutes of wandering through dense foliage. His outstretched arms gestured towards a clearing; pointed boulders bordered it, while in the centre was a huge willow tree. It must have been at least twice the age of the others around it, its trunk gnarled and covered in dead bark, and browned leaves sprouting from arthritic branches. Caro looked skyward, but she couldn¡¯t see the top of the tree. The canopy was too thick, and it rose too high.


    ¡°It¡¯s not often you come across a willow this size,¡± said General Bradshaw. ¡°It¡¯s a veritable titan.¡±


    ¡°Must have been here for centuries,¡± Master Wrack mused. Then he laughed. ¡°Good Mother, it¡¯s probably older than Ruddingshaw.¡±


    Bradshaw scowled. ¡°Have some respect. Master Ruddingshaw has a damn sight more experience than you, and I daresay more insight too. He¡¯s an asset.¡±


    ¡°Lighten up, dad,¡± said Molly Bradshaw, rolling her eyes. ¡°Don¡¯t you know what a joke is?¡±


    The Hookbill walked right up close to the tree, running a hand along its trunk. ¡°There¡¯s an aura to it,¡± he said, crouching down to trace the path of the ruts in the bark, all the way to the roots. ¡°If only it could talk, it could tell us some stories. The things it must have seen...¡±


    ¡°Unless it can tell us what happened to Corporal Bartley¡¯s team, I¡¯m not interested in the whisperings of trees,¡± said General Bradshaw


    The Hookbill turned to Bradshaw, bewildered. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you want to know the history of this place? There must be a million ghosts trapped within, frozen in the sap, never to be seen again.¡±


    ¡°Trapped is the best place for ghosts to be,¡± said Bradshaw. ¡°Trapped, or anywhere else where I don¡¯t have to think about them.¡±


    ¡°What dad means is he¡¯s easily spooked,¡± said Molly, earning a reproving glare from her father.


    Kinnet Moray bent down at the trunk of the tree. ¡°There¡¯s nightshade growing here,¡± she said. ¡°A whole bed of it. It¡¯s like the story¡ªyou know, the tree from which the Gods sent forth the shadow of night. I wonder if this is the tree.¡±


    Caro knew the story Moray referred to. Nana Raine had read it to her often. Long ago, a darkness had spread to cover the land. None could stop it¡ªeven the strongest walls were useless¡ªand wherever it went plants withered and died. Eventually, when mankind was on the brink of extinction, Matheld¡ªthe Daughter¡ªstrode into the heart of the shadow, surrounded by loyal companions. One by one her companions sacrificed themselves, but Matheld made it to an ancient willow tree, the heart of all darkness. There, within its hollow trunk, she looked upon the Gods in all their ghast and glory, and made the most fateful bargain. The Gods would lift the plague they cast upon the land, restoring light to the world, but in return Matheld had to give up that which was dearest to her. Her daughter Tal¨¦a was only seventeen years old, the first Foresleeper, and the Gods wanted that power back. So in the shade of the willow tree, Matheld slit the throat of her only daughter. It was said that the first sprigs of nightshade grew from the spots kissed by Tal¨¦a¡¯s blood.


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    Molly Bradshaw sniggered. ¡°It¡¯s hardly likely to be the tree. You know those stories are all a fiction, right? Just some way to pretend we¡¯re not all alone in this universe.¡±


    Moray pursed her lips and stayed quiet. A smart decision, really. A soldier who argued back at the General¡¯s favourite daughter in the presence of the General was unlikely to be a soldier for much longer¡ªespecially when the General in question was Mark Bradshaw, who could not stand to hear his family impugned.


    Sergeant Malleston brought things back on track. ¡°As best as I can tell, Donea found the stranger just behind this rock.¡± He pointed to a particularly pointed boulder. ¡°There was blood on the rock at one time, but we¡¯ve had rain since then.¡±


    ¡°We have sketches,¡± said Lieutenant Baxendale. ¡°The Lord Constable was sure to check the area thoroughly.¡±


    ¡°No samples?¡± Caro frowned.


    Baxendale shook her head. ¡°The Lord Constable didn¡¯t see the need. It was obvious where the blood had come from, and it¡¯d be easy to obtain a sample from the hospital, if we needed the stranger¡¯s blood.¡±


    Bradshaw was grimacing. ¡°I¡¯ll need to speak with Mannam,¡± he said, ¡°if you seriously mean to tell me that he didn¡¯t do his job properly. Three soldiers disappeared in this area¡ªand we know for a fact that at least one of them was by this very tree, because that¡¯s where her helmet was found. This mysterious stranger must surely be connected. Certainly it should have been worth checking to make sure.¡±


    ¡°The Lord Constable is of the opinion that the blood on the rocks belonged to the stranger,¡± said Baxendale.


    ¡°Are you the Lord Constable¡¯s mouthpiece?¡± Bradshaw thundered. ¡°Or are you a person in your own right?¡±


    Baxendale stepped backward. ¡°I¡¯m a person, sir,¡± she said, her voice uneven.


    ¡°Then tell me what you think,¡± said Bradshaw, smiling sweetly.


    Baxendale regarded him with wide eyes, a lip quivering. Caro moved to stand between them. ¡°You needn¡¯t intimidate her, General,¡± she said. ¡°She¡¯s only doing her job.¡±


    ¡°She can handle a simple question, I¡¯m sure,¡± said Bradshaw. ¡°She handled Arfon well enough.¡±


    Baxendale¡¯s fists were clenched. But she swallowed hard, and spoke. ¡°I agree with the Lord Constable,¡± she said, definitely. ¡°It was the stranger¡¯s blood. No doubt about that.¡±


    ¡°How is the stranger?¡± asked the Hookbill, looking directly at Caro. ¡°The Governor informs us that he¡¯s being treated in the hospital.¡±


    ¡°That he is,¡± Caro nodded. ¡°Doctor Caerlin¡¯s been charged with his care for today. He¡¯s in very capable hands, but it¡¯s a struggle. Nothing we do seems to improve his condition.¡±


    ¡°Well, then I hope no horrible pathogens have followed him onto the Eia,¡± said Bradshaw. ¡°If he¡¯s to die regardless, then your breaking quarantine for him was a risk that didn¡¯t pay off.¡±


    Caro gave Bradshaw a dirty look. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me how do my job, General,¡± she said.


    ¡°Then don¡¯t tell me how to do mine,¡± said Bradshaw.


    They were interrupted then by a sudden howl, a tremendous warbling that seemed to shake the thin trunks of the trees around them. A second later, one of the bantam brown things scuttled out from the brush, apparently oblivious to the crowd of them there. It darted through the clearing and disappeared out of sight. Oliver Wrack¡¯s Lieutenant reached for the breech rifle slung on his back. ¡°Little critters like that usually keep their distance,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s something mean that¡¯s got the poor thing so frit he¡¯ll run right through us.¡±


    Bradshaw scoffed. ¡°You needn¡¯t try to frighten us, Lieutenant. More likely it¡¯s the potbill all over again.¡± Potbills were dopey birds who made their home on subtropical islands firmly in the oceans of Arvila, so unused to facing predators that they didn¡¯t learn to flee from the first human settlers to their lands until only a small handful remained. The best efforts of generations of Unity conservationists were all that spared the potbill from extinction.


    But Wrack shook his head. ¡°Lieutenant Sharp has the right of it. Hunting these buggers is damn near impossible, you no sooner catch a glimpse of one and it¡¯s gone.¡±


    ¡°And something made that noise, of course,¡± said Chris. As if in response, another, more plaintive squeal rang out. This one seemed to be an elongated sound, fading to a quiet tremolo but never quite going silent. When at last the noise died, an unnatural hush took its place. Caro sought Chris¡¯ gaze, looking for comfort in his eyes, but found only cold dismay.


    Molly Bradshaw was the first to act. ¡°Don¡¯t you think somebody should investigate?¡± she said, beginning to walk towards the source of the wailing. ¡°We¡¯ll only get to live in ignorance until it shows up on our doorstep. I say we find out what¡¯s out here before it comes looking for us.¡±


    ¡°Molly¡¯s right,¡± said General Bradshaw. Molly, in the process of loading her freshly unholstered flintlock, smirked, until her father continued. ¡°Somebody should investigate. But not you, Molly. You¡¯ll stay here.¡±


    ¡°I can handle myself,¡± she protested.


    Her father folded his arms. ¡°This isn¡¯t a debate, Molly. Sergeant Malleston, I¡¯ll trust you to see that my daughter stays where she¡¯s been put.¡±


    Sergeant Malleston nodded. ¡°You heard the General. Kinnet, stay with Miss Bradshaw.¡±


    The Hookbill made his excuses and set off for the high plateau, and Lieutenant Baxendale went along with him, so there were six of them who went trudging amidst the undergrowth. Wrack¡¯s Lieutenant Sharp, it turned out, had considerable pedigree as a tracker, and it was he who took point. Caro kept close to her husband, in the middle of the pack. Something about the situation had her hackles raised. Bringing up the rear felt too exposed.


    The further they walked, the narrower the trunks of the trees became. Sturdy oaks and yews gave way to brittle things that looked sure to snap in the lightest breeze. All seemed somehow wrong.


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing moving here,¡± said Oliver Wrack. ¡°This whole forest is like a grave.¡± He wasn¡¯t wrong. Caro hadn¡¯t seen any sign of movement since that mettysnatcher had shot across the clearing. Even the insects had fallen silent, still.


    Another warbling cry, far feebler this time than before. It was more an animalistic plea for pity than any harrowing roar. It was also a lot closer. Lieutenant Sharp gripped his rifle tightly, Malleston and Grogan following suit.


    And suddenly Grogan darted forward. ¡°Through here,¡± he said. ¡°Something moving.¡± They followed him in turn, emerging at the head of a flat, dusty valley. Flowers grew in the shade of protruding rocks, all the way to a distant horizon of skyscraping mountains. Just a few feet from the treeline, a huge grey creature lay, something catlike, bright green eyes focused in their direction. Grogan froze level with the trees, his rifle pointed towards the creature. His shaking hands gripped tightly to the barrel of the gun. It wasn¡¯t steady enough to be of any use.


    Caro hung back. The creature hadn¡¯t moved. It was looking right at them, it must surely have seen them. Either it should have fled, or they should have been attacked. Her lungs were heavy with dread, the way they got after her nightmares. In her nose and mouth, the coppery taste of blood. She spat on the ground to clear the taste, and copped a dirty look from Chris. Was he not feeling it too? There was something amiss here, and she had the sinking feeling it was something she¡¯d seen before.


    Lieutenant Sharp began to approach the creature. The sloping bank into the valley was dry soil, which crumbled beneath his feet. If he didn¡¯t go careful, he might fall, right into the creature¡¯s waiting jaws.


    ¡°Lieutenant,¡± cautioned Oliver Wrack. ¡°Don¡¯t be rash now.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not moving, sir,¡± said Lieutenant Sharp. ¡°Look at it, it¡¯s covered in blood.¡± Now that Sharp had mentioned it, it was obvious. All along its back, the creature¡¯s fur was matted, glistening with red blood that shone in the sunlight. Bloated blue flies were swarming around it, making ready.


    Chris was shaking his head. ¡°Shit,¡± he said. ¡°What do we do?¡±


    ¡°If it¡¯s dead, nothing,¡± Wrack suggested.


    ¡°If it¡¯s dead, something killed it,¡± Chris pointed out. ¡°And look at the size of the thing. It would take three of us to lift it up the slope. How big¡¯s the thing that can kill this?¡±


    General Bradshaw turned to Chris. ¡°I think it¡¯s best we keep this to ourselves. If the Council finds out, it¡¯s only going to cause a panic. My soldiers can keep the valley safe. Until we know what killed this creature, the creature never existed.¡±


    Chris nodded. ¡°It might have been a fluke,¡± he said, sounding unconvinced. ¡°Something got a lucky hit in. For all we know this thing¡¯s prey¡¯s lying dead a little way along. It took a wound making the kill then staggered here to die. Animals kill each other all the time. It¡¯s no threat to us unless we¡¯re careless.¡± The thought was comforting. Caro couldn¡¯t help but feel it was wrong. Chris¡¯ first supposition was likely the correct one¡ªbig as this cat was, there was something bigger roaming.


    Though they¡¯d been in the valley for a month or so now. Long enough, surely, for some trace to emerge of a creature that huge.


    ¡°None of the hunters have reported anything odd,¡± said Master Wrack. ¡°Plenty of game animals, but nothing a good shot can¡¯t kill. I don¡¯t think we need fear the local wildlife.¡±


    General Bradshaw moved with a quickening step down the slope, overtaking Lieutenant Sharp, and came to a stop right in front of the cat. He ran a finger along the cat¡¯s fur, and when that elicited no response he gave it a bodily shove. ¡°It¡¯s definitely dead,¡± he said. A match was in his hand¡ªCaro was only now noticing it, as he set it alight. He held it against the dead cat¡¯s fur until it caught ablaze, then stood back. ¡°That solves that problem.¡±


    They were heading back towards the clearing when the light came. It was only a flash, blink and then gone, a pulse of the most brilliant blue. It came from the clearing.


    ¡°What was that?¡± someone asked. Caro didn¡¯t wait around for the discussion. This was definitely stolen from her dreams. That horrible coppery smell filled her nose, permeating the sinuses like some alchemical curse to kill her from within. She would not let it. She breathed in through her mouth as she ran.


    The creatures of the forest had returned. They gathered on low-hanging branches to watch Caro as she tried to remember the way back. Those brown scamps were the worst, real vindictive bastards, dropping nuts onto her head as she passed beneath them. She pricked herself with a hundred thorns. Burrs stuck to her coat.


    But at least the scent of blood had gone. She¡¯d never been so thankful to breathe clearly.


    And in the wake of the great willow, she heard the voice of a woman.


    Caro was the first one back, and she was struck at once by the smell of burning meat. Molly Bradshaw was on the ground, a metre or so from the trunk of the gnarled yew, clutching her forearm and whimpering. Of Kinnet Moray there was no trace. Shit. How had this happened?  Caro ran to her. Molly¡¯s arm was a mess, singed flesh oozing yellow pus. Her breathing was heavy.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± said Caro, putting an arm around Molly. ¡°Stay calm. I¡¯ll get you fixed up.¡± Nobody else had made it to the clearing yet. What was taking them so long? ¡°Get over here,¡± she yelled. ¡°Molly¡¯s hurt. I can¡¯t deal with her by myself.¡± She turned back to Molly, whose face was beginning to pale. ¡°Don¡¯t look at it,¡± she said, in a soft voice. ¡°Look at me. Focus on me. Can you stand?¡±


    Molly nodded. ¡°I think so.¡±


    ¡°Good. We¡¯re gonna get you to the hospital, just as soon as we can. You¡¯ve just got a few burns. It¡¯s nothing I haven¡¯t seen before, nothing I can¡¯t make better. A few weeks and you¡¯ll be good as new.¡±


    Molly¡¯s eyes were glazing over. ¡°The tree,¡± she said, her voice shaky. ¡°It was like it was on fire.¡±


    ¡°The tree¡¯s fine,¡± said Caro. ¡°It¡¯s you I¡¯m worried about. You and Moray. Did you she where she went?¡± She might be hurt too. She might even be dead.


    Molly shook her head. Her unburnt arm was trembling, Caro noticed. ¡°Moray¡¯s started back. I sent her away.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I wanted to be alone. Told her if she didn¡¯t leave me, I¡¯d have my father expel her from her division. That was silly of me, wasn¡¯t it?¡± Molly the woman was battling with Molly the little girl, and at the moment the little girl was winning.


    Caro gave her a smile. ¡°Don¡¯t you worry about that. No, don¡¯t look at the arm. It looks worse than it is¡ªjust needs a bit of salve and you¡¯ll be right on the mend.¡±


    At last, the others returned. Wrack and Lieutenant Sharp were first, with Grogan just behind. Then came General Bradshaw, walking without urgency. The moment he caught sight of Molly his face fell, and he ran over, dropping to his knees beside her. ¡°Molly? My little fr¨¦a, are you okay?¡±


    ¡°It hurts, daddy,¡± said Molly, a tear welling in her eye.


    ¡°Help me lift her,¡± said Caro. ¡°She needs to get to the hospital, as soon as possible.¡±


    Bradshaw nodded. ¡°Of course.¡± He went round to the other side, clasped his daughter¡¯s hand¡ªmiraculously, the arm had taken all of the damage, and the hand seemed unscathed¡ªand on Caro¡¯s signal lifted Molly to her feet. And they began to hobble back, Molly swaying on wobbly legs between them.


    As they walked, Caro felt her heartbeat rising. Something unseen was watching her, she could feel it. She wasn¡¯t sure the others had a clue. None gave any suggestion that they were ill at ease. But they should have been¡ªthe forest was seething. Like an animal, it had claimed Molly Bradshaw for its dinner, hurt her and left her alone. And now they were taking the dinner away. Little wonder the watching woods were furious.


    The trip back to the valley was the longest of her life.

 11. The Lynched Man

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Ian ~


    It was incredible the difference a little bit of stone made. Ground had been broken on a quarry in the south-western tip of the valley a few weeks ago, and the first deliveries were beginning to arrive. It was only small amounts at the moment, mostly unprocessed, but Master Holden was no longer beholden to the limited supply he¡¯d brought with him. He was letting it show. Every building had accents of grey and brown, fine carved cornerstones and patterns of brick in varying colours. And it was an immeasurable improvement on the endless jungle of hewn logs and wood that it used to be.


    ¡°Easy does it!¡± An overseer was yelling at a man who pushed a three-wheeled cart filled with chunks of stone. Even Ian could see that there was too much in there. The man could barely move it, and it looked as though it would topple over at any second. ¡°If that thing goes over, I¡¯m picking up none of the rock.¡±


    In a considerably ill-judged move, the man behind the cart raised two fingers at the overseer. Removing one hand from the cart cost him what little balance he had, and in an instant it toppled. The overseer had turned so red with rage that his skin was pushing the boundaries of the visible light spectrum. Ian couldn¡¯t help but laugh. He found himself thankful that he didn¡¯t have to do any manual labour himself. He¡¯d never been good at it. Chris had joked once about sticking a pickaxe in his hand and sending him to help out with the quarrying. And Chris had quickly learned not to make that joke again.


    He walked away from the spilled stone, looking around at the town. It scarcely resembled the empty valley they¡¯d arrived to, three short months ago. Master Holden had justified his place on the Council. It was already resembling somewhere that people lived.


    At the heart of the town, the plaza had matured into a social hub. No longer were the buildings around its outer just empty shells. Businesses were thriving now, their signage in gaudy colours. They all looked alike, the florist and the dressmaker, the baker and the clerk, despite their best efforts. On the gable of Madame Dravis¡¯ Emporium, the eponymous Madame¡¯s smiling face had been painted. It made her shop stand out, but unless she wanted her clientele to consist of people with fetishes for the grotesque, she¡¯d have been better off going for the same aesthetic as the rest of them.


    A boisterous game of hurney was taking place on the grass, whilst couples in love sat beside the Clearwater, basking hand in hand in the shade of the huge willow. Women wandered the square in twos and threes, all wearing the same dress in different hues, their faces painted the sickly colour of mustard. They paid no mind to the children running riot around them.


    The self-styled ¡®high society¡¯ was the worst. They had money, which they¡¯d inherited from their parents, who in turn had inherited it from their parents, and so on until somewhere centuries back there was an ancestor who had actually earned the money to begin with. This money had bought them a place on the pioneer ship. It had guaranteed them at the very least a footnote in the history books. And apparently it had bought them the right to swan around the half-built town as if they¡¯d blessed it simply by deigning to allow its existence.


    They were rats.


    As Ian got closer to the plaza, he realised he could smell cooked meat. It was one of those smells that made him realise just how hungry he was. When had he last eaten properly? He wasn¡¯t sure. Recently, he¡¯d been enjoying himself wandering the valley, feeding himself when he felt like it. It wasn¡¯t a healthy way of living, he knew that well, but every meal would take him at least half an hour to prepare if he wanted to eat something that tasted nice. And half an hour felt like a lot of time to waste. So instead he¡¯d been getting by primarily on whatever nutrition-free snacks were close to hand when he wanted food.


    He wandered in the direction of the Tavern, and guided by his unruly nose made his way to the counter. A couple of patrons had already arrived to take up their seats, among them Sergeant Pratley. Pratley nodded at Ian as he passed. There was no sign of ¨¢ine the waitress today. Only the owner, the Goodwife Sara Wiles, stood there, focused on a grill upon which several slabs of pink meat were cooking. She was slightly plump, with ruddy cheeks and slowly-greying hair pulled into a tight bun behind her head. Matronly. She turned to Ian.


    ¡°Can I help you?¡±


    Ian grinned. ¡°I¡¯d like some of your meat, if you¡¯d be so kind.¡±


    She grunted and pulled one of the lumps of meat off the grill, dropping it onto a huge green leaf and handing it to Ian. He didn¡¯t get a say in how it was to be cooked. It didn¡¯t look done; the meat was still broadly pink, with a few spots of black char where the heat had seared the outermost portion. Salmon-coloured grease ran down the leaf, onto his hand. Why did she not have plates?


    Whatever his misgivings about the way the meat was prepared, they vanished when he took a bite. It was heaven. Tender, juicy, with a taste that was familiar yet strange. Like nothing he¡¯d ever eaten before.


    Goodwife Sara had her hand out, palm facing upwards. ¡°I¡¯ll be wanting payment now.¡±


    He laughed. ¡°Here you go,¡± he said, dropping a couple of copperheads into her palm. ¡°I trust that¡¯ll be sufficient.¡±


    ¡°I never said I needed money,¡± said Goodwife Sara, not that it stopped her from putting the two copperheads out of reach before Ian grabbed them back. ¡°My husband keeps swanning off all day. Says he¡¯s going to be here helping me earn my keep, but he drops a pile of dead birds off of a morning and I don¡¯t see him again until after dark. He¡¯s up to something, I know it in my bones. You can pay me by finding the little whore he¡¯s seeing and making sure he never sees her again.¡±


    ¡°Expensive meat.¡±


    ¡°Good meat,¡± she said. ¡°And I¡¯ll hook you up for life if you deal with the bitch.¡±


    He ran his tongue across his teeth, freeing the last few stubborn flakes of meat from the gaps in between. The food was exquisite, there could be no denying that. But he was the Corrack, not some hired gun. It would hardly be appropriate.


    His doubt was clearly evident in his face. ¡°Just find out where it is he¡¯s going, for me,¡± she said, ¡°and then we¡¯ll be even. I can deal with the whore myself. Whoever she is, she¡¯s not the only woman on this rock who knows some good tricks. She won¡¯t enjoy seeing mine.¡±


    Still full on that sumptuous meat, Ian wandered. Goodwife Sara had mentioned her husband heading a few times in the direction of the river. The great Clearwater cut through the valley like a knife, a natural borderline, and thus far he¡¯d never ventured across. Why not today? He might even find out what this husband was getting up to.


    Not that he fancied going alone. Every morning, Sergeant Pratley came to find him, and every morning he sent Sergeant Pratley away. The Sergeant always told Ian exactly where he¡¯d be, just in case Ian changed his mind. Ian always pah¡¯ed. He was the Corrack¡ªchanging his mind was no longer in his nature. But today he¡¯d changed his mind.


    Swallowing his pride, he¡¯d called on Sergeant Pratley before he left the Tavern. Pratley was sat at the table nearest the door, nursing a barely-started half-pint. ¡°Got to be sober to do your bidding,¡± he said, with a grin on his face. And he was useful, to be fair¡ªmoreso than Ian had given him credit for. There was only one way across the Clearwater, apparently, and Sergeant Pratley knew exactly where it was. A wooden trestle bridge a single horse wide had been erected to meet the main dirt track from the Eia. It was a logical place to cross, and not particularly well hidden. Only someone as unobservant as Ian clearly was could have missed it.


    Across the river, the skyline was dominated by huge mountains a way distant. They were far enough away that they were partially obscured by the fog of the horizon, and still they towered over even the Mettywood. David had already had the pleasure of exploring this woodland, Ian knew. He thought David must have been mad. Wandering unmapped forest was his idea of a nightmare.


    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    There was more to this part of the valley than just the Mettywood. For five hundred yards before the treeline, the western shore of the Clearwater was a tranquil paradise of green fields and half-fenced farmland. There were people here. On leisure, mainly. They sat with their feet in the river¡¯s shallows, or lay basking in the sun.


    A crowd had gathered at the back of old Hultry¡¯s stables, where the grass had been cleared to make a dirt-floored yard. ¡°What do you think they¡¯re all looking at, sir?¡± Pratley had scarce asked the question when some semblance of an answer presented itself. Half a dozen soldiers in the deep green uniforms of the Constabulary appeared behind Ian. They pushed their way through the crowd.


    Ian wasn¡¯t far behind. A woman in a dress held up by complex knots, her face pale, bounced off one of the Constabulary men and fell to the ground at Ian¡¯s feet. He pulled her up and shoved her aside. ¡°Out of my way,¡± he growled. ¡°Let me through. I¡¯m the Corrack.¡± It was a reluctant crowd that parted for him. By the time he got close enough to see what was going on, the Constabulary had taken control of the situation. Three of their number had formed a perimeter; any time a member of the gathered crowd jostled too close, they were violently shoved back.


    The other three were looking at a tall, bare tree whose roots were pushing through the dirt. A noose had been looped around one of the branches. Hanging from it was a man, clearly dead, his skin darkened where the blood had pooled. He¡¯d been stripped of all his clothes; a dizzy spiral was tattooed on his chest, the corners squared off.


    Sergeant Pratley appeared at Ian¡¯s side. ¡°There¡¯s been a murder,¡± he said, with a wry smile.


    ¡°You almost look like you¡¯re happy about it,¡± said Ian.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say happy,¡± said Pratley. ¡°But it¡¯s excitement.¡±


    One of the Constabulary soldiers appeared in front of them, hands on her hips. Her nose was large, and curved slightly, like it had been broken and not properly healed. She¡¯d dispensed with the formal green kepi, instead wearing a celadon scrunchie in shoulder-length blonde hair. ¡°You need to clear the area, sir, this is a crime scene.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m the Corrack,¡± said Ian.


    The soldier nodded. ¡°I know who you are. This is still a crime scene.¡±


    He tried to shove his way past her, but that was easier said than done. Without him even noticing it, she managed to spin her rifle and block his way with the butt. ¡°I just want to see the body,¡± he said.


    She shook her head. ¡°I have my orders. If you don¡¯t like it, you need to take that up with the Lord Constable.¡±


    ¡°Lord Constable,¡± Sergeant Pratley scoffed. ¡°What sort of poncy name is that?¡±


    ¡°Easy, Sergeant,¡± said Ian. The big-nosed soldier¡¯s face had hardened, and she still had a discomfitingly tight grip on her gun. ¡°Where is the Lord Constable? I think I would like a word with him, now that I think on it.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯ll be on his way here now,¡± said the soldier.


    ¡°Brilliant, I¡¯ll wait.¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°You¡¯ll need to make an appointment. The Lord Constable is a very busy man.¡±


    But Ian had already turned away from her, Sergeant Pratley in tow. ¡°I¡¯m the Corrack. I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll find time for me.¡± He had no doubt the Lord Constable would be along soon, and there was only one real way of getting here. Hultry had put up a narrow fence along the border of his land. The posts were spindly and the wood baking hot after being all day in the heat of the full sun, and it was the perfect place to wait.


    Sergeant Pratley stuck to him like glue. ¡°Three times,¡± he said, when they were out of Constabulary earshot. ¡°Three times you said ¡®I am the Corrack¡¯.¡±


    Ian looked at him. ¡°What of it? It¡¯s true.¡±


    ¡°It makes you sound like a right pompous dickhead.¡±


    ¡°When I want someone to call me a dickhead, Sergeant Pratley, I¡¯ll ask you.¡±


    In the end, Ian¡¯s hunch proved accurate. It wasn¡¯t five minutes later that he caught sight of the Lord Constable just crossing the bridge. He straightened up.


    ¡°What is it, sir?¡± asked Pratley.


    ¡°Lord Constable approaching.¡±


    Pratley laughed. ¡°Brilliant! This rabble¡¯s useless¡ªthe mob¡¯s getting rowdier by the minute. I love to watch a good bollocking.¡±


    Ian didn¡¯t respond. He¡¯d already gone off to catch the Lord Constable on his way. They¡¯d met a few times before, only briefly, and Ian knew him on sight. The Lord Constable was softly spoken, but today accompanied by a thin Lieutenant who had a bark surprisingly powerful given her gaunt stature. It seemed a good combination. Without someone to shout for him, the Lord Constable would probably have been ignored. As it was, the crowds backed away as he passed. The sound of the Lieutenant¡¯s voice seemed to gee up the Constabulary soldiers already here. At once, Ian heard from the stables renewed shouts of ¡°back away, this is Constabulary business¡±. Obviously this Lieutenant was good at her job.


    The Lieutenant had the nerve to try her shouting at Ian. ¡°Stand back,¡± she said, putting a hand on Ian¡¯s chest. Sergeant Pratley batted her hand away. Ian ignored her altogether, and turned to the Lord Constable.


    ¡°Ian Fitzhenry,¡± he said. ¡°You must be Lord Constable Mannam.¡±


    Mannam tutted. ¡°So much for being anonymous.¡±


    ¡°If you wanted to be anonymous, you should have picked less obnoxious uniforms,¡± said Ian, and Mannam nodded. Even amongst the Constabulary, Mannam stood out. In place of the usual serge, Mannam wore a green dolman fastened with gold buttons, over straw breeches and stockings to match the jacket. He looked like he belonged more in a masquerade ball than a murder scene¡ªand the grim expression on his face suggested he knew it. Ian gestured towards the dead man. ¡°What¡¯s happened here?¡±


    ¡°The dead man¡¯s name was Edmote Wenderwind,¡± said Mannam. ¡°A farm labourer, according to the ship registry. He was billeted to Deadshrike, but he was reported missing a few weeks back. Apparently he found faith.¡±


    Ian frowned. ¡°How do you mean?¡±


    Mannam shrugged. ¡°You recognise his tattoo? That¡¯s Castan¡¯s Spiral. One of Wenderwind¡¯s church pals reported the body to us, said there¡¯d been an attack. Presumably Wenderwind has been living at this church.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know there was a church here,¡± said Ian.


    ¡°Neither did I,¡± said Mannam. ¡°The odd preacher, sure. Wenderwind¡¯s buddy clammed up when we asked him where the church was, and disappeared when our backs were turned.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the uniforms. He knows you¡¯re law. He doesn¡¯t want to tangle.¡±


    ¡°A criminal¡¯s attitude,¡± Mannam spat. ¡°If he was a law-abiding man, he¡¯d help us see his friend brought to justice. As it is... well, where do I even start? Their church could be anywhere. Might not even be a proper building. These sorts often gather around campfires by the river.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve got the manpower,¡± said Ian. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be too hard to track them down, surely.¡±


    ¡°With this lot? Don¡¯t make me laugh. They¡¯re bloody useless. Can¡¯t even find three soldiers, and they¡¯ve been looking for weeks.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not useless,¡± said his Lieutenant, pouting.


    ¡°Then why are you standing next to me? Look, every little twat this side of the river is trying to cop a feel of poor Wenderwind. Go and keep order.¡± The Lieutenant, chastened, pushed her way through the crowds to join her colleagues in front of the body. She must have put all her humiliation into her shouts for order. They were loud enough for Chris and Caro to have heard, all the way in their Eia quarters.


    ¡°You¡¯re too harsh on her, Lord Constable,¡± said Ian. ¡°She sounds like she¡¯s doing a fine job.¡±


    Mannam nodded. ¡°Aye. Cause I¡¯m harsh with her, when she needs it. Helps them learn. Jess will make senior leadership one day, and it¡¯ll be me she thanks for it.¡±


    ¡°All of your soldiers are doing the right thing, from where I¡¯m standing,¡± Ian said. ¡°The blonde one wouldn¡¯t even let me near the body.¡±


    ¡°As well she shouldn¡¯t,¡± said Mannam, with a derisory snort. ¡°Did you think just cause you¡¯re somebody big in the council hall you can just walk around my crime scenes? Or did you think Onslow might be a pushover, just because she¡¯s small? That one¡¯s got a bite.¡±


    ¡°Well...¡± Ian fumbled for a response. The Lord Constable¡¯s already less than friendly tone had suddenly turned icy cold.


    ¡°I suggest you clear out of here now, and let the people with real jobs to do get on with them.¡± Mannam didn¡¯t leave Ian opportunity to respond. He span on his heel and marched off towards Hultry¡¯s stable.


    Ian turned to Sergeant Pratley. ¡°I don¡¯t think he likes me very much.¡±


    In the excitement, Ian hadn¡¯t noticed mid-morning turning into early evening. The sun was already preparing to set, and Sara Wiles¡¯ husband was unlikely to be found at this time. Rather than keep wandering aimlessly, towards the western woods and whatever mysteries lay beyond, Ian started back. As always, Sergeant Pratley followed. Well, not followed. Led the way. He overtook quite quickly, after Ian caught sight of a brilliant azure flower that reminded him of happier times and for a second froze. By the time they reached the bridge, Ian was struggling to keep pace.


    ¡°Do you think you could track this place down?¡± Ian waited until they were across the river before speaking up.


    Sergeant Pratley turned to him, a frown on his face. ¡°Edmote Wenderwind¡¯s church? Give me a week.¡±


    ¡°Brilliant.¡± Ian smiled. ¡°That will be all for today, Sergeant. Go and finish your pint.¡±


    ¡°It was a half, sir.¡±

 12. The Borrowood Plan

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ David ~


    ¡°I¡¯m concerned about your ability to lead.¡± The woman in David¡¯s office was blunt and to the point. Lieutenant Anna Bennett had come through the door only ten seconds before insinuating that he wasn¡¯t fit for his position. In all his years, David had never seen someone quicker off the mark.


    Lieutenant Bennett was one of his least-favourite subalterns. She was a lickspittle to her superiors, forever sucking up to try and win their favour. When David was the same rank, she had been the bane of his existence. But much as she went out of her way to appease the higher ranks, he knew she was short with those in her charge. She hated the green recruits she always got lumped with¡ªher words, not his. Today, her lips were pursed tightly.


    ¡°Sit down,¡± he said, careful not to let his fa?ade of cordiality slip. People who tried to say he wasn¡¯t doing his job right were the worst, without exception. They were almost always the sort who had never held real responsibility, living in fantasy worlds where the military was somehow isolated from the realities of politics. Any fool could command in a vacuum. When several hundred people were pushing back against your ideas from every possible angle, it was a little more complicated. He often felt it would have been really satisfying to just punch the lights out of one of those little twats, but that was the road to a court martial and a dismissal.


    Bennett sat as bid. She didn¡¯t look happy about it. Her face was as sour as the bitter lemons that grew on the sweltering plains of Opteris. ¡°I¡¯m not afraid to escalate this,¡± she said, as soon as her bottom touched the seat. ¡°General Bradshaw will hear it if it isn¡¯t sorted out, don¡¯t think he won¡¯t.¡±


    Ah. She was one of those types. ¡°Back up a step,¡± he said. It was hard to keep the smile on his face. ¡°What exactly is the issue here? I can¡¯t fix anything if you don¡¯t tell me what I¡¯m fixing.¡±


    In response, she slapped her hand on his desk. When she removed it, he saw that she¡¯d left behind three small photographs. They were the standard portraits every soldier had taken prior to their boarding the Eia, likely the only photographs any of them had ever had. Two men, both with their hair cropped into identical styles¡ªone grey and one a reddish-brown¡ªand one woman, her long hair tinged pink. He knew who they were. Robert Bartley, Thomas Warner, Eilidh Cailie. The three missing soldiers. He might have guessed that this was Bennett¡¯s problem. It wasn¡¯t as if she ever wanted to talk to him about anything else.


    ¡°These three have been missing for coming on three months now,¡± said Lieutenant Bennett. ¡°And yet the efforts to find them seem to have been suspended. There¡¯s a very real risk that they could be in danger, and such a casual disregard for the lives of your own soldiers is frankly inappropriate for an officer of any level.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no need to exaggerate the issue, Lieutenant,¡± he said coolly. ¡°Your soldiers have been in my thoughts since the day I arrived here.¡±


    ¡°So why aren¡¯t you sending search parties out to find them?¡±


    David sighed. ¡°At this stage, it¡¯s not a good use of resources.¡± Lieutenant Bennett started to complain, but he talked over her. ¡°I know what you¡¯re going to say. But that¡¯s the fact of the matter. You said yourself, it¡¯s been over two months. There¡¯d surely have been some sign of them by now¡ªthe fact that there hasn¡¯t tells me that they¡¯re probably dead. There¡¯s nothing to be gained by sending soldiers away to walk over the same land they¡¯ve searched several times already.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re not dead,¡± Bennett sniffed, straightening her back. ¡°I was their commanding officer. I¡¯ve a flawless service record, never lost a single soldier¡ªyou can look that up.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± said David. ¡°Look, don¡¯t feel like you¡¯re being blamed for this. Every officer¡¯s had a death in their command. If you like, I can refer you to Doctor Paysen.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need a therapist,¡± shouted Bennett. ¡°I need my soldiers back.¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯m doing all that I can. Orders come from General Bradshaw, I can¡¯t help what he¡¯s saying.¡±


    She shook her head with clear disdain for his answer. ¡°Captain Clifford, I urge you to reconsider. It wouldn¡¯t take a large search. Just a few men. Please.¡± Her voice piped as she finished speaking. A nice touch. It was an age-old ploy but it tugged just a tiny bit on his heartstrings.


    Still, her face annoyed him. ¡°It¡¯s out of my hands.¡±


    Bennett leaned a shaking hand on David¡¯s desk, her voice cracking. ¡°Captain, I¡¯m begging you. Make this right. I¡¯ve been pulled from my command, given no duty and no soldiers. What have I done to deserve this? Why do I have to be left out in the cold?¡±


    David rolled his eyes. ¡°You¡¯ve not been pulled from your command. You¡¯re on rest.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m rested.¡± Bennett¡¯s voice was raised now to a quavering shout. ¡°Let me take a search out myself, half a dozen men, that¡¯s all I need. Just don¡¯t leave me furloughed and tell me it¡¯s for my benefit.¡±


    He sighed. Bennett was proving to me a problem, somehow even more so than she¡¯d been every other time she¡¯d paid him a visit. He didn¡¯t like problems. Problems could take a hike straight off a high cliff, for all he cared. And Bennett was really grating. She seemed to be content to blame him for her own carelessness¡ªand it was carelessness, there¡¯s really no other way to just lose a quarter of your command. But fuck him for trying to do his best within the scope of the rules, apparently. If finding the missing soldiers was so important to Bennett that it overrode the imperative to follow orders, she could take the initiative herself to look for them, and with it the inevitable consequences when General Bradshaw learned that his instructions had been ignored. Instead she seemed content to mope around while expecting David to stick his neck out.


    They weren¡¯t his soldiers. He didn¡¯t know them. If they were dead it was sad, and he¡¯d be the first to offer his condolences, but sleep would come no less easily to him.


    An idea came to him, a means to be rid of Lieutenant Bennett. ¡°General Bradshaw has been talking about the need to make a fortification outside the borders of the valley. I suggested the place where you first made camp. The plateau fort, I believe it¡¯s called.¡±


    Bennett looked at him. ¡°Plateau Watch. I know it. Sergeant Malleston¡¯s command.¡±


    Obviously she¡¯d done her research. ¡°Sergeant Malleston is serving as the interim commander, yes.¡±


    ¡°Interim.¡± Bennett spat. ¡°That should be my command. I¡¯m a lieutenant, a ranking officer, but it has to go to a sergeant instead. We all know why that is. Bradshaw can¡¯t bear the thought of a woman in a powerful role who won¡¯t fuck him on command. So at the first opportunity I¡¯m made a scapegoat, left to wither on the blacklist as a warning to anybody else who might start getting ideas about her bodily autonomy.¡±


    David shook his head, and brushed a strand of overlong hair out from in front of his eyes. ¡°You aren¡¯t being scapegoated,¡± he said, ¡°so don¡¯t be ridiculous.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true,¡± she said. ¡°Don¡¯t act like it isn¡¯t, just because it¡¯s never happened to you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m promising you it isn¡¯t true,¡± he said. ¡°Lieutenant, I can give you four score soldiers and the command of Plateau Watch. You¡¯re right, it belongs to a lieutenant. From there you may lead any searches you wish. But the fortification is the priority. It needs to be properly built up and properly maintained. If I find that you¡¯re letting your search for the missing soldiers interfere with your assigned duty, I will have to recall you.¡± It wasn¡¯t something he¡¯d been planning on doing. Bradshaw had been leaning towards leaving Malleston in charge, and David had thought of giving the command to Lieutenant Jackson, maybe old Lieutenant Tastock if Jackson turned him down. Both were better-suited than Anna Bennett, daughter of a poxy whore, four times promoted through sympathy and fortuitous timing. But it got her out of his office, which was a positive if ever he¡¯d seen one.


    To his surprise, Bennett smiled¡ªthe first genuine smile he¡¯d seen from her since they came to Essegena. ¡°Isn¡¯t it nice not to live in Bradshaw¡¯s thrall?¡± she said.


    ¡°Careful,¡± David scolded. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t cast aspersions, if I were you. I can still take the command back.¡±


    Bennett nodded. ¡°Sorry, Captain.¡± She thanked him and promised not to let him down, and then she left. Sweet respite. The lingering echo of her voice rattled around the insides of his skull well into the evening, not even dulled by a half-hour of eyes-closed. Almost enough to make him wish he drank.


    He was making serious plans to break with a lifelong tradition and get his hands on a bottle of something strong when at last someone knocked on his door. Distraction, at last! ¡°Enter.¡±


    ¡°Thank-you.¡± Governor Ballard was the one to walk into the room. His face was red from too much sun, the skin parched, and seeds of grey were beginning to show at the roots of his hair. Chris Ballard had begun to turn grey midway through his thirties, but he was religious in his application of dye. Sometimes David wondered if even Caroline knew her husband no longer had the natural umber of his youth. The gilded kepi in his hands would normally keep his hair from view, but without it the grey was obvious.


    Ballard marched over to David¡¯s desk, his hand clasped behind his back, and sat down on the chair, setting his hat down on the desk as he did so. ¡°David, I have a favour to ask. But first I need to know that I can rely on you.¡±


    He frowned. ¡°Of course,¡± he said, uncertain.


    ¡°No matter what?¡±


    ¡°Chris, we¡¯ve been friends since we were kids. You know me. I¡¯ve always got your back.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s excellent news. Truly.¡± Chris looked at him, held the look for a good second longer than he normally did. It was discomfiting. ¡°Do you remember what we used to dream about? All of us, in Borrowood?¡±


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°The dynasty?¡± They¡¯d had lofty dreams. Armand Heramey had been the first one to talk about it. Imagine if they could take over all of the Unity, a dozen upstarts from Borrowood. Armand had got the idea from a relative, no doubt. The Herameys were descended from the kingmakers of old, a family rich in heritage from the island of Ivyne. The rest had scoffed at first. Their families weren¡¯t rich. They came from lines of workers and paupers. But in time they¡¯d all adopted the idea. It was their solemn vow, in the waning days of their time together.


    After they¡¯d scattered to the winds, the Borrowood Dynasty was forgotten. Half of their number were dead, now, or far away from here. Here they were four. David shook his head. ¡°You should forget about it, Chris. Godsouls, we were only children.¡±


    ¡°And now we¡¯re men,¡± Chris said. ¡°I have a plan... Part of a plan, at the very least. Borrowood can be a reality. Everything we dreamed about can happen¡ªhere, on Essegena. I do need your help, though.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s treason.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not treason.¡± Chris spoke softly, quietly, almost lovingly, his eyes looking past David. ¡°How could it be? I am the Governor. There¡¯s no realm for me to betray.¡±


    ¡°And if your plan fails? Damned Bradshaw already hates me, do you think he¡¯d take a kind view of a coup? He¡¯d see us hanged if the law allowed it.¡±


    Chris looked to the ground. ¡°Whatever else he is, the General is a shrewd operator. He¡¯s not going to seek vengeance that will hurt his own cause.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, he¡¯s smart,¡± David said, ¡°which is why you need to be careful of him. Whatever you have planned, you know he¡¯ll fight against it. There¡¯s a good chance he¡¯ll win.¡±


    ¡°He won¡¯t win.¡± Chris was looking up again now, staring past David, with a burning intensity in his eyes. ¡°Dead men can¡¯t win.¡±


    David shook his head. ¡°No. I¡¯m not going to be party to murder.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not murder if it¡¯s in war.¡±


    ¡°And you want to bring a war here? Is that it?¡±


    ¡°If it proves needful.¡±


    He found himself laughing. ¡°Forget it, Chris. I¡¯d go a long way to support you, but that I can¡¯t do.¡± They¡¯d been there, on Tol Manase, the last time war had eclipsed the Unity. Maybe only for the tail end of it¡ªmaybe sheltered from the very worst. Still, David had no desire to see another. The shadows of war hung over all corners. Half of Tol Manase was still abandoned two decades on. Even tiny Borrowood had its monuments, the red plaque of a hundred names devoted to the men of the village who¡¯d died abroad as soldiers, and the burnt shell of the old manor house on the hill where once a defiant lord had made his stand.


    David still had dreams of that defiant lord¡¯s face. Lianol Ontay, Lord Ontay the Stubborn, was nothing more than a shade in the history books. Twenty years and some change when his father was lured away and murdered, a fraction more change when he himself was laid to rest. In David¡¯s mind, Lord Ontay was a handsome young man with an untameable curl in his hair.


    Old Mother Maud was the butt of every young man¡¯s jokes as he drank in the inn. She was a wizened, dust-bunny crone, forever wearing the shroud of an ancient time. And she knew things. David used to visit her in her house, when he was younger. To his parents she was a frail old woman who could benefit from the company. But she was so much more. Her walls were filled with artefacts from Borrowood¡¯s long centuries past. The very air always seemed to electrify when she touched them.


    She¡¯d ply David with stale cakes and a drink of something caffeinated, and tell him stories. Every time she was somebody different, another tragedy of the town. The names had never left him. It wasn¡¯t just Lord Ontay. There was Edwin Macaulay, who had lived in that house when it was still brand new. He was recently betrothed to his childhood sweetheart. He liked to pick the sweet berries from the groves downstream from the old mill. He was trying to grow a beard for the first time. He¡¯d died in defence of that stubborn lord, still a boy more than a man when a dirk stuck in his belly and left him weeping at the thought of home.


    Then there was sweet Frances Irdingley, who wove roses into her hair and sang songs in the shade of the churchyard. She¡¯d been crowned the fairest maiden thrice in a row at the autumn fayre, when a jealous milkmaid pushed her to the bottom of the deepest well in Borrowood. She was scared of the dark, and the well was black.


    The others told him not to believe her. She was senile, they said. Her stories had no basis in fact. Yes, there was an Edwin Macaulay on the red plaque. And yes, the prettiest headstone in the churchyard was devoted to a Frances Irdingley. But there was nothing stopping Old Mother Maud from using those names to make her stories seem real.


    David insisted that they didn¡¯t know what they were talking about. Old Mother Maud was a Foresleeper, one of those who saw the future in obscurities. Why couldn¡¯t she see the past as well? The stories were so real. The crone seemed to be taken over bodily by the innocent dead whose lives she recounted. When she cried their tears, the trees outside would always howl with a mourning of their own. You had to be there to know it, that¡¯s what he told them.


    So one day Caroline and Freya had come with him to see Old Mother Maud. Her face had darkened when she saw them on the doorstep, and she¡¯d insisted that they leave. ¡°There¡¯s sickness in those girls,¡± she said. ¡°Theirs is the life of pestilence. When the war is over, naught but their shadows will remain. I won¡¯t have them here.¡±


    He¡¯d never managed to convince the others that Old Mother Maud wasn¡¯t a con. Freya had spent the next week crying herself to sleep. Apparently, she¡¯d had a little girl crush on him. She thought he¡¯d brought her to Old Mother Maud to humiliate her into leaving him alone. Ian Fitzhenry had come to him one evening, apoplectic, to tell him that his trick was overly cruel. Freya didn¡¯t deserve it. There was no use in trying to explain that there was no trick, so he¡¯d made a show of apologising to Freya and stopped talking about Maud.


    The last time he¡¯d seen her, it was a few days before he left Borrowood to join the Unity. Back then, war still sounded like an adventure. ¡°I¡¯ll not be seeing you again,¡± she¡¯d told him. ¡°Not in this life, nor any other after.¡±


    By the time of his first visit home, Old Mother Maud was dead.


    He could see her now, in his head. She was Edwin Macaulay and Frances Irdingley and all the others from her stories, all the names on the red plaque, all the billions of war dead. Walk away, she seemed to scream. Turn your back from this.


    ¡°I hope you don¡¯t think I¡¯m turning into a tyrant, David.¡± Chris seemed chipper all of a sudden, like the young man who¡¯d had those Borrowood dreams. The grey hairs seemed out of place on this face. ¡°Nobody should need to go to war to do the right thing. I don¡¯t want to see a single drop of blood spilt for the sake of this place. I won¡¯t bring the war, I promise you, but if war is brought to me I need to know I have your back.¡±


    Somewhere in a grave in Borrowood, perpetual motion had been achieved for the first time as Old Mother Maud turned over and over.


    David spoke with a sigh. ¡°If war is brought to you.¡±


    A smile washed over Chris¡¯ face. He exhaled, his shoulders falling to relaxation, and found the decanter David kept on his desk. It was empty. There were few things that tasted worse than wine, almost all of which were toxic to an absurd degree, but for some reason people seemed to expect him to have some on hand. He¡¯d found through experience that if he told his visitors he¡¯d just run out, they¡¯d drop the matter, but if he tried to explain that he hated wine and couldn¡¯t stomach having any on hand, they would invariably start recommending their favourite vintages.


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t keep an empty decanter,¡± Chris said. ¡°I always half expect you to fill it up one day.¡±


    ¡°We both know that¡¯ll never happen.¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t need to be wine, you know. Anything fermented will do fine.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll think about it.¡± He wasn¡¯t planning on thinking about it.


    Chris sat down across from David, and crossed his hands over the desk. ¡°Do. Now, I came to speak to you about a favour.¡±


    ¡°Have you not already asked?¡± David was confused. ¡°If war doesn¡¯t count as a favour, what does?¡±


    Chris reached into his trouser pocket and pulled a small glass bottle, a cork stopper in the top and a musty old label to block all view of the contents. It had been sealed with red wax. ¡°This. Keep it hidden. It didn¡¯t come from me, you understand? I¡¯ve got nothing to do with it.¡±


    David furrowed his brow. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°Not important,¡± said Chris. ¡°Just make sure it¡¯s somewhere safe, for when you need to use it.¡±


    ¡°How will I know when to use it? I don¡¯t know what it is.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll know.¡±


    This was a Chris that David hadn¡¯t seen before. His nostrils were flared, his eyes piercing.


    David took the bottle and stuffed it into a coat pocket. He could put it somewhere safer later, but for now it would do.


    As soon as the bottle was out of sight, Chris became his calmer self again. ¡°I¡¯ve been putting things in place for a long time. Decades. I had an epiphany underneath the Ontay house.¡± When they were all much younger, much more foolish, they used to go up to Lord Ontay¡¯s house on the hill, crumbling ruin as it was. Usually they¡¯d get spooked by the outer fence. By the time they got to the front door they were all ready to bolt. Chris was thirteen by the time they worked up the courage to actually go in. His brother Charlie stayed outside, and Caro too. They were too young. David had balked as well, claiming that he didn¡¯t care enough to enter. He didn¡¯t like to admit that he was just as terrified as the younger kids.


    But none of the others had been scared, and Chris least of all. He¡¯d been the one who kicked in the remains of the door and lead them inside. But as they walked through the house¡¯s rooms of rotting wood, he¡¯d put his foot through a decaying floorboard, falling down into a strange cellar beneath. The others had tried to pull him out, but none of them had the strength, and he¡¯d been left alone in the dark whilst they tried to find the cellar door.


    Chris always swore he¡¯d seen nothing in the darkness down there. Could it be that was a lie?


    ¡°It was supposed to be the perfect kingdom for me and Dani, untouchable. My wedding gift to her. I went so far as to source a crown, to make her a queen. That wasn¡¯t meant to be. The work is still there. I¡¯ve been speaking to people, making connections, putting things in place. Bradshaw thinks he owns the soldiers here, but I had more of a say than he realises. Jackson will stand with me, if it comes to it. Reilly too, and Chalmers. Half a dozen lieutenants.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t rely on that,¡± David warned. ¡°I know soldiers. I am one. Most officers are in it for the prestige. If they think Bradshaw¡¯s a better proposition, don¡¯t expect them to answer the call.¡±


    ¡°Bradshaw will be the one rebelling against the government,¡± said Chris. ¡°He¡¯ll never not be on the back foot.¡±


    ¡°If war happens at all. I¡¯m not convinced things will play out the way you expect.¡±


    Chris shook his head. ¡°No, it¡¯s not just me. The plan¡¯s sound. Written by Reyda Bell Torrent herself.¡±


    It couldn¡¯t be... ¡°Reyda Bell Torrent the Commissioner?¡± Chris nodded. She¡¯d been a big shot in the Unity government for a time, on the back of an impressive strategy of campaigning. Her actions since she retired from public life were unknown. Apparently she¡¯d been colluding with Chris on his grand strategy.


    ¡°All Bradshaw has is the military,¡± said Chris. ¡°Anybody with a scrap of brain can run him in circles in a debate, and defeats in the council chamber are bound to stick in his craw. It won¡¯t take long for him to snap. When he does, there¡¯ll be nothing left to him except the soldiers he commands. What do you think the Lickspittle General will do then?¡±


    David grimaced. ¡°Don¡¯t hate me for saying it, Chris, but this whole plan makes me uncomfortable. I¡¯ve got no love for Bradshaw, but to goad him into starting a war... It¡¯s madness, utter madness, and even if by some fluke it works, innocent people will die. You won¡¯t get the paradise you want.¡±


    ¡°The plan¡¯s not to force a war,¡± Chris assured him. ¡°The plan¡¯s to be ready for one if it comes. Don¡¯t feel you have to take part, if you don¡¯t want to. You were always the outsider in Borrowood¡ªit wouldn¡¯t be a change for you to be the outsider here too.¡±


    David rose suddenly, his chair toppling beneath him. It wasn¡¯t his fault he¡¯d never connected with the others, not the way they all seemed to. He tried for years to feel a part of the gang. Chris even led him to believe he¡¯d been successful. If that was just a falsehood... he clenched his fists, and looked down at the table. ¡°You have my support, Governor. Now can I have my office back?¡±


    ¡°I knew you were dependable,¡± said Chris, a cheery note in his voice. He left the office, and left David alone.


    When he was gone, David reached into his pocket and with shaky hand withdrew the glass bottle. What¡¯s in you, he wondered. What doesn¡¯t Chris want people knowing about?


    The bottle gave no answer.

 13. In Whom You Trust

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Tema ~


    The small hours of the morning found Tema stood in front of the small mirror in her attached bathroom. She was bleary-eyed and tired, already awake for nearly two hours. Sleep was barely a memory. Tasha¡¯s words had brought the clenched fist back to Tema¡¯s stomach, and it gnarled there. For hours she tossed and turned and tossed again, until sheer exhaustion brought her some rest. And then came the nightmares. They woke her, and the grip of dysphoria was a fraction stronger, and the process began again.


    She yawned, her shaking hand painting a wayward line of mascara up her forehead. Get a cloth and wipe it off. Start again. Her make-up had to be perfect. No room for errors. Barbara assured her that she didn¡¯t need to go all out, she was pretty enough. Her fortnight with Lieutenant Bennett¡¯s oblivious soldiers proved Barbara right. That didn¡¯t matter. Tema couldn¡¯t allow even a whisper of masculinity to show.


    If she did, there¡¯d be a lot more people lining up to echo Tasha. One insidiously crowing voice was enough. Had Tasha understood that her words didn¡¯t leave Tema¡¯s head? They stayed there forever, and the hurt slowly built. One day there¡¯d be nothing left but the hurt¡ªand then what?


    At least she was back to hospital work. Being out in the field was interesting, sure, but she hated the uniforms. The fatigues they made her wear hid all the curves she¡¯d dreamed of having. She hated them. In the hospital she could dress the way she wanted to.


    Today¡¯s dress was white cotton, standard issue, but with jade trims instead of the customary lilac. She was a doctor, not a nurse¡ªand that meant she could vary the colours, if she chose. The skirt, covered by a pouch tied about her waist, fell just below her knees. Once, barely old enough to talk, she¡¯d gone with her parents and Aunt Danyer to the hospital on the bluff. Her grandfather was ill, or perhaps it was her grandmother. The nurse on duty was wearing a dress just like it. Tema had been smitten at once. She recalled tugging on the hem of the dress, spitting out some of the few words she knew. ¡°Pretty. Want. Let touch.¡± She¡¯d tried to ask the nurse to give her the dress, but her limited vocabulary allowed her to say only ¡°off¡± while pointing a stubby finger at the poor woman¡¯s clothes.


    It made her cringe to look back. No doubt the poor woman thought she was being accosted by a pre-pubescent sexual predator. Aunt Danyer had taken Tema outside, and they¡¯d shared an iced snack while they waited for Mother and Father to join them. ¡°Do you like the dress?¡± Aunt Danyer had asked her. Somehow, she always knew everything. When Tema had nodded in response, Aunt Danyer had agreed that the dress was very pretty.


    By the time she was finished in front of the mirror, her morning had gone. She swiped a package of dry biscuits from her sidetable, stuffing them into her mouth as she jogged for the hospital.


    Barbara Flower was on the reception desk to greet her. She was always a welcome sight. She¡¯d been Tasha¡¯s friend, first, but when Tasha dropped out of Raconesta, Barbara had come to Tema. They¡¯d been thick ever since. Barbara was the one to welcome Tema to sisterhood, and help her navigate all the tricky things. She was more a sister than Tasha had been of late.


    The hairnet she wore told Tema she was just filling in for somebody else. Barbara was proud of her hair. She liked to wear it long and straight. When she was on reception duty, she brushed it smooth and let it hang, shining tresses of tiger¡¯s-eye brown. When she was on the wards, she bunched it all up and stuffed it beneath a net. It made her look a bit like Mad Moira the gut-ripper.


    Barbara looked up. ¡°Morning, Tema,¡± she said. ¡°Look at me on reception again. It¡¯s the funniest thing. When I went to sleep last night I was Barbara, but it seems I¡¯ve woken up as Delphine.¡± She swivelled in her chair and prodded a piece of paper tacked haphazardly to the wall behind. It was the duty sheet for the day. Barbara was indeed on ward duty. Reception was supposedly being manned by Delphine Janley, who wasn¡¯t exactly known for her reliability. On her previous posting, a spell on an orbital base near Malindei, she¡¯d developed a habit for deserting the desk to have a quick encounter with one of the men on duty¡ªto the point that the rota was specifically arranged so she was only ever working alongside female staff. Not that that had deterred her, if the stories were to be believed. She¡¯d just started having relations with the women instead.


    I wonder who she¡¯s screwing at the moment.


    Tema swiped her badge to clock on, and headed for the hygiene room. It was a little nook just behind reception, across from the administrative areas of the hospital. Eight sinks and four showers. Every member of staff was required to wash their hands upon arrival, and policy dictated that any time they came into contact with a patient¡¯s bodily fluids, they were to take a thorough shower at the earliest convenience.


    As she entered the room and ran the tap of the nearest sink, she heard a gentle moaning, and a slightly louder cooing. The curtains were pulled over all four showers, but only one was moving about. Through the thin fabric, she could see the shadow of a shock of jet-black hair. ¡°Good morning, Delphine,¡± she called, deliberately loudly, and chuckled at the ensuing muttered ¡°oh shit¡±. Then the showers fell silent. Most of the doctors would have had stern words with Delphine, and Doctor Maynard in particular would probably want her disciplined severely, but Tema couldn¡¯t bring herself to care all that much. It wasn¡¯t as though they were awash with patients that needed urgent treatment.


    She finished washing her hands and turned off the tap. Then, she made to leave the hygiene room, taking care to make each step as loud as she could. Rather than actually leaving the room, though, she leaned against the door and watched. A minute or so passed before a whispered conversation began in the shower.


    ¡°Is she gone?¡±


    ¡°I think so.¡±


    A manicured hand pulled back the curtain, and Hannah Thorne stepped out. She caught sight of Tema straight away, and her eyes bulged. She squealed something, but the noise stuck in her throat.


    Tema smiled. ¡°Enjoying yourself?¡±


    Hannah looked as though she no longer had any concept of what ¡®enjoying yourself¡¯ was like, but nodded her head nonetheless.


    ¡°Good. Make sure you wash your hands before you come out to work. Same for you, Delphine.¡±


    A familiar voice filled Tema¡¯s ears as she left the washroom, strangling her amused chuckles in their cradle. Tasha.


    Her sister was leaning against the reception desk, her hair pulled up into a messy bun and baggy clothes hanging loosely off her body. Tasha had a ladiesmaid, a woman paid specifically to make sure she looked beautiful every morning. It had been a conscious effort on her part to look frumpy and frazzled. She was after something. By the way she was sweet-talking Barbara, whatever she wanted was something she couldn¡¯t get.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± said Tema, not caring if she sounded blunt.


    Tasha looked at Tema, and her eyes sparkled. Barbara, by contrast, seemed apologetic, like she¡¯d somehow betrayed Tema merely by talking to Tasha.


    Poor Barbara was forgotten immediately, as Tasha focused her attention on Tema. ¡°Temmi. Dear sister.¡± She had a saccharine smile as real as a silverwing¡¯s tear.


    Tema wasn¡¯t in the mood. ¡°Am I your sister today?¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s good to know you¡¯ve come around.¡±


    Barbara slipped out of her chair and took herself off to the farthest point of the front desk, burying herself in the admissions ledger. Tasha brushed a stray hair from her face. ¡°There was a man here the last time I came,¡± she said. ¡°A patient. Who was he?¡±


    ¡°You know I can¡¯t talk about other patients, Tasha. Whether you¡¯re family or not.¡± Tema folded her arms. ¡°I know the academy was too hard for you, but the oath of the medick is week one stuff.¡±


    ¡°He called me ¡®mama¡¯,¡± said Tasha.


    Tema shook her head. ¡°And he thought I was a bluebird. The man was delirious,¡± she said. ¡°Don¡¯t read into what he did or didn¡¯t say.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s my son. I know he is.¡±


    Tema winced at the audacity of what Tasha was trying to imply. ¡°You were barely more than a child when he was born, Tasha. You¡¯d remember if you¡¯d pushed a baby out of your peach.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t talk like you know what a vagina feels like,¡± Tasha spat. ¡°I¡¯m a woman. It doesn¡¯t need to make sense for me to know he¡¯s my son. He must have gone back in time or something.¡±


    Tema had to laugh. She ignored the scowls coming like daggers fresh off the grindstone from Tasha. ¡°Listen to yourself, Tash, you sound completely insane. More than your usual insane. Time travel? Do you want me to fit you in for a scan? There might be something pressing on your brain.¡±


    Tasha reached out a hand and dragged it along the desk, pushing two pens and a folder full of paper onto the floor. ¡°What a messy place you keep,¡± she said.


    ¡°Grow up.¡±


    ¡°Ha,¡± said Tasha. ¡°You telling me to grow up? I¡¯m having a baby. I¡¯m married. You¡¯re still playing dress-up.¡±


    ¡°Watch it, Tash,¡± said Barbara, her interjection easily discarded.


    Tema became very conscious of what she was wearing. A hand fell to the hem of her skirt and tugged at it. At Raconesta, the men and women alike had worn bland scrubs. By comparison, the tunic she wore here looked conspicuously feminine. It was the sort of thing that Tasha would feel antagonised by. The fact of the matter was that right now, Tema looked more like a woman than her sister did. That had obviously upset Tasha. She¡¯s just lashing out.


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t let me have a scan when I came in before,¡± said Tasha, all haughty. ¡°Never mind that you specifically told me to come in. I sat in that ward for an hour before someone had the decency to tell me you were too busy.¡±


    ¡°Nobody asked you to cause a scene,¡± Tema retorted. ¡°It was your decision to let yourself into a ward you had no business going on to. Doctor Ballard could have had the Constabulary come to arrest you, if she so chose.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll have one now.¡±


    ¡°Maternity doctor¡¯s not here at the moment,¡± said Tema. She called over to Barbara. ¡°When¡¯s Doctor Sinclair in next?¡±


    Barbara flicked through a sheaf of pages. ¡°Day after tomorrow,¡± she said. ¡°But she¡¯s fully booked for a week after that.¡±


    ¡°How can she be fully booked?¡± Tasha thundered. ¡°Nobody else is pregnant.¡±


    Tema held up her hands. ¡°I don¡¯t make her appointments. Pop back in a couple of days and perhaps we can get you booked in then.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no way you can arrange something for me? Is there a nurse who can do it?¡± Tasha had switched to begging.


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    Tema shook her head. Some of the nurses were probably more than capable of doing a prenatal scan, but Tasha didn¡¯t need to know that. ¡°There¡¯s nothing I can do, I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    Tasha flipped on a copperhead then, her face falling. ¡°You look ridiculous, you know. Dressed like that. Mother would have palpitations.¡± And she swanned off, not even deigning to glance back as she stormed out of the hospital.


    Tema watched her go with mild amusement, then turned to Barbara with a wry grin. ¡°You didn¡¯t have to play along, you know. Tasha¡¯s your friend as much as I am.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯ll get over herself,¡± said Barbara, returning to her seat. ¡°But it doesn¡¯t hurt for her to not get her own way for a little while.¡±


    Tema ran a hand down the side of her dress, all the way to the hem. ¡°Was she right? Is this a bit much?¡±


    Barbara laughed. ¡°It¡¯s uniform, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°I worry it looks like I¡¯m trying too hard.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Barbara. ¡°Nobody will see it that way. How many people here know about your past?¡±


    ¡°Other than you and Doctor Ballard? Not a soul.¡± Tema looked to Barbara. ¡°So people don¡¯t care?¡±


    ¡°So what if they do?¡± Barbara shrugged. ¡°They¡¯re not in charge of you.¡±


    Long as the shift was, it was good fun. Hannah Thorne flushed red every time she made eye contact with Tema, which was thoroughly entertaining. There was no such joy with Delphine, however¡ªshe remained resolutely unashamed. It was admirable in a way. She wished she could flaunt herself so, and not get caught up in what others thought.


    The hospital was painfully quiet, so much so that she almost caught herself hoping for a disaster, to bring patients to her. There was Jem, slowly declining and always bleeding, but there were only so many times she could stand over his bed and watch him sleeping. And yet there was precious little else to do.


    At least she wasn¡¯t the only one at a loss for things to do. ¡°Another boring one,¡± said Viola Watling, exactly four hours and two minutes into the eight hour shift. Viola had long hair in dark waves that Tema was profoundly jealous of. For some reason, she always wore a hat, tight and shaped like a bell. That struck Tema as absurd. If she had hair like Viola¡¯s, she¡¯d always want to be showing it off. Viola was mad. She was also young, still a student, so Tema had to bite her tongue and be polite. She had complimented Viola on her nails the first time they¡¯d met, but since then they¡¯d hardly shared a word. The fancy paint had given way to uncoated fingernails now, and the wide-eyed excitement that had been etched into Viola¡¯s face in those early days had hardened. ¡°Here¡¯s me counting down the minutes.¡±


    ¡°You just wait,¡± said Tema. ¡°Once we start getting busy, you¡¯ll be wishing for a shift full of restocking cabinets.¡± Once upon a time she¡¯d been just the same as Viola. Her placement was a small hospital near the munitions town Balking. Superstitious as they were, most ordinary people chose not to live near Balking. She passed her placement on long boring days, never seeing more than the odd chemical burn. A patient with a broken arm had been the highlight of her first year. Like Viola, she learned to count the minutes until her supervisor would set her free.


    Then the munitions factory caught alight. Within the hour it had exploded in a fiery maelstrom. Overnight the empty little hospital became full to bursting, and there weren¡¯t even enough beds. The triage nurse had broken down in tears after a few hours of choosing which inpatients were worth saving, and which had injuries too severe to waste resources. The dead had been in four figures. Tema didn¡¯t get to properly relax for a fortnight. And after it had all died down she never counted the minutes again.


    ¡°I don¡¯t see it ever getting busy here,¡± Viola scoffed. ¡°It¡¯s not like they let the weak of constitution travel on a colony ship.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a lot of people here. The minor injuries aren¡¯t ever going to stop. A few people get long-term illnesses, and it¡¯ll quickly stack up. We might even have to open up some of the other wards.¡±


    ¡°Where will we go to doss around then?¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t,¡± said Tema. ¡°You¡¯ll have to work. And then you¡¯ll be so tired, you¡¯ll sleep all the way through to your next shift.¡±


    ¡°No downtime?¡±


    ¡°Sometimes you¡¯ll have to go without. That¡¯s the life we signed up for. But I tell you what, it¡¯s completely worth it when you see someone up and walking whose life you helped to save.¡± Tema¡¯s was a man called Albert, who in his convalescence kept on thanking her for her efforts. His wife had just given birth to a little girl. He held Tema responsible for his being able to go back to her.


    Viola laughed. ¡°I¡¯ll have to get double the drinks in now. While I still can.¡±


    ¡°As long as you¡¯re sober before you¡¯re back to work.¡±


    She spent much of the remaining hours with Viola. They divided their work with gossip and laughter, none of it of any real substance. It passed the time well. And it wasn¡¯t like they were leaving work undone; it really was ninety percent administrative tasks, busy-work, stuff contrived to justify their spending all that time in the hospital, so that they wouldn¡¯t be caught short if an emergency happened.


    Come the end of the day, she was back in the company of Delphine Janley. Delphine still didn¡¯t seem embarrassed to have been caught earlier. In fact, she seemed proud of it. ¡°It¡¯s biology,¡± she said, as they walked towards the way out. ¡°And it¡¯s fun.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure it is,¡± Tema agreed. ¡°It isn¡¯t what you¡¯re paid for.¡±


    Delphine just shrugged. ¡°It pays for itself.¡±


    The reception area was just about empty when they reached it; Barbara Flower was sat still behind the desk, clicking a pen repeatedly. She scowled at Delphine. ¡°Five minutes, you said. That was an hour ago.¡±


    ¡°Desk duty¡¯s boring,¡± said Delphine. ¡°And you¡¯re so good at it.¡±


    Barbara ignored Delphine, and returned to clicking her pen.


    ¡°Tema. Just the woman I wanted to see.¡± Doctor Ballard was stood in the doorway, her hair a contrast in auburn up against the walls of white. It filled Tema with envy. Years of growth and anti-androgens had arrested the baldness which had brought with it so many tears, but she¡¯d still not managed to get her hair to come down below her shoulders. And it was greasy, no matter what she did to it. She couldn¡¯t help but take it as another reminder that she was less woman than her peers. And then to work with Caroline Ballard, whose hair seemed to cascade down her neck in effortless locks, each shiny wave screaming femininity.


    She forced a smile and bade Delphine good day. Inside, she was certainly not smiling. Doctor Ballard knew. She¡¯d been there from the start, Tema¡¯s rock through the difficult days. It meant she knew everything. All of Tema¡¯s darkest secrets had been laid bare in those darker years. She wondered what Doctor Ballard was planning to use against her.


    ¡°There¡¯s no need to be worried,¡± Caroline cooed.


    ¡°Who says I was worried?¡±


    ¡°Tema, your face is a book. Look, I know you¡¯re looking over your shoulder all the time. I can¡¯t say I blame you¡ªwithout naming names, I know plenty of people who¡¯d throw you under the bus if they knew you were¡ª¡±


    ¡°Doctor Maynard.¡± She had to say the name.


    Caroline blinked. ¡°I don¡¯t want to name names,¡± she said. ¡°Regardless, you don¡¯t need to worry. At all. I¡¯ve got your back. You know where I stand on the matter¡ªI have eyes, I can see you, I don¡¯t need some outdated file to tell me I¡¯m wrong. And the Governor agrees with me.¡±


    Tema¡¯s heart sank. ¡°The Governor knows?¡± So much for starting afresh.


    ¡°He¡¯s married to me, sweet,¡± said Caroline. ¡°There¡¯s no secrets in our marriage.¡± She must have seen the cloudy expression on Tema¡¯s face, because she suddenly began to grovel. ¡°Look, I know it¡¯s not my place to tell... I hope you can forgive me. It won¡¯t go any further, you have my word on that.¡±


    ¡°Your word? How can I trust your word?¡±


    Caroline grimaced. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you can take my word for it?¡±


    She shook her head.


    ¡°Tema, I don¡¯t blame you if you¡¯re upset. Hell, I would be too if somebody started telling people about me.¡± Caro clasped Tema¡¯s hand. ¡°I count you as a friend. I don¡¯t want to lose that.¡±


    ¡°Why did you tell the Governor about me then?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what you do in a marriage, Tema¡ªyou tell the other person everything that¡¯s happened to you. It simply doesn¡¯t occur to you to keep a secret. You¡¯ll have that one day.¡±


    ¡°Will I?¡± Her whole body was shaking. Feelings long buried had caught a glimpse of the surface, and they were clamouring to rise there. Caroline let go of her hand and stepped away. ¡°Look at me. You know what I am. I¡¯m servant-class, a servant who thinks she¡¯s a doctor. Might as well call me Goodwife Tema, and do away with the pretences. If that. I might be a woman by name, but that doesn¡¯t make me a woman to society.¡±


    She felt Caroline¡¯s hand on her shoulder, an arm around her. The hug felt nice, even if she didn¡¯t want it. ¡°I look at you and I see a woman. I see a doctor. Because that is what you are, Tema.¡±


    ¡°And what man will agree with that, when it comes down to it? I can¡¯t bear children, not ever.¡±


    ¡°Neither can I.¡± Caro spoke as softly as Tema had ever heard. The hug dissolved.


    Someone coughed in the next room over. Tema blinked, as though that might dissipate the sudden onset of tinnitus.


    ¡°What did you say?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t have children. I can¡¯t get pregnant. I did once, for a time. Since then nothing will make my womb quicken, and the Gods will testify that we¡¯ve tried.¡±


    And suddenly it was Tema¡¯s turn to pull Caro into a hug, squeezing her so tight she might have choked. Unacknowledged tears smeared on the shoulders of her tunic as Caro buried her face.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said, between sniffles. ¡°You¡¯re the one who¡¯s angry. Who am I to make this all about me?¡±


    Tema shook her head. ¡°There¡¯s enough tears for two of us. It¡¯s not a case of one or the other.¡±


    ¡°For what it¡¯s worth, I am sorry. It¡¯s my fault for not thinking hard enough.¡±


    In that instant, Caro¡¯s face bore the reflection of its younger self, the face of the Doctor Ballard who had called Tema into her office years ago, to tell her that she knew, and that she didn¡¯t care. The Doctor Ballard who had given her the courage she needed to actually be herself. The moment was just a passing snowflake, there and gone in the blink of an eye. And in that blink her whole mood melted.


    ¡°Forget about it. I overreacted.¡±


    It was clear that Caro didn¡¯t believe that, any more than Tema did. The women looked at one another for a second, then Caro nodded, a nod of acknowledgment more than anything that the conflict was passed.


    Tema suddenly had a thought. ¡°What is it you wanted to see me about? You never said.¡±


    Caro stopped in her tracks. ¡°I think you¡¯re a very capable woman, Tema. You¡¯ll go a long way in life.¡± For a few seconds then she was silent, as if she was unsure of what to say next. ¡°I won¡¯t be in charge here forever. I¡¯d like you to take over when I¡¯m gone.¡±


    ¡°When you¡¯re gone? Are you sick?¡±


    ¡°No, sweet. I just like to be prepared. I have some extra work, important work. I need to be sure it¡¯ll carry on even beyond me. Look, I¡¯ve no right to ask this, not after what I¡¯ve done, but can I trust you?¡±


    She was half-tempted to tell Caro that no, she couldn¡¯t be trusted. Why were Caroline Ballard¡¯s secrets more important than hers? Instead, she faked a smile. ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad,¡± said Caro. ¡°It concerns Foresleepers.¡±


    Foresleepers. Something from legend. ¡°What of them?¡±


    A wave of uncertainty passed over Caroline¡¯s face. She pulled Tema aside, to the empty seats at the corner of the waiting room, and there whispered to her. ¡°I¡¯m one.¡±


    Tema laughed in Caroline¡¯s face. It quickly became clear that Caro wasn¡¯t sharing the humour. She remained solemn. ¡°I thought they were made up,¡± said Tema, apologetic. ¡°Just a convenient excuse to get rid of people who weren¡¯t pliable enough.¡±


    ¡°It would definitely be an excuse to get rid of me, if the wrong person found out,¡± Caro nodded. ¡°You¡¯ll know exactly what that¡¯s like, of course. We¡¯re very real, though¡ªunfortunately for me. I¡¯m alright. I don¡¯t need help, I don¡¯t need a shoulder to cry on. I¡¯m not embarrassed about myself. There are others, Tema, here on Essegena. People more delicate than me. People who can¡¯t go it alone. I can¡¯t promise I¡¯ll always be around.¡±


    ¡°Tell me you aren¡¯t planning on leaving.¡± Tema¡¯s heart sank.


    Caroline smiled. ¡°I¡¯ll be here till my body wears out,¡± she said. ¡°My husband will try to tempt me into an early retirement in the name of chivalry, but fuck him. What would I be if I wasn¡¯t a doctor?¡±


    ¡°Well-rested,¡± quipped Tema, and Caro chuckled.


    ¡°I get plenty of rest,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m worried I might be something of a target. I¡¯m the Governor¡¯s wife and I¡¯m one of those dirty Foresleepers¡ªthere¡¯s plenty who¡¯ll hate me for that. The guards are good, but it only takes one. One madman with a concealed blade and I¡¯d be dead before anybody could intervene.¡±


    ¡°You mustn¡¯t speak of things like that,¡± said Tema.


    ¡°I have to be prepared. Tema, if anything happens to me I want to know that the hospital is in safe hands. I get to nominate my successor¡ªa perk of being the Governor¡¯s wife. I don¡¯t plan on picking someone who¡¯ll comport themselves poorly. Nobody should fear to go to the hospital. I want you, Tema.¡±


    ¡°With all due respect, Doctor Ballard, I¡¯ve only been on the job five years. There are others who are more qualified.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re thinking of Doctor Staniforth, I bet. He might have the bits of paper but he doesn¡¯t have the heart. He scares people, I think. And anyway, I¡¯d like to think you¡¯ll have been on the job forty-five years before I need replacing,¡± said Caroline. ¡°This girl, the one who¡¯s a Foresleeper, could be in danger if I hand her identity over to the wrong person. I know you¡¯re the right person. Tema, you¡¯ll go to her, if I die? If something happens to me? You¡¯ll make sure she¡¯s safe?¡±


    It wasn¡¯t a decision. ¡°Of course I will,¡± said Tema.


    ¡°You promise?¡±


    Tema nodded. ¡°I promise.¡±


    Caro looked around to make sure there was nobody about. ¡°She¡¯s a stablehand,¡± she said. ¡°Her name¡¯s Bessily. That should be enough for you to find her.¡±

 14. Far Across The Stars

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Caroline ~


    Caroline removed the tie from her hair, letting it flow free. It was untidy, in need of a brush, but it could keep until she got back to her bedchamber. Now, she just wanted to savour the quiet. It had been a long shift, tiring even though she¡¯d been sedentary for much of it. When she¡¯d arrived, eight hours earlier, Tema Caerlin had told her that Jem was in a bad way. Now he was dead. She¡¯d kept vigil until the last.


    Jem was the impenetrable mystery. For all the time he was in her care, she¡¯d been intrigued by him. His very existence went against what they were assuming to be true, to begin with. Essegena had never before been colonised, that was what everyone said. But he¡¯d got here somehow. And then there were the wounds. They were grievous wounds, mortal without a doubt. It was a miracle he lived as long as he did.


    Therein lay the contradiction. Blood loss had killed him, in the end. Even after several weeks of intense care, his blood refused to clot. There was no trace of scar tissue. The cuts just kept bleeding. Emmeline had been right to worry about the supplies; they¡¯d been burning through plasma and stitches like they¡¯d never run out, and it was only when Lily Day had finished conducting an inventory check and given Caro the figures that she¡¯d realised the true extent of the situation. From then on, it had been a matter of days before she could no longer justify keeping him alive.


    It wasn¡¯t as if he¡¯d punctured an artery. If he had, death would have been far quicker coming. The cuts were to the veins, though, and she had thought she might be able to stitch them up. But as Tema had told her, the stitches would not hold. For a little while they¡¯d tried to replace the outgoing blood with plasma from the stores. Doctor Staniforth had put a stop to that, while Caro was off shift. He wasn¡¯t apologetic about it. Jem was causing a serious drain on their plasma supplies already, he pointed out, and he was still bleeding so intensely that what they did put in him was likely only staying there for a day or less. Going by the figures from Lily¡¯s inventory, in a month they¡¯d be down to just fifteen percent of what had come with them. They¡¯d have to make do with what they had left until the colony was linked up with the Hive and the second ship came in¡ªand that mightn¡¯t be for eighteen months or more.


    Pure and simple, it was irresponsible to put so many resources into saving a man who could not be saved.


    Jem¡¯s death, then, had been preordained from the moment she arrived for her shift. Doctor Staniforth had recommended, and she had reluctantly agreed, that they no longer act to save Jem¡¯s life. A tough call, but he wasn¡¯t the first and he wouldn¡¯t be the last either. Instead they were to move to a palliative role. For as long as Jem had the strength to cling to life, he would be attended, his pain dulled. Several of the girls had said they¡¯d sit with him if need be¡ªJanna Davis and Barbara Flower, Hannah Thorne and Frances Dunn. Caro herself had taken the first watch.


    Jem had been scarcely conscious when she arrived. He acknowledged her sitting next to him with only a slight moan, and spent most of the first hour in sleep. She thought he might never wake, but then suddenly he was lucid.


    He¡¯d spoken before. She¡¯d heard him muttering herself, and the others said the same. Emmeline had reported that he was briefly heard counting backwards from ten, and Viola Watling claimed that he was humming an old nursery rhyme while she was in the room. But he had always been lost in his own head, talking not in response to those around him but irrespective of them. In the second hour of her shift, he appeared to finally realise where he was.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± he¡¯d said to her, breaking her out of the daydream she¡¯d fallen into. She hadn¡¯t been quick to reply. He was still in a dream, she thought. But he¡¯d asked again, and she told him who she was and what had happened to him. He was calm enough about the situation, but that didn¡¯t mean he accepted it. He¡¯d laughed and told her that it was impossible. ¡°I¡¯m not hurt,¡± he¡¯d said, ¡°and even if I was I¡¯d prefer to be at home. I¡¯d like to return to the port now, please.¡±


    ¡°What port?¡±


    ¡°Alfred¡¯s Port. It isn¡¯t far from here.¡±


    Caroline wasn¡¯t a scholar of geography, but she couldn¡¯t remember ever hearing of a place called Alfred¡¯s Port. There certainly wasn¡¯t such a place nearby. But Jem was insistent that it must be¡ªhe¡¯d come from there only that morning. The conversation was circular for a time thereafter, him insisting that his hometown was just around the corner, and her explaining that it couldn¡¯t possibly be. The more she denied it, the more certain he became. Eventually he¡¯d become agitated, and the ECG had reported his heart rate with a newfound excitement, and she¡¯d conceded that perhaps she was mistaken. She¡¯d help him go home as soon as he was safe to move. That was a promise. He¡¯d smiled when she said that, and calmed down.


    Jem said little else after that. He talked for a minute or two about his favourite berries, before tailing off as if frightened by something. After Caro calmed him down some, he spoke of a red river. A while later, the last time he said anything at all, he started screaming that ¡®the wall of shadow¡¯s coming¡¯, and begged his mother to make it stop. Hannah Thorne had been on hand then to ply him with anaesthetic, and he slipped into unconsciousness.


    For the next three hours, Caroline had sat on the chair beside his bed, watching. She dared not get up for anything in case he spoke again and she wasn¡¯t there to hear. Hannah came by a few times to check on Jem¡¯s vitals, and she was in the room with Caroline when it ended. By then she knew it was imminent. His face had begun to sink, his skin clammy and jaundiced. That hateful rattling breath had started. The poor man had shat himself too. It was a mercy he wasn¡¯t conscious. The smell was offensive, and it was all she could do to ignore it. She had to. He might wake up while she¡¯d gone to clean up.


    The moment of death passed unnoticed when it came. There was no sudden movement, no attempt at a last testament. The monitors kept on beeping. She just sort of noticed that he was gone. It was like a weight had slipped away from the room, as a spirit uncast its shackles. They fell heavy around her neck, and she saw that Jem was breathing no more. She¡¯d pulled the sheets over his face then, and sent Betsy Clanackan to take the body down to the mortuary.


    As she left the room, she passed a couple of orderlies come to clean. They smiled at her, all fresh-faced and clean, in neatly-pressed uniforms yet unsoiled by the work of the day. They were well-rested. To be like them, beholden to no need to display their worth, to not be reliant on some waxy tablets to bring sleep...


    Caro swallowed her envy and headed for the washroom.


    A shower was the order of the day, and it left her feeling cleansed and drowsy. The faint headache that was beginning to become a regular guest was waking up for the day. A sign that she needed to rest. She made the walk home in a tired trance. The corridors were familiar by now, the ivory metal well-trodden. She could make the walk blindfolded.


    Being married to the man in charge came with perks, she mused, stepping into the chambers she shared with Chris. The Governor¡¯s Suite was the most luxurious accommodation on the Eia. The walls were finished in gold leaf, the decorative statues commendable alabaster facsimiles of the real arts of the museums. It was very much designed to look like any lordly home. A governor from a common background might well not have noticed the small size, and overlooked the cheap materials with which it had been decorated.


    Caroline was from royal stock. She¡¯d been brought up to abhor crude imitations such as this. The veneers were only an inch or two thick. If she dug around, she knew she¡¯d find the hard steel of the Eia underneath. The whole thing was fake.


    That¡¯s nothing to worry about, Chris promised; it¡¯s not their forever home, just their cabin for the voyage across the stars. He had big plans for their forever home. She would never be unhappy again, once it was finished. Whenever she tried to look over the plans, he laughed and shut them away. ¡°You¡¯re not to look, Caro, it¡¯s a surprise.¡±


    Six months can go a long way to change a perspective. The Governor¡¯s Suite was her home now, as much as the manor in Borrowood had once been. Cramped as it was, it was still bigger than any other person¡¯s rooms were allowed to be. She¡¯d not liked to say anything when the nurses had moaned about their tiny little quarters barely wide enough to fit a bed.


    And the aesthetics had a charm, after a fashion. She¡¯d grown especially fond of the little vignette on the living area¡¯s sideboard, carved in pale wood and painted with clumsy hands. It was a religious scene, the deaths of Ganion and his sister Geia, young warriors who impaled one another with their daggers rather than face the wrath of a malevolent god. The story was a tragedy, but the carving was a farce. Overzealous brush strokes rendered the whole of Geia¡¯s mouth crimson, rather than just her lips. And Ganion¡¯s dagger, thrust between his sister¡¯s legs, resembled less a weapon than an extension of his flesh. It was sacrilege.


    Caro and Chris had laughed about it over cups of heady wine.


    Chris wasn¡¯t there when she got back. The suite was dark and somehow cold. She turned on a light, and headed for the video screen. It was small, atomically bonded to the wall upon which it stood. Even the god so wroth with Ganion and Geia could not split screen and wall apart. It had been fitted at a janky angle. Not grievously so¡ªit almost looked straight. She¡¯d happened to notice it was askew the other week, while she lay in bed, woken by her night terrors. Since then it had been obvious.


    There was a video, the file¡¯s data baked into the screen. Caro¡¯s thirty-sixth year had come while they were still on the long trek through the stars. Armand had recorded a message. She watched it twice to celebrate another year of life, and she¡¯d watched it a dozen times since. Again, tonight, she keyed in the passcode and sat down to watch. It would do her good to see her brother¡¯s face. She took her nightly pills as the screen flickered into life, and grimaced at the bitter taste as Armand¡¯s form appeared.


    Like the rest of the family, Armand had the same brown eyes as Auntie Nell, and his hair was closer to a blonde than Caro¡¯s flaming locks. He¡¯d always been clean-shaven before, but on the day he¡¯d recorded the message he was sporting a decent attempt at a beard. It was definitely more full than the patchy effort Chris could muster. He was sat on a balcony with the sun at his back. Behind him, she could see the thick pine forests of Arvila, lit by a milky-white sky. It was mid-afternoon in Demesna, the city far across the stars where her brother was based.


    ¡°Caro, I wanted you to see me one last time before you¡¯re gone far away.¡± Armand always spoke with a grin.


    ¡°It¡¯s good to see your face, brother,¡± said Caroline. ¡°Perhaps I¡¯ll bring you a razor next time we meet.¡±


    His hands went to his face, just as she knew they would, and he scratched at his beard. ¡°You¡¯ll have to excuse the beard. That¡¯s new. Cam¡¯s idea.¡±


    Caro laughed, unheard. ¡°Is Cam your new gentleman friend?¡±


    ¡°Camberin¡¯s her name,¡± the digital Armand continued. ¡°She showed up as an intern a few months ago, and by Lightness she¡¯s pretty. I¡¯ve already got her as a personal secretary. They make them good around Demesna, these farmer-folk. There¡¯s a siren in their breeding stock, I swear. When you come back from Essegena, I¡¯ll introduce you to her. You¡¯ll love her.¡±


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    ¡°If she makes you happy, she¡¯s making me happy.¡± Armand didn¡¯t know she was talking back. He probably wasn¡¯t even awake at the moment¡ªwhat time was it on Arvila? But she liked to imagine he was hearing her, in spirit at least.


    Armand carried on unabated. ¡°But look at me, going on about Cam. All that¡¯ll keep for another time. Look, Caro, I know you¡¯re going to be scared. I also know Chris will take good care of you, and don¡¯t forget you¡¯ll have Ian too. I¡¯m proud of you, little sis. You¡¯ll have the world at your feet next time we meet. I want you to have new friends by then, too¡ªpeople that aren¡¯t from Borrowood. You hear me? And I want you to tell me all about them.¡±¡°


    ¡°I miss you, Armand.¡±


    On the screen, Armand turned in his chair and looked at the sky. ¡°If you ever need to be brave, look up at the stars. Look at them, and think of me¡ªand I¡¯ll be looking at them too. So we¡¯ll be together still, see? Anyway, congratulations on turning thirty-six. Have a drink or three, for me.¡±


    ¡°How¡¯s Entessa?¡± Caro had been estranged from her sister for three years now, but she¡¯d reached out to her when she was given her posting to the Eia, in the hope that they might meet and reconnect before her departure. Tessa had not got back to her.


    Armand didn¡¯t answer. Armand never answered, but she still asked the question every damn time. ¡°I love you, Caro,¡± he said.


    ¡°Armand, don¡¯t go.¡±


    But he did. He always did. That was the end of the message. The screen faded to black, Armand¡¯s voice disappeared from the room, and Caro was left alone, grasping desperately for just a few more seconds. ¡°Please, I¡¯ve more to say¡ª¡± Her words echoed in the silence.


    Their last meeting had ended frostily. Caro had gone to Arvila, to the Palace of Demesna, to bid her brother farewell. They¡¯d laughed and cried, hugged a hundred times¡ªand then conversation had turned to their sister. Tessa was older, often aloof, but Caro still felt her absence. But when she¡¯d asked Armand if he knew where Tessa was, her brother¡¯s face had twisted.


    ¡°Truth be told, I¡¯ve not heard from dear Tessa for some time now. A few years in fact. She went off to Altaborea¡ªsome investigation she was all pepped up on.¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you say something?¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°Investigations take time. Until recently I assumed she was just deep under cover.¡±


    ¡°You say ¡®until recently¡¯?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s been too long. Tessa¡¯s got more smarts than the two of us combined. Even if it wasn¡¯t safe for her to talk, she¡¯d have got a message out somehow. There¡¯s a search out for her. I¡¯d go myself, but things are getting heated around here.¡±


    Caro bristled. ¡°She¡¯s your flesh and blood. You owe it to her to find out where she¡¯s gone.¡±


    ¡°No more than you do. Caro, she¡¯s a grown woman. She¡¯s capable enough, and if she¡¯s not then Verigut definitely is.¡±


    ¡°Verigut?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll only send the best out after my sister.¡± And had that been a flicker of a smile on his face? It hadn¡¯t lasted.


    ¡°Well, couldn¡¯t you go with Verigut? He trusts you well enough. He knows what you can do in a fight. Tessa deserves¡ª¡±


    Armand¡¯s voice raised for the first time. ¡°I have responsibilities, Caro. Things are bad here. Half the farmers want to drive the Unity out of Arvila, and the consequences be damned. Half the township leaders want to scorch the earth as they go. Plester¡¯s wearing himself out stopping the colony from tearing itself up, so if I don¡¯t do his job here then Demesna has no leadership.¡±


    ¡°So let it have no leadership,¡± said Caro. ¡°Demesna won¡¯t die if you leave the walls of the palace for a little while.¡±


    ¡°It just might.¡± Armand¡¯s face was grim-set. He looked suddenly tired. Caro couldn¡¯t remember if he¡¯d looked tired before. She didn¡¯t think he had. ¡°You¡¯re in the right place, way out away from it all. This whole galaxy is a shitfight primed to go, and near enough everybody¡¯s going to end up smelling when it does.¡±


    ¡°The Unity has the strength,¡± she began, not truly believing in what she said. ¡°If they took a hard line, it wouldn¡¯t take a week to get rid of any secessionists.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s happened to the sister of mine who used to live in your body? Caro, you sound just like Peulion. Has your bleeding heart healed at last?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°I doubt the people of Arvila want to be the touchpaper for the end of man.¡±


    ¡°If it would get them out from the Unity¡¯s yoke? They¡¯d eat their own young.¡± Armand leaned close and spoke with a whisper. ¡°Speaking as your brother, I can¡¯t say they¡¯re entirely unreasonable. Plester tries his best, but some of the others are monsters¡ªreal sadists, mind. Kidwelly¡¯s up in Ironcoast putting entire farms to the torch because the farmer isn¡¯t producing enough, or the farmer was rude to him, or he doesn¡¯t like the farmer¡¯s name.¡±


    Caro knew Galen Kidwelly by sight, and from the time he¡¯d kissed her in the middle of the Great Hall, on her last visit. She¡¯d taken him for a foppish charmer, not a despot. ¡°If you know about it, why doesn¡¯t Plester stop it?¡±


    ¡°What can Plester do? The leaders won¡¯t vote to remove Kidwelly, and the Commissioners keep delaying.¡± Armand sighed. ¡°There¡¯s sickness on the east coast, a dozen people missing from near Dichian. It¡¯s not looking good, Caro.¡±


    She¡¯d picked at her hair, and shot a smile his way. ¡°The hard times never last, Armand. The darkest night will end.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll speak in the dawn, then. Whenever it comes.¡± He cocked his head sidewards. ¡°Let me have a good look at you. I¡¯ll want to remember your face. Hey, don¡¯t look so sad¡ªit¡¯ll only be a few years. Then we can talk some more.¡±


    Caro had spoken sadly. ¡°I¡¯m going to miss you, brother. The nightmares are back. I¡¯m worried it¡¯s a sign.¡±


    Armand had laughed faintly. ¡°You and your signs. Caro, dreams are dreams, even the bad ones. Take your tablets if it bothers you.¡±


    He¡¯d never believed her, not like Nana Raine did. But Armand would sit with her, when she was upset. ¡°Even if I can¡¯t understand your emotions, I can¡¯t deny them,¡± he always told her. ¡°My little sister should be happy.¡± They couldn¡¯t really talk about her dreams. Armand would get confused in time, and stop seeing the point. But they could talk of other things. Happy things. Caro could lean against her big brother and know that she was protected.


    Chris was always cold.


    The memory faded to a hollow ghost of Armand¡¯s smile, Armand¡¯s laugh, Armand¡¯s touch¡ªand in the dark, Caro screwed her eyes shut to hold onto him for a moment more. What was she doing? This was her home, this corner of a sprawling ship in the distant reaches of space. She¡¯d given up the manor for this, given up her job and her life. And she felt alone here.


    At some point she must have drifted off into sleep. It was a peaceful sleep, unharried by bad dreams; at the very least, she woke up without remembrance of any. Morning had apparently risen. The fresco on the wall had brightened, the glass sun highlighted while the stars had faded to the same dull blue as the sky. Wafting through the open doorway, she smelled food. Something pastry.


    Chris had joined her in the night. His side of the bed was empty, but the covers peeled back, and the mattress still dented. He¡¯d evidently risen before her.


    She could hear voices coming through the open door, from the living hub of the Governor¡¯s Suite. Who was Chris talking to now?


    Her eyes a bleary mess, Caro swung out of the bed and pulled on some clothes. A dress she liked, uncomplicated, easy enough to let fall down over her body and give her modesty for the day. Then she padded out to find her husband.


    Chris, she discovered, was sat talking with Ian Fitzhenry, the pair gathered around the low wooden table in the heart of the room. Chris had his back to her, and he didn¡¯t turn when she came in. Ian gave her a courtesy smile and returned to his talk.


    ¡°What have you got there?¡± Creeping up behind Chris, she wrapped her arms around him and gave him a peck on the cheek. He shrugged her off.


    ¡°Caroline,¡± he said, voice even. ¡°I wondered if you were going to wake. You¡¯ve slept more than half the day away.¡±


    ¡°Why, what time is it?¡± She cast an eye to the timepiece above the suite¡¯s front door. It mocked her as it bore the hour¡ªit was afternoon already. Shit. She was supposed to be working.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± Ian frowned at her, and pointed at her head. ¡°You¡¯ve got a bit of hair sticking up.¡±


    Licking her hand, she pressed at the offending hair, rubbing it smooth. ¡°You should have woken me.¡±


    Chris looked at her as though she¡¯d asked him to murder his own mother. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I assumed you were an adult. I¡¯m not your keeper, Caroline, I¡¯m the Governor, or had you forgotten? I don¡¯t have time to wake you up every morning.¡±


    Caro looked to Ian for support. He looked down at the table, rather than meet her gaze.


    Of course he did. He was always Chris¡¯ friend, not mine.


    ¡°I¡¯ve woken you before,¡± she said, feeling an anger beginning to build inside her. ¡°I often do, in fact, when you need waking. It only takes a second.¡±


    He batted her away with an irritated wave of the hand. ¡°If you have the time, then good for you. I have important work. I can¡¯t afford to waste even a minute.¡±


    ¡°Important work?¡± This was turning into one of their rows, she could see that. Well, if there was going to be an argument either way, she might as well get a few good blows in. She channeled that rage she had brewing, aimed it square at Chris. ¡°I work in a bloody hospital. Sod that, I run the hospital. It¡¯s long hours, shit pay, and apparently it¡¯s shit recognition too. So you can take your important work and shove it all the way inside your rectum with all the other crap, where it belongs. I¡¯m missing work because of you.¡±


    Their arguments had a familiar routine. She¡¯d made her point. Now he¡¯d fire back with something only barely related, and she¡¯d do the same, and five minutes later all their stresses were gone and they¡¯d be sat beside each other with their love renewed.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been excused from work,¡± said Chris. ¡°Doctor Caerlin agreed to work a double shift. I sorted that out for you.¡±


    ¡°It would have been quicker just to wake me¡ª¡±


    ¡°People with important jobs make sure they¡¯re awake to do them. That¡¯s part of being an adult.¡± Chris shoved the remainder of his pastry into his mouth, and stood. ¡°I guess it¡¯s a blessing your womb¡¯s all fucked. You¡¯d have been a disaster of a mother.¡± He was gone before she felt the tears in her eyes.


    She¡¯d not been pregnant since she was twenty. That child, her daughter, hadn¡¯t made it to term. Caro had just long enough to redraw all of her plans, to settle on a name, before that night. It was off-limits as a topic. Chris knew it, just as she did. Her daughter was not to be brought into their arguments. Not ever.


    Chris had always respected that before.


    She dabbed those tears away as Chris slammed shut the door. She couldn¡¯t cry in front of Ian. He¡¯d barely taken a bite out of his pastry, which he still held in his hand. Flakes had fallen onto the table.


    ¡°Here,¡± he said, offering it to her to take. ¡°You look hungry.¡±


    She gratefully accepted the gift. It lasted for just one bite¡ªshe was ravenous, and it was so delectably soft. Crisped brown crumbs caught in her teeth and stuck on her lips.


    ¡°You can say something if you want to,¡± she said, aware that Ian was studiously avoiding her gaze. ¡°We were both here, there¡¯s no use pretending it never happened.¡±


    ¡°He was out of order,¡± said Ian. ¡°I¡¯d like to bet that he knows it, too.¡±


    ¡°We never fight like this,¡± she said.


    ¡°Bradshaw¡¯s on his case about the bloke the Advanced Party found,¡± Ian explained. ¡°He¡¯s stressed, and he said something without thinking. We¡¯ve all done it. He¡¯s not a bad person.¡±


    ¡°I used to feel safe around him, because I knew he¡¯d never bring her up. I can¡¯t get that back.¡±


    ¡°You have to ignore him,¡± said Ian. ¡°He still loves you, Caroline. Perhaps the fire¡¯s not as strong as it used to be, but it¡¯s still there, I promise you. I know what it¡¯s like to fall out of love.¡±


    Of course. Elise. A few years older than Caroline, with a round face upon which a smile was permanently etched, Elise Bainton¡¯s engagement to Ian Fitzhenry had come as a surprise. The pair were civil enough with one another, but they¡¯d never shown signs of being especially close. ¡°I didn¡¯t think Ian knew how to love someone,¡± Caro remembered saying, when a scrap of embossed card inviting her to their nuptials had arrived with the daily post. Elise wasn¡¯t here. She hadn¡¯t come to Essegena.


    ¡°What happened to the two of you? I thought you were happily married.¡±


    Ian shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ¡°The situation changed. I was still a young man when I started seeing Elise. Fit, in my prime, climbing the rungs of the ladder¡ªI could have had any girl I chose. No wonder she took a shine to me. She¡¯s forty now, Caroline. I don¡¯t know if you knew. I threw her a lavish party, gave her the best day of her life, and after it all she just fell asleep. Well, it was like waking up from a ten-year sleep, to find that the world¡¯s moved on and all the doors I wanted to go through had been locked fast in the night. Look at me. I¡¯m middle-aged already, soon I¡¯ll be old. I gave Elise my best years, but our fire¡¯s burnt out, and all that¡¯s left is ash. And the wood was rotten from the first.¡± He stood suddenly, catching the table with his legs and almost knocking it over. Caro grabbed at the plates to stop them from falling away. ¡°You and Chris, you¡¯re meant to be together. The wood¡¯s not rotten. The fire can be relit. He just needs some time.¡±


    Caro nodded. ¡°He doesn¡¯t deserve it.¡± But she knew he¡¯d get it. Without Chris she¡¯d be nothing. Have nothing. So what else could she do?

 15. To The Watch

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Macel ~


    Morning came to Macel in the form of a gentle breeze and the song of strange birds. He lay still a while, keeping his eyes shut fast against the sun¡¯s light. Why hurry to wake? The day was still young. He could afford to dream a while.


    It had been far too long since he¡¯d slept in the open¡ªsince that week with Flossie. He¡¯d been seventeen, fresh-faced and unsure of his future. Some old corners of the world held on to traditions long after their need was lost, and tiny little Cad¨¦ist had been one of the very oldest corners. One day he¡¯d returned home from school to find pretty little Flossie Mayborn waiting for him, dressed in her finest and quaking like a scared lamb.


    They were to spend a week together in the glades overlooking the village, to fend for themselves. It was an old courtship ritual. Macel had to prove himself. If he could support Flossie for a week up on the hills, out in the wilderness, the two would be formally betrothed. Macel had had his eye on Flossie since the first gasp of puberty. More than once he¡¯d asked his father to arrange a courtship for him. To spend a week alone with her was the dream of his formative years. As he¡¯d left with the girl wrapped around his arms, his father had reminded him of what he needed to do. He was to impress her, make her fall in love with him, but all that was secondary. It didn¡¯t really matter how she felt about him, so long as she came back from the glades carrying his baby. Shame, if nothing else, would force her into the marriage.


    Macel didn¡¯t remember much about Flossie¡ªthe real Flossie, the woman he¡¯d come to know on their week in the glades. He remembered how she looked, and how she squealed at every slight rustle of leaves. He remembered how disappointed he was to learn that the girl he had his heart set on was such a... well, such a girl. And he remembered the mornings he¡¯d spent on the glades¡ªthe gurgling of the little brook, the whistling of the birds, watching stalks of celandine flutter in the breeze. He¡¯d always awoken before Flossie, and lay there to watch her wake. She was so peaceful while she slept, a gift from the Gods. There was no way to get closer to heaven.


    It was a different story when she woke. At the end of the week, they¡¯d returned to the village, and he¡¯d never looked fondly on her again.


    Still in his drowse, he stretched out his arms, enjoying the rub of the grass on his skin. Just like the glades. It tickled satisfyingly as he moved. And as he stretched, his hand touched something soft and warm, something that grumbled as he pushed at it. He opened his eyes and there she was. Bessily. She slept soundly in the kiss of the sun. Her hair had fallen in a cushion around her head, the way Flossie Mayborn¡¯s did. Her chest rose and fell in perfect rhythm with every breath. He could stay here forever.


    She murmured something in a low voice. It might have been his name¡ªhe couldn¡¯t tell. Still, he felt compelled to respond in kind: ¡°Good morning, Bess.¡±


    His voice had the effect of an alarm. She jolted upright, suddenly awake. ¡°Who said that? Who are you?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Macel,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m Delie¡¯s friend.¡±


    She looked at him with wild eyes. ¡°Macel? We didn¡¯t...¡±


    ¡°No.¡± He shook his head. ¡°We only talked.¡±


    Bess smoothed her dress as she stood, and set about picking little bits of leaf and twig from her hair. There was a swagger in the way she moved, a confident grace. Flossie Mayborn hadn¡¯t had such grace. She¡¯d been timid and meek and afraid of everything that dared move, and her step had been slow and heavy. Bess walked lighter than the air.


    ¡°I used to think about the future a lot.¡± He blurted the thought out loud, to make conversation and to keep Bess around a little longer. ¡°I always tried to picture how my life would turn out. You know, what home would be like, who I¡¯d marry. There was this vision in my mind¡¯s eye¡ªthis beautiful girl, her face filled with love.¡± He laughed at the memory. ¡°It was all just a dream, but sometimes I convinced myself that I could actually see the future. Whenever I felt lonely, I¡¯d tell myself that the perfect woman was out there somewhere, living her life¡ªthat one day our paths would cross and we¡¯d just fall in love.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a nice thought,¡± said Bess, trying to smooth her messy hair with only her hands.


    ¡°It was a na?ve thought. Never trust in destiny, it¡¯s the death of motivation. I was convinced that everything I could ever want was just going to present itself to me¡ªso why should I try and better myself? The best thing I ever did was realise that life isn¡¯t perfect. It won¡¯t come wrapped up with a bow. It¡¯s untidy, it¡¯s messy, and most of the time it¡¯s shit.¡±


    Bess had turned to gaze out at the village in the valley. ¡°Life knows how to stab you in the gut, yeah.¡± The hollow resignation was palpable in each heavy word she said. She was speaking from experience.


    He regarded her closely. She was like a character in a painting, soft of face and kind of heart. The shadow of a nearby tree cast her eyes in pools of sorrow. Who hurt you? he wanted to ask. Why are you so afraid to let your sadness show? Better to let it all out, all the tears, and then start to heal. But she hid behind laughter and an ever-smiling face. She hid it so well he almost couldn¡¯t see it.


    On the width of a copperhead she turned. Impenetrable bulkhead doors behind her eyes slid down, and that melancholy was driven away. ¡°It¡¯s a lovely day today,¡± she said, beaming, a woman struck by a sudden spurt of happiness. ¡°Why waste time on the past?¡±


    It was late in the afternoon when Macel left her, exhausted from a day of nothing. They talked of their future hopes, their favourite books, the songs their mothers used to sing in the crib. They talked about everything that didn¡¯t really matter. And it was only when she¡¯d gone that he realised his heart had been racing all day long.


    Sam Preston greeted him as he returned to the bunks, on their grotty corner of the Eia. ¡°There you are, loverbird. Grogan¡¯s gonna be pissed to see you¡ªhe had five bushels on that bird last night stabbing you and leaving you for dead somewhere.¡±


    ¡°Not gonna happen,¡± Macel laughed. ¡°I can handle myself.¡±


    ¡°Yeah? Just as long as there¡¯s no falling in love. We¡¯ve got to make the set first, that was the arrangement.¡± It wasn¡¯t really an arrangement in the traditional sense. Sam had suggested, over a bottle of some off-white spirit, that they try and get with every girl in Captain Clifford¡¯s section between them. Macel had stayed silent, not sure what to say in response, and apparently that had been taken as his assent.


    He wondered if Bessily would count, if she wore a soldier¡¯s uniform. Delie could probably be persuaded to part with one of her spares for a day, for a noble cause.


    Sam spotted something amiss. ¡°It¡¯s too late, isn¡¯t it? You¡¯ve already fallen for her.¡±


    Macel shook his head. He hadn¡¯t fallen for her¡ªthat was an extreme way of putting things. He¡¯d just spent the whole day by her side, and now he couldn¡¯t get her out of his head. It wasn¡¯t falling for her. It was merely wanting to spend time with her.


    And so began the daily game. At the end of every day¡¯s work¡ªwork being a generous word for it¡ªhe found himself wandering back with Delie. He¡¯d follow Delie as far as her tenement, where Bessily could reliably be found outside. The first time he¡¯d found her there had been a coincidence; he¡¯d gone to ask Delie where he might find Bess, and there saw her lying on the grass, smiling at him.


    That was where she¡¯d been every day since. Even when it had rained, and the ground was soaked through, she only went as far as to stand beneath the tenement¡¯s overhanging thatching, and she ran to Macel as soon as she saw him. ¡°I don¡¯t like being indoors,¡± she explained one time, when he asked her why she was always out on the grass. ¡°Being all cooped up... it¡¯s like waiting to die. The fresh air, it¡¯s freedom.¡±


    Occasionally, her work at the stables kept her busy until long after dark. It wasn¡¯t an arrangement that impressed her. ¡°People are always hiring the draft horses, and they¡¯re bringing them back late,¡± she moaned. ¡°Speke reckons they¡¯re building something they don¡¯t want us to know about. He says they¡¯re having the horses take stuff up onto the hills under cover of darkness so we can¡¯t see what they¡¯re taking.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the point of that?¡± Macel laughed. ¡°You can¡¯t exactly hide a building.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I said,¡± Bess said. ¡°But there¡¯s no convincing him. Have you met Speke? Man¡¯s a nut. I love him, of course, he¡¯s like a father to me. But he¡¯s insane.¡±


    Macel had waited for her for three hours, this evening, burning his back in the heat of the sun. He wouldn¡¯t have missed it for the world. Tomorrow, he¡¯d be off to Plateau Watch, far from the valley, quite possibly never to return. How could he go without seeing Bess one last time? And so he¡¯d stayed there until she arrived, no matter how long that took.


    Delie joined him for a time. She and her housemate Inge had helped Macel to the bottom of a half-dozen bottles of amber cider that he¡¯d brought along before they retired for the night. Since then, he¡¯d supped on the dregs of his last bottle¡ªwhich was also his first, the girls having drunk most of it between them¡ªand gazed up at the stars.


    ¡°These aren¡¯t the constellations we know,¡± he said, as Bess nestled beside him. ¡°The stars are the same, but the shapes are different. I think we should change that. What do you see?¡±


    ¡°I never learned the constellations,¡± said Bess. ¡°Looking at the stars always made me feel sad.¡±


    ¡°Are you telling me you never looked up at the stars? Not even once?¡± It had been a rite of passage for the kids of Macel¡¯s village. Up on the glades, or even in the belt of green that ran between the two pine groves, they shone so brightly. Some nights you could even read a book by their light, if the gossiping old ladies were to be believed. Uncle Lynal used to take him to the Merrowain Heights on clear summer evenings and show him all the pictures that the stars made. He had boxes full of scribbles at home, on tiny scraps of paper¡ªhis attempts to retrace his memory with pencil and crayon. Every constellation was there. He¡¯d learnt them by the time he was six.


    In the big cities the stars were invisible. That had been the thing that upset him the most about Pattinsdale. It made him pine for home, sometimes desperately so. But he¡¯d not return. Not ever. In Cad¨¦ist he bore the stain of weakness. Society had no place for a scared little boy. He hadn¡¯t even been able to face Flossie before he left; she¡¯d see his shame, and know he was just as coward as she was.


    Stars or no stars, he wasn¡¯t about to give up and go back. So if he couldn¡¯t see the stars from where he was, that meant he had to take himself to where the stars were. The Unity was his ticket. Even the lowest grunts got to go into space.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    Bess blinked slowly. ¡°I looked at the stars sometimes. When I was a little girl I used to feel sorry for them, up in the sky all alone, so many millions of miles away from any company. Nobody to talk to. Like me, I guess. In a way, I suppose the stars were the only friends I ever had.¡±


    ¡°And here you are among them. Among friends.¡±


    She smiled. ¡°It¡¯s poetry. There must be a song for it.¡±


    ¡°If there isn¡¯t, you should write it.¡±


    Bess shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m terrible with words. It wouldn¡¯t be any good.¡±


    ¡°Of course it would be,¡± said Macel. ¡°You¡¯d be writing it.¡±


    He was overcome by a sudden urge to stroke her hair. It looked so soft, the way it almost shimmered in the crackling light of a distant fire. She arched her head back when he touched it, and smiled her assent.


    ¡°What brought you here? Don¡¯t you miss what you left behind?¡± Macel had to ask the question. He¡¯d never wanted to go back home, never wanted anything other than to start afresh, but still his mind often wandered to the old days. Was that normal?


    Bess spoke with her eyes closed, and his fingers in her hair. ¡°I miss what might have been, in the life that should have been mine. I haven¡¯t been home for years, and I can¡¯t imagine I¡¯d have been welcomed. I¡¯ve been working for Speke since I was thirteen, prenticing and board. Where he goes, I follow¡ªand he¡¯s come here, so here I am.¡±


    And a good thing too, thought Macel. Else I¡¯d not have met you.


    At the crack of dawn, Lieutenant Bennett¡¯s chosen garrison set off for the fortress on the plateau. There was no need for them to go so early in the day, the hike took only a few hours, but Bennett had made it an order, and nobody felt like pissing her off to refuse a direct order. Macel was already sleepy and tired as they assembled in the plaza; by the time they¡¯d left the town behind and started to climb the hills around the valley, all he wanted to do was drop to the ground and sleep. He¡¯d been up most of the night again. Whatever birds lived in the trees outside Bessily¡¯s tenement, they were noisier than any others he¡¯d ever heard, and their preference was apparently for night-time singing. He¡¯d given up in the early hours and returned to his bunk on the Eia. At least there the only sound was Craig Armitage¡¯s snoring.


    The procession moved slowly up the hill. The terrain was uneven, the weather overcast, and nobody really knew the way. Most of the Advanced Party were returning to the scene of their first night. Sergeant Malleston alone had stayed at the fort, keeping it running while the others rested.


    Macel liked Sergeant Malleston, but word was that he was a bit of a wet weekend. Matt Grogan reckoned that on at least one occasion Malleston had been so reluctant to punish a guilty subordinate, when demotion was the proscribed sentence, that the guilty man had ended up being promoted instead. Mind you, Matt Grogan also reckoned that the man in question was Captain Clifford, and Macel knew well that Captain Clifford had been an officer for longer than Sergeant Malleston had been enlisted, so he found that particular story a touch dubious.


    Whatever the truth of the matter, Sergeant Malleston no longer had command. He was outranked by Lieutenant Bennett, something the Witch would no doubt flaunt every day she was in charge. Lieutenant Bennett was anything but a wet weekend. The Advanced Party had learned the hard way that she demanded absolute obeisance. Two days after the discovery of the bleeding man, Delie had returned late from a search. Lieutenant Bennett had made the rest of them stand outside the camp while she screamed at her, and Delie had spent the rest of the night stood on one leg beside the fire.


    ¡°She can¡¯t be that bad,¡± the grey-faced Colne had scoffed, two nights ago at the Tavern. ¡°Give me a night with her. Maybe I can fuck the bitchiness right out of her.¡± He¡¯d been slapped so hard across the cheek by Delie for that that his face had been glowing for the rest of the night. If Colne was part of Lieutenant Bennett¡¯s garrison, he was keeping a low profile. Macel hadn¡¯t seen him since.


    They ascended the valley¡¯s slopes three abreast, trudging in formation as broiling grey clouds swirled overhead. Macel tugged on his jacket, clasping the buttons together. The chill today was an insidious one. He¡¯d barely notice the cold at all until every limb was frigid. The uniform regulations made an allowance for gloves, but his were packed at the very bottom of his pack, and he¡¯d have to empty it all out to get to them. Instead, he walked briskly, and pulled the serge jacket tight around him. His hands couldn¡¯t get frostbitten if he got indoors quick enough.


    ¡°That¡¯s one hell of a view,¡± said Delie, catching up to Macel at the crest of a high hill. His pacing had been all off, and he¡¯d found himself completely out of breath already. He¡¯d paused long enough for Delie to reach him. She was accompanied by Liz Hamish, who¡¯d tried to dye the fringe of her hair green but ended up inventing a new shade of greyish brown. Macel looked their way, shattered, and yawned. Delie laughed. ¡°It¡¯s a pity you were up all night. You might enjoy the view more if you weren¡¯t so tired.¡±


    ¡°You knew?¡±


    ¡°You aren¡¯t as subtle as you think,¡± she said, rolling her eyes. ¡°And don¡¯t forget, I¡¯ve been rooming with Bess. Every morning she tells us all about your late night meetings. She likes you, Macel, even if she won¡¯t say so herself. It¡¯s like a little girl¡¯s first crush; all she does is talk about you, but if anyone else so much as mentions your name in front of her she turns bright red. Don¡¯t you let her down.¡±


    He grimaced. ¡°It¡¯s gonna be a bit hard for me to have any interaction with her for the time being. There¡¯s no way I¡¯m doing this walk back and forth every night.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to,¡± said Delie. ¡°You do know she¡¯ll be up at Plateau Watch with us, right?¡±


    ¡°Are you sure?¡± He worried he sounded a bit too excited.


    ¡°Of course I am,¡± said Delie. ¡°She works with horses. All of Speke¡¯s drays are coming with us, do you think she¡¯s gonna be left behind?¡±


    Sam Preston was bantering with a couple of likely lads when he caught up with them. He split off to interject. ¡°Does it not bother you? Just leaving your housemates behind? By my count, you¡¯re only leaving two behind.¡±


    Delie shrugged. ¡°They¡¯ll manage. None of us ever see Ella anyway, she¡¯s always locked away reading, and Inge¡¯s got herself engaged to a soldier already.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t think she knew any soldiers,¡± said Sam. ¡°Ourselves excepted, of course.¡±


    ¡°Oh, she doesn¡¯t know him. She¡¯s only met the guy once. They just married for the benefits¡ªhe¡¯s Constabulary, and it turns out they give you a lot more freedom and a lot more money when you¡¯re married.¡± Delie smirked. ¡°Inge¡¯s in it for profit, not love.¡±


    Macel rolled his eyes. ¡°The death of romance.¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s the guy?¡± asked Liz Hamish. ¡°Someone we know?¡±


    ¡°She wouldn¡¯t tell me his name. Might not even know it herself.¡±


    ¡°Famously a good basis for a healthy marriage,¡± Macel muttered.


    Delie continued unfazed. ¡°Apparently old Captain Mannam¡¯s got his secrets. Likes to have a go with the Constabulary wives, and pays them well for their time. Now, I¡¯m not just talking money. I¡¯m talking land, reevedoms, honours. You know what Inge¡¯s like, she wants a chunk of that.¡±


    The Sergeant came by just then. Four days of unmanaged stubble framed his round face, and his mouth was home to several yellowed teeth. His name was Donnelly, but he insisted that people call him ¡°the Sergeant¡±. He seldom spoke. Most of those he¡¯d served alongside despised him, usually for good reasons. Instead he would watch their conversations with narrowed eyes, and sniff loudly when he heard something he didn¡¯t like.


    ¡°I hope you aren¡¯t chit-chatting,¡± he sneered. ¡°Or I¡¯d have to tell Lieutenant Bennett.¡± He was fiercely loyal to Bennett, a real lapdog. He seemed to get a kick out of informing on even petty misdeeds to score brownie points. Unlike most women, Bennett hadn¡¯t explicitly turned down sex with him, which probably went some way towards explaining his devotion.


    Delie had previous with the Sergeant, an incident where he felt he was owed sex for doing her a favour, and instead got a broken nose. Since then she hadn¡¯t spurned a single opportunity to talk him down. ¡°We¡¯re walking in a column, Sergeant. Do you want me to walk in silence?¡±


    ¡°You know what I want from you,¡± he drooled. Delie leaned away, her face a picture of revulsion.


    ¡°Piss off, mate,¡± said Sam. ¡°That¡¯s out of order.¡±


    ¡°Act like a sergeant, if you want to call yourself one,¡± Macel added.


    The Sergeant bristled. ¡°Lieutenant Bennett won¡¯t be pleased to learn that her soldiers have been disrespecting an officer.¡±


    ¡°And Captain Clifford won¡¯t be pleased to learn that you¡¯ve been harassing people,¡± said Macel. ¡°So don¡¯t you try threatening us like that¡ªit¡¯s you who¡¯ll come off worse.¡±


    The Sergeant sloped off, lips pursed, to bother somebody else.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡± Macel asked. Delie nodded.


    ¡°I¡¯ll get over it. It was worse the last time.¡±


    ¡°Is there nothing you can do about it?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°I wish. Bennett thinks the sun shines out of his arse for some reason, and above her they¡¯re all too far removed to see what he¡¯s really like. He gets really by-the-book if there¡¯s so much as a sniff of a captain about.¡±


    Macel knew the type. There always seemed to be one, everywhere that there were soldiers. ¡°What if we all spoke to Captain Clifford? He¡¯d believe us all then, surely.¡±


    ¡°Not without proof,¡± said Delie. ¡°Trust me, I¡¯ve tried.¡±


    ¡°Come on,¡± Sam said, suddenly chipper. ¡°We¡¯d best get moving before the Sergeant comes back for more.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not afraid of him, surely.¡±


    ¡°No. Afraid of what I might do to him.¡± His eyes flashed. ¡°I¡¯ll probably end up clocking him one.¡±


    ¡°That would be a sight to see,¡± said Liz. ¡°And I¡¯d like to see them pin it on you. ¡®No, Captain, I swear I never saw Sam¡¯s fist flying. Why, the Sergeant must just have fallen right on that ugly face of his¡¯. I should enjoy that very much.¡±


    ¡°So would I, as a matter of fact,¡± said Sam. ¡°You know, sometimes I feel like I don¡¯t get the respect I deserve.¡± As he spoke, he rolled his ankle on a knot in the ground. His leg buckled beneath him, and before anyone could move to stop him he was tumbling down the hill. Not far from where they were stood, the gentle slope became almost a sheer drop, three metres down to a cleft in the ground. That was where Sam finished up. He tumbled arse over tit, and landed in a bed of wild heather.


    Macel glanced at Delie, who started to laugh. ¡°You get exactly the respect you deserve, Sam,¡± she said.


    Sam groaned.


    ¡°I think he¡¯s hurt,¡± said Macel.


    They found Sam lying prone on the ground, clutching his left ankle and screaming something awful.


    ¡°Get a medic or something,¡± he said, spotting them. ¡°Or do you want me to lie here all day?¡±


    ¡°Is it broken?¡±


    He shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s a break. Hurts like buggery though. I don¡¯t reckon I can stand on it.¡± To prove his point, he managed to leverage himself upright using the rock beside him, but crumpled again the instant he put weight on his foot. He gritted his teeth. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m not going anywhere.¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t all stay with you,¡± said Delie. ¡°Bennett will explode.¡±


    ¡°That might cheer me up,¡± Sam laughed.


    In the end, Liz went on ahead, so that at least there would be somebody able to explain to Lieutenant Bennett why some of her garrison had gone missing en route. Delie liberated a flask of water from her pack, and sat next to Sam while he drank from it. Macel left them to their refreshment and went in search of aid.


    He didn¡¯t have to go far. Just a dozen yards or so down the hill, he found Bess, leading by the reins a chestnut dray. The rest of the horse-folk walked in pairs, chatting as they went, but Bess was alone. Her eyes widened when she saw him. ¡°Macel?¡±


    ¡°Bess, I need to borrow your horse.¡±


    ¡°I beg your pardon?¡±


    ¡°You heard me.¡± He took hold of the horse¡¯s reins with a hand, to protests from both horse and Bess. ¡°Quickly, Sam¡¯s hurt. I can¡¯t carry him down the hill.¡±


    She shot a glance at the man behind her. This, presumably, was Speke the horsemaster. He was a towering six foot, with big tanned arms; on his face was a resplendent moustache, thick and silver-white as his hair. He grunted and nodded vaguely. Bess turned back to Macel, smiling. ¡°Let¡¯s go, then.¡±


    Nobody in the column seemed especially thrilled at the idea of giving way to let them pass, but nobody seemed to want to pick a fight with a horse either. They got to Sam with nothing but a few scowls. He¡¯d removed his boot by the time they arrived, and the sock beneath it. The ankle was red and horribly swollen. Some water had been poured over it, which trickled off into the dry soil beneath him.


    ¡°Right,¡± said Macel, ¡°let¡¯s get you loaded up.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not getting on that,¡± said Sam. ¡°No chance. I¡¯ll walk.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be stupid, Sam, you can¡¯t walk any distance,¡± Delie scolded.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure my leg¡¯s healed by now.¡± But it hadn¡¯t, and he didn¡¯t even manage to get into a standing position before once again crumpling. Macel and Delie grabbed an arm each while he was still on the ground, and on Macel¡¯s signal Bess lifted his uninjured foot¡ªpulling a face at her proximity to his soiled boot.


    As Bess led the horse away ten minutes later, with Sam on its back, he was still insisting that he¡¯d never get on it.

 16. Deadshrike

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ David ~


    As David walked through the Mettywood, rifle slung over his shoulder, there was only one thought on his mind: the sooner we get proper roads, the better. The terrain in the Mettywood was uneven at the best of times, narrow and patched with hills, every second step a jutting rock or a gnarled old tree root sticking out of the dirt. An attempt had been made to drive a cart through, pulled by the hardiest horses from Hultry¡¯s stables, but it had barely got beyond the treeline. The only way through was to walk.


    It made questionable the decision to set up a homestead on the far side. David had never actually made it to the other side of the Mettywood, but he¡¯d seen the maps. When the trees ended, there were miles of heath. There was a river, a couple of pools, and then eventually the foothills of a looming mountain. And there was the Aster farm. Goulden Aster was the patriarch; he was old money, wealthy enough to afford himself a parcel of land, but either the money ended there or Aster fancied a pastoral life.


    They were only passing through the Aster farm today. A path had been beaten through the dirt by the heavy boots of the Captain Mannam¡¯s Constabulary, investigating the death of one of Aster¡¯s farmhands, so it was easy enough to find the way there. And anyway, it was the only real landmark west of the Mettywood.


    This was Lieutenant Jackson¡¯s mission, really. He¡¯d found David in his office late yesterday. ¡°We sent out the drones the other day,¡± he said. ¡°Only short-range things, but they¡¯ve given us a good overview of the valley.¡± Before David had had the chance to ask why Lieutenant Jackson had felt the need to report that he¡¯d done the basics of his job, Jackson had produced from a satchel on his back a set of aerial photographs.


    ¡°These your maps?¡± David grunted.


    ¡°The basis of them,¡± said Jackson. ¡°But have a look at this.¡± He pressed a finger on one of the photographs.


    ¡°Those are trees,¡± said David. ¡°What about it?¡±


    Jackson looked at him. ¡°Does nothing strike you as odd about these?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re growing in a pattern. I think they were planted deliberately in that pattern.¡±


    David laughed. ¡°By who? Don¡¯t forget, before us no man had set foot on Essegena.¡±


    ¡°That we know of,¡± said Jackson.


    ¡°Is it not more likely that you¡¯re just seeing things? Pareidolia?¡±


    ¡°I did wonder that,¡± Jackson agreed. ¡°But then there¡¯s this.¡± He reached into his satchel once more, this time taking from it a sheet of cellulose paper. There was an image drawn onto it, a circle, surrounded by flailing arms. David had absorbed enough history to recognise it as the symbol of the heretic Nameth, one of the ancient Gods. Nameth¡¯s wheel was found on ancient monuments all over Belaboras.


    Jackson placed the cellulose paper over his photograph. And the symbol was unmistakeable. Trees grew in a circle that aligned perfectly with the wheel, and on the point and vertex of every flail. Within the circle, the ground was completely clear of trees.


    David¡¯s face must have been a book. Jackson grinned. ¡°Still think it¡¯s pareidolia, sir?¡±


    ¡°It must be a coincidence,¡± David spluttered.


    ¡°I intend to find out either way. My men are going to see these trees for ourselves, up close.¡±


    Naturally, David had come along. He thought of the wooden figure, locked away in Captain Mannam¡¯s vault. Maybe somebody else had been here, long ago. Was that even possible?


    The Aster farm was hard to miss. The last gasps of the Mettywood gave way to a long flat, green prairie with barely a hint of trees as far as the eye could see. Towards the horizon, hills rose up covered in yellowed foliage, and beyond them the blue shadow of those tall mountains soaring towards the sky as if they meant to pierce the heavens. In the middle of all this was a cabin of hewn logs and sod, and around it uneven fenceposts. A solitary tree grew in the midst of this plain, dark and shrivelled with only a handful of leaves at the end of its wizened branches; the whole farmstead seemed to have been built around this tree.


    Lieutenant Jackson had the group pause at the farm for a rest, while he spoke with Goulden Aster. David took the opportunity to look around¡ªand the view looking back down at the valley was nothing to be sniffed at, it had to be said. The ground here was high enough that one could see over the tops of the Mettywood¡¯s trees, to the glimmering water of the Clearwater and the busy city beyond.


    Aster¡¯s green-haired daughters brought milk and cakes for the soldiers to share. Some of the soldiers responded by trying to flirt with the eldest daughter, who had daubed her pale skin with yellow powder, while her sisters cowered behind her skirts. David judged the soldiers silently. He didn¡¯t intercede, though; they were Jackson¡¯s command, not his.


    Eventually, Lieutenant Jackson emerged from Aster¡¯s cottage. He had two farmhands with him, both in grubby overalls. One was a man, thickly built, with deep brown skin and short hair in tight coils around his head. The other was a pale-skinned woman with a long neck and a squashed-in face, her ears crimson beneath dirty blonde hair. ¡°This is Oparne,¡± said Jackson, indicating first the man, then the woman. ¡°And Murtannet. They know this side of the Mettywood better than anyone, so they¡¯re going to accompany us today.¡±


    ¡°What, are we not capable of looking after ourselves?¡± asked Jim Kilbirnie.


    Jackson wasn¡¯t open to discussion. ¡°You can wait here for us if you don¡¯t like my decisions. You won¡¯t get paid, of course.¡±


    And that was that. There were a few murmurs, but Jackson blew the whistle that he wore on a chain around his neck, and the squad fell into a tight column, two wide. And off they went, to a man, into the wilderness. Soon, even Goulden Aster¡¯s farm was a distant memory, lost over the horizon.


    ¡°We¡¯ve never mapped out this far,¡± Jackson whispered, as they passed the rotten husk of a fallen tree. ¡°This is new country.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it all?¡± David mused.


    The closer they came to the tall mountains, the more the ground seemed to harshen. Steep escarpments replaced the easy ground of the Aster farm. Exposed rock poked upwards, and narrow streams weaved their way between. Half of the heath seemed to be given over to putrid peat. Even the sky seemed to get darker. The clouds cast shadows on the mountain face, mottling its surface with terrifying shapes.


    ¡°By my reckoning we should be getting near by now,¡± said Lieutenant Jackson, dropping back to talk to David. ¡°The trees are starting to come back.¡±


    He was right. Much of the land between here and the Mettywood had been almost devoid of trees, and there were never more than two or three in one place. But up on the slopes and foothills, they were far more numerous. Curiously, many of them had lichen-stained slabs of rock around their trunks. Closer inspection revealed the dead and decaying remnants of a bed of wild roses, wilted and black, in the shadow of one tree. There were no flowers living here at all. The bog had suffocated them at the stem.


    The uneven terrain necessitated that Jackson¡¯s squad abandon the organised column they¡¯d walked in since Hultry¡¯s place. The soldiers had spread out, still keeping in each other¡¯s eyeshot but steadily fanning wider. Jackson hadn¡¯t told them the reason for this mission. As far as they were concerned, it was no different to the other mapping expeditions. The reason for this, Jackson said, was to prevent them from forming their own preconceptions. If there was any evidence of civilisation to be found, anything that didn¡¯t belong, it would be quickly apparent¡ªbut if the soldiers were actively looking for it, they¡¯d probably start to see every little thing they passed as an artifice.


    ¡°Hey, what the fuck?¡± The cry came from Ty Craddock, a burly redhead who was near to where the trees were at their thickest.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Jackson ran towards Craddock. David did his best to keep pace, but it was a struggle to run fast and also keep his footing. Other soldiers reached Craddock first, gathering around him so David could see nothing but their backs.


    ¡°Is this somebody¡¯s idea of a joke?¡± Craddock sounded angry.


    ¡°The farmers think they¡¯re funny. Doing shit like this.¡± Jim Kilbirnie rounded on Oparne and Murtannet, the two farmhands backing away slowly.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t our doing,¡± Murtannet protested.


    Oparne nodded frantically. ¡°We don¡¯t ever go this far. This is way beyond the boundaries.¡±


    Kilbirnie didn¡¯t seem placated. ¡°Bullshit. This is all you.¡±


    David rushed to get between the two farmhands and the soldiers, before somebody came to blows. ¡°Easy,¡± he said, pushing Kilbirnie back with his hand. ¡°What¡¯s the fuss?¡±


    Lieutenant Jackson turned to David. ¡°You should really see this for yourself, Captain.¡±


    Ty Craddock was stood beside a flat slab of rock. On top of it, surrounded by moss, was an animal¡¯s tail. The fur was black and white, still fresh, and the bone had been severed neatly. There wasn¡¯t so much as a drop of blood around it. ¡°This has been cut,¡± said David.


    ¡°Aye,¡± Jackson nodded, ¡°but by who?¡±


    ¡°I told you, it was those farmers.¡± Kilbirnie had gone red in the face.


    Jackson shook his head calmly. ¡°That¡¯s just baseless speculation.¡±


    Scrumpy Cochrane, at the edge of the group, was ashen-faced. ¡°This is no farmer¡¯s doing,¡± he said, sombre. ¡°This is an omen. There¡¯s something on this here mountain doesn¡¯t want us to pry.¡±


    ¡°What sort of something? You mean like a bear?¡±


    Scrumpy looked at David like he was simple. ¡°No bear. This is the ancient mark of a witch-shade.¡±


    The name was ominous, but a couple of the other soldiers laughed. ¡°They don¡¯t exist,¡± said Betha Whindle. ¡°Just scary stories to tell kids.¡±


    ¡°They exist. I¡¯ve seen them.¡± Scrumpy shook his head. ¡°We shouldn¡¯t go no further. The witch-shade won¡¯t harm us if we turn back here.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s not jump to spooks,¡± said Lieutenant Jackson. ¡°More likely some poor critter died and got eaten. The tail¡¯s all that¡¯s left. Come on, we keep moving.¡±


    Scrumpy grumbled a bit, but fell in with the rest of them. He held back a bit, along with a couple of others with anxious faces, and David noticed that his eyes kept darting towards every shadow.


    Soon enough they came to a steep bit, the mountain presenting them with a near-impassable wall of rock. They all gathered at the base.


    ¡°That¡¯s as far as we¡¯re going, I should think,¡± said David. ¡°You¡¯re not getting up there without gear.¡±


    A low whistle sounded from somewhere up high. It rang around the trees, and all looked at one another, suddenly uncertain. ¡°The witch-shade,¡± said Scrumpy, and this time nobody rushed to mock him.


    ¡°Whatever it is, we¡¯ll find it.¡± Lieutenant Jackson began to clamber up the rock face, using jutting out bits of stone and nearby tree branches as handholds. Twice he nearly lost his grip. He had a fair way to fall. Higher up, the branches became flimsier.


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    ¡°Come on, Lieutenant, let¡¯s call it there,¡± David called. ¡°Bring some gear tomorrow and have a proper search.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Jackson, chancing a look down. ¡°I¡¯m just about there¡ª¡±


    As he spoke, he swung his arm towards the top. Swung, and missed. It was over in an instant. Before anybody had a chance to react, Lieutenant Jackson was back on the ground with the rest of them. He lay still. His leg was bent at a horrible angle, the bone poking out of the skin. At first he didn¡¯t seem to realise. He examined his hands, the palms grazed and bleeding, then lifted himself to stand. As soon as he put weight on his leg, he noticed his mistake. He cried out and crumpled back to the floor.


    David was quick to assume command; he sent the two farmhands back to their farm, with instructions to bring whatever they could find to carry Jackson back down to the valley. As they ran off, he sat with Jackson, who¡¯d gone quite white. It looked a nasty break. ¡°Don¡¯t try to stand again,¡± said David. ¡°It¡¯ll only make it worse.¡±


    It was getting dark when the farmhands returned, carrying with them a makeshift stretcher. Jackson¡¯s soldiers¡ªScrumpy in particular¡ªwere beginning to get agitated. ¡°We need to move,¡± Scrumpy kept saying. ¡°The witch-shade won¡¯t warn us away again.¡± Matters weren¡¯t helped by the long shadows that the falling dusk was casting, nor by the continued low whistling. It was probably just a bird¡¯s call, David reasoned, but it did nothing to dispel the idea of a malevolent spirit warning them away.


    In the end, he was grateful to be walking back towards the well-lit safety of the valley with the others, once Lieutenant Jackson was loaded up. They left Jackson at Aster¡¯s farm, with a couple of guards for company, rather than risk taking him further than they needed to. No longer bogged down by the Lieutenant, they reached the valley easy enough. David sent Sergeant Tunnock to the hospital to call for help, then¡ªyawning¡ªretired for the night.


    He didn¡¯t get to sleep for several hours after that. Whenever he closed his eyes, he thought back to the darkening woods, and Scrumpy¡¯s spectral witch-shade.


    A week later, David returned from a mid-morning walk among the bergamots and winter jasmine of the riverbank to find a soldier in his office. It wasn¡¯t one of his. This man wore the deep green jacket with gold-yellow flaunches of the Constabulary. He¡¯d taken the liberty of sitting in David¡¯s seat, his mud-coated boots resting on David¡¯s desk as he played with David¡¯s crystal decanter. He didn¡¯t even have the decency to wipe the smug look off his face when he saw David enter.


    ¡°Can I help you?¡±


    The soldier smirked. ¡°I thought you Captains were supposed to be good time-keepers,¡± he said. ¡°Yet I¡¯ve been here twenty minutes. It¡¯s atrocious, really.¡±


    ¡°I am a senior officer,¡± David barked. ¡°So I don¡¯t need to explain myself to the likes of you. Now get your feet off my desk and put my things back where you found them. Go on, quickly now, or I¡¯ll be having words with the Lord Constable.¡±


    The soldier did as he was bid, albeit lazily, and stood. ¡°The Lord Constable sent me to fetch you. He wants a word.¡±


    ¡°Does he now?¡± Probably about that wooden figure, David thought. Mannam must have figured out where it came from. He bit back the urge to act excited. The very existence of the carved idol was between him and Captain Mannam. He had to maintain the fa?ade of fury¡ªand fury that he did still genuinely feel¡ªin front of Mannam¡¯s soldier. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°Colne, sir.¡±


    ¡°Is that so?¡± David walked with purpose towards Colne, taking care to never break eye contact. At the last moment, just as Colne began to back away, David suddenly pivoted, and sat down in his recently-vacated chair. He didn¡¯t look up at Colne. ¡°You can tell the Lord Constable that I will be with him shortly.¡±


    ¡°Sir.¡±


    David counted the hollow echoes of Colne¡¯s steps on the floor. It took the regular man fifteen steps to get from desk to door, he knew. When he counted fourteen, he spoke again: ¡°Oh, and you can also tell the Lord Constable that if any more of his messengers see fit to disrespect me, they won¡¯t be returning to him with both legs unbroken.¡±


    ¡°No need to have a temper, sir,¡± Colne retorted, in a horrid silky voice. ¡°You could be struck off for threatening a subordinate.¡±


    David said nothing back. Colne was right. His position gave him carte blanche to threaten and apply any punishment from the Soldiers¡¯ Code¡ªbut it wasn¡¯t legal to break a man¡¯s legs, and it hadn¡¯t been for well over a thousand years. He waited until Colne¡¯s footsteps had faded to nothing, then beat his fists on his desk. Ten solid punches. Just enough to let out the worst of it. Calm himself.


    Why did Mannam have to send such a dickhead?


    David allowed himself a coffee and a breather before he went to speak to Mannam, and because he felt it wise to do at least some work, he sent one of his soldiers up to Plateau Watch with a letter asking Lieutenant Bennett for a situation update. And then he cursed the inefficiencies of Essegena¡¯s infrastructure. They¡¯d been here months now, and still there was no hint of a functional radio system. How hard could it be to stick some antennae up?


    A red-lipped woman greeted David at the door to the Constable¡¯s half-built tower. ¡°The Lord Constable¡¯s waiting for you, Captain,¡± she said, derisive.


    David shook his head. ¡°I have obligations. I can¡¯t just be at Mannam¡¯s beck and call all day.¡±


    The woman shrugged. ¡°This way.¡±


    She led David through to a dimly-lit room, where Captain Mannam stood with his back against a door. A sign above the door marked it as the place for ¡®Questioning¡¯. David frowned. Surely Mannam wasn¡¯t about to involve him in Constabulary business.


    Mannam certainly was. ¡°I¡¯m glad you could make it, Captain Clifford,¡± he said. ¡°Time-wasters and funny men are the curse of the honest investigator.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not a dig at me for not coming straight away, I hope?¡±


    Mannam shook his head. ¡°Of course not. You¡¯re a busy man, same as me. If my soldiers have been giving you lip, I¡¯d be happy to discipline them. No, I¡¯ve had a man confess to killing Edmote Wenderwind.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the man they found in Hultry¡¯s stables, right?¡±


    Mannam nodded. ¡°His body desecrated. A vile thing.¡±


    ¡°And you say you¡¯ve had a confession?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a man in the interrogation room who tells me he killed Wenderwind. The problem is, nothing else he¡¯s said is true. People who treat a serious investigation like it¡¯s just a joke really rile me up. You might want to sit in.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not really my job to do Constabulary work¡ª¡±


    ¡°Oh, by the Lightness,¡± Mannam muttered, hands covering his face. ¡°I¡¯m not asking you to do Constabulary work. Just sit in. The man¡¯s story might amuse you.¡±


    ¡°Fine.¡±


    Mannam opened the door, and David followed him into the interrogation room. It was lit only by a bright halogen panel in the ceiling, and the wooden walls had been painted a solid black. One of Mannam¡¯s Constabulary guards stood just inside. He didn¡¯t acknowledge Mannam¡¯s entry, his attention fixed firmly on the desk in the middle of the room.


    And there sat Oparne, the farmhand from the Aster farm. His overalls were stained with dirt, his eyes bloodshot and puffy. He¡¯d been staring at the wall when David entered, but perked up immediately. As he turned, David noticed a bloody welt on his neck, bright and weeping. The blood had seeped into Oparne¡¯s collar.


    ¡°Is he alright?¡±


    The Lord Constable shrugged. ¡°He¡¯s not going to die, if that¡¯s what you mean. He had the wound when he got here¡ªself-inflicted, if you¡¯ll believe him.¡±


    David frowned. ¡°You make it sound like you don¡¯t believe him.¡±


    ¡°All he¡¯s done is spin a lie. I can¡¯t abide a liar.¡± Mannam pulled out two narrow metal chairs across from Oparne, sitting on one and beckoning David to join him. ¡°Tell Captain Clifford your story.¡±


    Oparne looked from Mannam to David and back again, with saucers for eyes. He sighed, rubbed his bleeding neck, winced as he did so. ¡°I killed Wenderwind,¡± he said. ¡°Killed him, strung him up, scratched that shit into his chest.¡±


    David glanced at Mannam, sat stoic on his chair. ¡°You realise this is a very serious crime?¡±


    Oparne nodded enthusiastically. ¡°Lock me up, Captain. Ten years in the cells, then ship me back to the Hive. It¡¯s what I deserve.¡±


    Mannam shook his head. ¡°That¡¯s not how this works. You¡¯ll go to the stake for this, to burn.¡±


    To burn? Burning was an ancient punishment. David tried to think of an instance in his lifetime¡ªbut he came up blank. ¡°You¡¯d burn a man for this?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the standard punishment,¡± said Mannam. ¡°I can fetch the statute books if you¡¯d prefer? They¡¯re quite plain. For killings motivated by religion, the culprit must burn.¡±


    Oparne beat a fist on the table, prompting the guard on the door to spring into a defensive position. ¡°This had nothing to do with religion,¡± he yelled.


    ¡°Wenderwind joined the Church of Lightness, and two weeks later he turns up dead with Castan¡¯s fucking Spiral on his chest¡ªand you¡¯re telling me that had nothing to do with religion?¡± Much as Oparne had yelled loudly, Mannam was matching him for volume. ¡°I bet you thought you¡¯d get off easy if you came clean. Did Wenderwind¡¯s friends give you that cut on your neck? Vigilante justice? You figured next time they¡¯d kill you, so you¡¯d come to us and let the dear old Lord Constable keep you safe behind an armed guard.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Oparne, recoiling. ¡°No, I swear, none of that¡¯s true.¡±


    Mannam snarled. ¡°What, then?¡±


    Oparne glared back at Mannam, breathing heavily. ¡°I told you¡ª¡±


    ¡°No, you spun a fancy tale about evil spirits,¡± said Mannam gruffly. ¡°I¡¯ve asked you kindly and now I¡¯ll ask you in not such a kind manner to take your head out of your arse. This is the real world. And a man is dead at your hand.¡±


    Oparne was crying. David hadn¡¯t spotted when the tears began, but the man¡¯s eyes were puffy now, and quite damp. The Lord Constable appeared not to have noticed.


    ¡°Give me a few minutes with the man, Lord Constable,¡± said David. ¡°Take a break.¡±


    Mannam considered it for a few seconds. ¡°I think I will,¡± he said, nodding. ¡°This is doing my heart no favours.¡± He rose ponderously, coughing loudly into his hand, and wiped the almost-chartreuse phlegm onto his trousers. As he reached the door, he paused for a moment to look back at David. ¡°Don¡¯t expect any straight answers from this one, Captain, I well know his ilk.¡± And then, watched by all in the room, Lord Constable Mannam left.


    Oparne¡¯s eyes flicked slowly from the door to David. ¡°He doesn¡¯t believe me. Nobody believes me. But I tell you, it¡¯s true¡ªevery word of it.¡±


    ¡°Tell me the whole story,¡± said David. ¡°From the beginning.¡±


    Oparne picked at his bloody collar and winced. ¡°We were all of us up at Deadshrike.¡±


    ¡°Deadshrike?¡±


    ¡°The Aster farm,¡± explained Oparne. Deadshrike was a pretty stark name for it, David thought.


    He nodded. ¡°And when you say ¡®we¡¯..?¡± He let the question hang in the air.


    ¡°The six of us up at Deadshrike,¡± said Oparne. ¡°We were all assigned farms to work, when we got here. So it¡¯s me, and Wenderwind, and Sal Murtannet.¡± He counted the names on his fingers. ¡°Absalom and Swift too¡ªoh, and Molly Bradshaw.¡±


    David frowned. ¡°The General¡¯s daughter?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± said Oparne. ¡°Probably? She said her dad wanted her to be a soldier, but her dad¡¯s a prick.¡±


    It was all David could do to stifle his laughter. That sounded like General Bradshaw alright¡ªbut what sort of soldier would he be to laugh at Oparne? Instead, he returned to his questions. ¡°And was she involved? Or any of the others?¡±


    ¡°Involved?¡±


    ¡°In the death of Edmote Wenderwind.¡±


    Oparne shook his head. ¡°I swear as none of them saw him. If they had it would have been them that killed him. Wenderwind vanished, you see? There¡¯s this great tree right in the middle of Deadshrike¡ªa horrible thing, all dead and twisted¡ªand about three weeks after we got to Deadshrike this thing was glowing. Bright as the stars themselves, coming from the middle of this tree. Well, I ain¡¯t ever seen anything of the like. None of us had, but we realised we couldn¡¯t hide in the wood-shed all night. Mistress Aster¡ªthat¡¯s Pereneth, the Master¡¯s wife¡ªis very particular about us eating at a set time. So Wenderwind went out to look at the tree closer.¡±


    ¡°And then what?¡±


    ¡°The light disappeared. We figured someone had left a lantern up in the tree for a joke, and we didn¡¯t think nothing when Wenderwind never showed for supper. He doesn¡¯t like garlic, see, and Mistress Aster is over-eager on the garlic. Sometimes he doesn¡¯t come to eat. But he never missed a day on the fields, not once. We knew something was up. But Sal reckoned he¡¯d just decided to do a runner¡ªshe¡¯s like that, is Sal, always thinking of what people might do. She said people change their minds all the time. Wenderwind had probably had enough of farming. Master Aster reported him as missing, and that was that.¡± Oparne stopped, catching his breath. ¡°But that isn¡¯t true. I saw him, Captain. That light in the tree¡ªI swear to you on the Good Mother¡¯s name it took the shape of a man and killed Edmote Wenderwind.¡±


    ¡°Are you saying he was killed by a light?¡±


    ¡°A ghost, more¡¯n like. I know you don¡¯t believe me. But I tell you, it¡¯s true. I went to him, while the others were at their supper, and I¡¯ve never seen a man so afraid. Blood everywhere. And the air... It was like lead, so heavy I thought I might suffocate. There was nothing I could do for Wenderwind. Man was dead when I got to him, and we both knew it.¡±


    David straightened up in his seat and rested his arms on the desk. ¡°If Edmote Wenderwind was killed by a ghost, why did you say you killed him? A man can only die once, surely.¡±


    Oparne shook his head. ¡°That¡¯s what you¡¯re not getting, Captain. Wenderwind came back.¡±


    ¡°So he wasn¡¯t dead,¡± said David.


    ¡°I tell you, that man was dead,¡± Oparne insisted. ¡°I saw him die. His body vanished. Perhaps it was a witch-shade or something that took him, I don¡¯t know. But he came back.¡± Oparne¡¯s voice suddenly dropped to a low timbre. ¡°What else do you do, when what¡¯s dead doesn¡¯t stay dead?¡±


    ¡°I go to bed,¡± said David. ¡°Because clearly I¡¯m overtired and imagining things.¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t be so glib if you saw it,¡± Oparne hissed. ¡°I took a scythe to his throat, then I carried him down to the stables and hung him up.¡±


    ¡°And the symbol you carved into his chest? That was overkill, surely.¡±


    ¡°The spiral was to invoke Castan¡¯s protection,¡± said Oparne. ¡°So the Gods don¡¯t bring him back again. I tell you, Captain, it was not Edmote Wenderwind that came back to Deadshrike. It was something else in his body.¡± He gestured to his bloodied throat. ¡°I saw the light in the tree again last night. From my window. When I woke up, I was bleeding. There¡¯s something unnatural on this planet, Captain, and it¡¯s coming for me. So lock me up if you have to, ship me off back to the Hive, anything.¡±


    David regarded Oparne for a few seconds. The man¡¯s tale was preposterous, it had to be said¡ªbut he certainly seemed convinced of it. Perhaps evil entities did roam Essegena. Or perhaps Oparne had lost his mind. Either way, there was no doubt in David¡¯s mind that Oparne¡¯s was the hand that had slain Edmote Wenderwind.


    Lord Constable Mannam was waiting just outside the interrogation room, sipping on a glass of water. ¡°My apologies, Captain Clifford. I shouldn¡¯t have let the bastard get to me.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s guilty,¡± said David. ¡°Mad too, probably. It¡¯s not my job to tell you how you should sentence your prisoners, Lord Constable, but if I were you I¡¯d throw him in a cell and let him rot there for a while.¡±


    ¡°A very decisive judgement,¡± Mannam observed. ¡°You¡¯d better not start gunning for my job, Captain Clifford.¡±

 17. The Gods Grove

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Tema ~


    Tema found herself alone in the washroom, sat on the cold wooden benches with time for her thoughts. Her mood had been a great one as she¡¯d arrived for her day¡¯s work, but it had soured as she was clocking in. The nurse on the desk was one of the young girls brought to Essegena to serve the colony in lieu of their final year of study. She was a quiet girl, usually keeping herself to herself. Tema wasn¡¯t even sure she¡¯d ever learned the girl¡¯s name. Today, as Tema was signing in, the girl had asked about Tasha.


    The line of questioning had caught Tema off guard. What did the nurse want to know about Tasha for?


    She wished she¡¯d been a bit more dignified in her response. ¡°Is my sister any of your business?¡± she¡¯d snapped. ¡°Should I pry my nose into your affairs too? Or would you prefer privacy? Privacy, I bet. Tasha¡¯s a rat, and if you needed me to tell you that, you¡¯re probably a rat too.¡± She knew as she was speaking that she¡¯d gone too far. The nurse had reddened and turned away, sniffling; she¡¯d excused herself and called Lily Day down to cover for her, and Tema had been left feeling rotten.


    All her life, she¡¯d been bad at apologies. It was the natural consequence of rarely needing to say sorry. Throughout childhood it had been the other way around¡ªTasha would often take some liberty, and Goodwife Jaina or Mother or Aunt Danyer would force Tasha to apologise. Tema would get to enjoy the two seconds of power she had over her sister, then things were back to normal. But she was never the one to be dragged by her ear until she was contrite. She was always a good girl. She didn¡¯t do wrong.


    So now she was in the strange position of knowing she needed to say sorry, but not knowing how. Caroline Ballard was a good boss, an understanding boss, but even she was bound to take the side of the student nurse who¡¯d been reduced to tears, over the emotionally unstable junior doctor. Tema would do the same in her position.


    She heard footsteps on the tiles, and a knock on the inside wall. ¡°Doctor Caerlin? Are you in here?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be out in a second.¡± Tema allowed herself until the count of five to pull herself together. She couldn¡¯t spend forever moping. Any longer would be taking liberties with the time of somebody else.


    At the door, she found the young nurse waiting for her. Far from looking sad, the nurse had a youthful grin on her face. ¡°There¡¯s a patient asking for you, Miss Tema,¡± she said. ¡°I could have patched him up myself, but he wanted to talk to you specifically.¡±


    Tema followed the nurse as she practically skipped towards the wards. All the time she thought she should say something, but the moment didn¡¯t come. It wasn¡¯t right to apologise to the back of someone¡¯s head, was it?


    ¡°You¡¯ll think me terribly rude,¡± she said, eventually, ¡°but I¡¯m afraid I¡¯ve never caught your name.¡±


    The nurse turned. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, nobody ever does. I¡¯m Janna.¡±


    ¡°Janna, I owe you an apology.¡± Tema coughed to cover the hesitation as she scrambled to think of what to say next. ¡°I was a beast, going off on you like that. I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    Janna gave her a look of bemusement. ¡°You¡¯re a doctor, Miss Tema, and I¡¯m just a mouthy trainee. You¡¯re allowed to scream at me as much as you want.¡±


    ¡°Who told you that?¡± Tema tried to speak softly.


    ¡°It¡¯s what all the tutors say. They told me I talk far too much for my own good.¡± Janna didn¡¯t miss a step.


    Tema couldn¡¯t imagine Janna talking too much. She was by far the quietest of all the hospital¡¯s staff. A gossip like Delphine Janley or Eddie Brigstock might have been often told to pipe down, but not Janna.


    Their path to the wards led them up the main staircase, in the grand atrium closest to the heart of the Eia. It was built to be the centrepiece to a busy hospital, a beautiful piece of architecture which had no business being in the middle of a spaceship. The stairs were finished with marble, and artificial waterfalls dropped into gilded pools on either flank. Blue sky and wispy clouds had been painted onto a backlit ceiling above the atrium, giving the impression of open air.


    The whole thing was a waste of time. There weren¡¯t nearly enough patients to keep it busy, and most of the time the staff preferred to use the smaller stairwells and the lifts that went closer to where they wanted to go. As a result, the main staircase was almost always completely deserted. Today there was only Betsy Clanackan, polishing the bronze banisters. She smiled as they passed, her round face beaming, then returned to her work.


    Most of the wards on the upper floors were as yet unused. What was the point in them? While inpatient numbers were so low, it only made sense to make use of as few wards as possible¡ªand the closer to reception, the better. There was a solitary exception. Nobody had seen fit to make sure the lower levels were equipped with a magnetic imaging scanner, so when one was needed the upper level was the only place to go.


    Janna took Tema to the ward nearest to the scanner. There were only two people here. One was a woman with a long face who¡¯d come in with a broken finger. Tema didn¡¯t know her. But the other, sat on a chair intended for visitors and grinning at her, was Sam Preston. She¡¯d not seen Sam since the Governor¡¯s party.


    ¡°It¡¯s just a bruised ankle, Miss Tema,¡± Janna explained. ¡°I know I¡¯m just a trainee, but I can¡¯t see why he can¡¯t be discharged today.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll find you if I need you, Janna,¡± said Tema, waving the young nurse away. ¡°What have you been up to, Sam?¡±


    He laughed. ¡°Falling off things. Mainly solid ground. You know me, Tema¡ªI can¡¯t be trusted to do anything.¡±


    ¡°Janna tells me it¡¯s not a serious injury. You can go, if you want to.¡±


    Sam nodded. ¡°Happy to. But she said Doctor Caerlin was around somewhere, and it would be rude if I left without saying hello.¡±


    Tema smiled. There weren¡¯t many people who¡¯d go out of their way to seek her company. ¡°Since you¡¯re here, I¡¯ll have to do a cursory examination. Just a few questions. I have to have a paper trail to account for my actions, or the boss will think I¡¯ve been slacking.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve got a hard-arse for a boss too?¡± said Sam. ¡°I¡¯m with Lieutenant Bennett again, up at the new fort they built by where we made our camp. Plateau Watch, it¡¯s called. Well, I¡¯m supposed to be there. I¡¯ve not actually made it that far yet. Did my leg on the way.¡± He reached and tapped at the bruised ankle. ¡°Clearly there¡¯s not a bone in my body hates Bennett more than this one.¡±


    Tema raised an eyebrow. ¡°All the stories you used to tell, I figured it¡¯d be a different bone.¡±


    Sam pretended to be shocked, and gestured at the woman in the bed next to him. ¡°Watch it. There¡¯s a lady present.¡±


    It was clearly meant as a light jape, but it stung. Oh, it stung. It cagged at her with barbed points. But she needn¡¯t be mad. Sam was only seeing the joke from his side. He didn¡¯t know how it would hurt.


    ¡°I got lucky,¡± Sam continued. ¡°Macel¡¯s copping off with a stablegirl¡ªyou remember Macel? I got a ride down the hill in her cart.¡±


    The long-faced woman sniggered, and Sam raised a finger in expletive. ¡°That¡¯s not a euphemism. There¡¯s no need to be filthy!¡±


    ¡°A stablegirl?¡± Tema remembered the promise Caroline had extracted from her¡ªthe Foresleeper girl who needed to be kept safe. Wasn¡¯t she a stablegirl? What was her name? The chances were slim that it was the same one, but it was worth asking. ¡°By chance, was her name Bessily?¡±


    Sam frowned. ¡°How did you know that?¡±


    How did she know that? She couldn¡¯t very well start spouting off about Bessily¡¯s secret. It would be a bad look to betray Caroline¡¯s trust, especially when she¡¯d made such a thing of Caroline sharing her secrets.


    ¡°Lucky guess,¡± said Tema.


    Sam nodded. ¡°Very lucky. When I get myself back to Plateau Watch, I¡¯ll let her know you said hello.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Tema, ¡°there¡¯s no need to do that. She wouldn¡¯t know who I was anyway.¡±


    They talked no more of Bessily the stablegirl, and when she was done asking Sam questions she left the ward. She was sure to find Janna as she went. The nurse had made the correct judgement¡ªSam was free to be discharged whenever. Exactly when that would be, Tema would leave to Janna¡¯s discretion.


    By the end of the shift, Tema had come to be working in the company of Viola Watling. Viola was in need of a senior member of staff to serve as her mentor and to write a recommending letter once her training period was complete, and she seemed keen to have Tema fill that purpose. They were laughing at some absurd joke as they made their way past the admin block, bound for reception and home.


    ¡°Tema, can you come here for a moment?¡± Doctor Maynard was stood in her office doorway. She was smiling, but her eyes were quite clear: Tema didn¡¯t get an option. What had she done wrong? She couldn¡¯t think of anything.


    ¡°I¡¯ll wait for you outside,¡± said Viola. She nodded, and her friend headed out of the hospital.


    Doctor Maynard clicked the door shut behind Tema. She pressed a button on a panel beside the door, and at once the faint sound of chatter from outside disappeared. The soundproofing, Tema knew. She¡¯d had an office just like this while she was working in the hospital at Jagbridge. How many times had she sobbed behind the soundproofed walls?


    ¡°Have a seat.¡± Maynard pointed at a metal-frame chair in front of her desk, and clicked her fingers. ¡°Quickly, now.¡±


    Tema did as she was asked. Doctor Maynard walked across to a set of aluminium cabinets against the back wall. The medical records of everyone aboard the Eia. She opened one of the uppermost drawers. ¡®BYF-¡¯ to ¡®CEN-¡¯, the label read. Tema knew her own record would be in there. Maynard leafed through the files for a while, before picking one and pulling it out of the cabinet.


    She knew it was hers even before Maynard threw it onto the desk in front of her. ¡°I¡¯ve been reviewing the records,¡± Doctor Maynard said, ¡°and I couldn¡¯t help but notice some discrepancies in yours.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Tema felt like asking. ¡°Why have you taken it upon yourself to read these files that aren¡¯t remotely relevant to you?¡± Instead she grunted something she couldn¡¯t even make out herself. It didn¡¯t matter why, not really. Doctor Maynard was senior staff. She had every right to view any files she saw fit.


    Maynard took her own seat, across the desk from Tema. Hers was a comfortable chair, with a padded back and proper supports for the arms. She looked at Tema like a teacher, consoling a child who has just been caught out. ¡°You know what I¡¯m going to say, don¡¯t you?¡± The way she simpered made Tema sick.


    ¡°I know what my file says,¡± Tema nodded. ¡°I don¡¯t see where the issue is.¡±


    Maynard raised her eyebrows. ¡°Oh, you don¡¯t? Well then, let me explain.¡± She pointed a grotty finger at the basic information at the top. ¡®CAERLIN, Tema Octavia,¡¯ it read. And below that, ¡®GENDER: M¡¯. ¡°This is a workplace, Mister Caerlin, not a masquerade party. There can be no further uniform violations.¡±


    ¡°Uniform violations?¡±


    ¡°That dress. It doesn¡¯t conform to Unity standards.¡±


    Tema laughed. ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous, Emmeline. It¡¯s a Unity-issued uniform.¡±


    Doctor Maynard bristled. ¡°As I¡¯ve already informed you, this is a workplace. You will as such address me in the correct manner. As for your dress, you¡¯re correct that it is issued by the Unity. As part of the uniform for female staff¡ªnot you.¡±


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    The air had gone from her lungs. There were a million things she wanted to say, needed to say, but it was all she could do to manage a silent scowl.


    Maynard continued undeterred. ¡°I don¡¯t want you to think I¡¯m against you,¡± she said. ¡°I am sympathetic to your plight. I have a nephew who is now a woman. But law is law, and the law discriminates between men and women.¡±


    ¡°Do I look like a man to you?¡± Tema asked, her old earthy tenor creeping back.


    ¡°I¡¯m not here to judge your appearance,¡± Maynard said.


    ¡°And yet here you are, doing just that.¡± Tema¡¯s head was spinning.


    ¡°At such a time as your reconfirmation is complete, and your records tell me you are female, I will happily hold you to the appropriate standards of uniform. Until then, it makes no odds how much powder you plaster onto your face. The sex between your legs does not lie. For now, I have no option but to issue you with a formal reprimand for uniform violations. Tema, by the time of your next shift, I will expect to see you properly dressed.¡± She smiled at Tema, a smile that showed her teeth. Tema wanted to reach over and knock them all out. ¡°Another thing: I won¡¯t have my staff being lied to. Your deception will stop. If you won¡¯t tell the truth about yourself, I will do it myself.¡±


    Saliva gathered in her throat, and dried it out. ¡°You can¡¯t.¡± The words came out as a rasp. She spoke out of desperation, not knowledge. Surely there must be something to protect her, some statute that might curtail Maynard. None came to mind.


    Maynard regarded her with a single raised eyebrow. ¡°I can¡¯t?¡±


    Then it came to her. ¡°No. You can¡¯t. It¡¯s Unity law. You¡¯re bound to respect my confidentiality¡ªthe contents of my file are not yours to share.¡±


    For a second she had her victory. That was the gotcha, the killer blow. And then Emmeline Maynard began to laugh.


    ¡°I admire your conviction, Tema. You¡¯re right about the laws of the Unity, but you¡¯ll find that we¡¯re not in the Unity. Don¡¯t look so upset, I¡¯m trying to protect you.¡±


    ¡°Doctor Ballard doesn¡¯t see an issue¡ª¡±


    ¡°As is her prerogative. Doctor Ballard is away on council business. I¡¯m in charge in her absence, and I do see an issue. It¡¯s nothing personal. I just want you to be safe¡ªand there are others here who might not see that as important.¡±


    It was hard resisting the compulsion to run out of the hospital. She did her best not to cry¡ªoh, but these were angry tears she was holding back, not sad ones. There was a pit where Tema kept all the people she hated, a dark dungeon in the depths of her mind. Emmeline Maynard had a spot reserved just for her. Who did she think she was? Caro hadn¡¯t died. Tomorrow she¡¯d be back, and Maynard would be just another of Tema¡¯s cohorts, with no power. She couldn¡¯t follow through on her threat even if she wanted to.


    And besides, Tema outranked her. Tema was second in seniority. She said as much: ¡°Doctor Ballard nominated me as her deputy. I¡¯m in charge while she¡¯s gone.¡±


    ¡°Tema, I can see you¡¯re upset,¡± Maynard sighed. Formal address was apparently no longer important. ¡°Doctor Ballard won¡¯t always be around to protect you. Truth be told, there are some who¡¯d have her gone sooner than we¡¯d all like. Doctor Staniforth will keep at it until Doctor Ballard¡¯s out of her job, and then he¡¯ll turn to you. If I go easy on you now, I¡¯ll just be adding my name to his list. I love working here, Tema. There¡¯s nothing else for me. If I got the sack...¡± In a bizarre reversal, now it was Maynard who looked upset, her lip quivering stubbornly. ¡°I¡¯m not as clean as I¡¯d like to be. Staniforth would have an easy time blacklisting me if he chose to. You understand, Tema? It¡¯s not out of hate for you.¡±


    Bollocks it wasn¡¯t. ¡°Why bring it up?¡± Tema asked. ¡°If you¡¯re acting out of fear, just put my file away and pretend you¡¯ve not looked at it. It¡¯s only an issue because you¡¯ve made it one.¡±


    Maynard grimaced. ¡°It would be nice if things were as easy as all that. Why don¡¯t you set up a practice out in the town? Somewhere out of Staniforth¡¯s domain? Doctor Ballard would sign off on it.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re kicking me out? I outrank you.¡±


    Maynard shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m not kicking you out. I just don¡¯t want there to be trouble. And there will be, if Staniforth finds out about you. You know there will be.¡±


    Tema sighed. ¡°And how long have I got to hide? I spent a quarter of a century pretending to be somebody I wasn¡¯t, hiding who I was because I feared what the world might say. I¡¯m not exactly jumping for joy at the prospect of going back to that.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure it won¡¯t be forever,¡± said Maynard. ¡°Think about it, Tema. Please.¡±


    Tema refused to dignify Maynard with another word. She strode out of the hospital, ignoring the cheery greeting from Cherry Aspwell on the front desk, past the waiting Viola, and marched a quickstep all the way to her chambers. Somehow, she didn¡¯t start crying until the door shut behind her.


    Once she¡¯d wiped her face clean and changed into a comfortable nightdress, Tema took to her bed with a bottle of chartreuse for company. The liquor burned her throat as she drank from it but at least the burning stopped her thinking about Doctor Maynard. A bit of pain was preferable.


    At some point during the last third of the bottle she passed out. Dream took her. First it was the aromatic lilac that filled her nose, and then colours returned to her. She breathed in a light air. This was what paradise must have been like.


    With its underscore of gently burbling water, the grove was a tranquil oasis. The statue at its heart had stood there for many years. White marble had chipped and cracked and overgrown with green moss and creeping vines. She was a lonely soldier, this old goddess, standing vigil over a lost land. Tema knew her name once. It was something beautiful, the sort of name that flows off the tongue and nestles itself deep within the speaker, lingering in the marrow of the breastbone. There was a similar statue at home. The same goddess, with the same wide-eyed expression on her face, hands cupping forever at water that slipped through their grasp. Even the decay seemed the same.


    Something shifted in the grove. Things seemed to shine brighter for a moment, like the sun had been allowed its first access, and then they faded darker. Tema hunched her shoulders tight and walked on, keeping her hand held outstretched before her so she might touch the stone skin of the deity.


    <Fr¨¦reves.> The voice came from behind her, and in front of her, and within her, all in the same. It was a familiar voice, but an implacable one. Rich, full-bodied. It echoed.


    And she knew it was the goddess, telling her her name.


    ¡°I know this place,¡± she blurted. It sounded smarter in her head.


    <And so you should.> The statue seemed to cock its head to better see her. That must have been her imagination, surely. But then, wasn¡¯t all of this?


    ¡°Am I at home?¡± It did seem familiar. Surely it was too much of a coincidence for this statue to have the same blemishes as hers. And now she said it, there was a grove in the grounds, wasn¡¯t there? And wasn¡¯t that Jaina¡¯s specialty pie she could smell, wafting over the grasping pines and sentinel furs?


    The statue regarded her coldly.


    A chill washed over her. The breeze cut deep, soaking into her skin, weaving its way inside every fold. She reached for her clothes, in which to wrap her hands, but grasped only bare skin, soft as a baby¡¯s. Naked. She was wearing clothes just now. She would never walk around naked, not even when she was at home. To be naked was to look at that treacherous body that called itself hers.


    She looked down at herself. Her breasts were plump, fully formed, and farther below was a cleft. Womanhood, and it was hers. Her body was perfect.


    ¡°I¡¯m dead.¡±


    <You are not.> Damnable Fr¨¦reves, so resolutely aloof and so implacably obscure.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t my body.¡±


    <Your body isn¡¯t here.>


    So she had to go back. Brilliant. Delphine had the right of it¡ªthere¡¯s nothing a god can be counted on more than to give a glimpse of paradise and take it back again.


    ¡°Am I dreaming then?¡± In the stories, sometimes, profound moments of self-actualisation came to the heroes in their dreams. A bit of self-actualisation would be very handy.


    <You are. But this is not your dream.>


    ¡°Then what?¡±


    <A message.>


    A message? What did that mean?


    Probably nothing, she told herself. Just because the intangible goddess told her it wasn¡¯t a dream, it didn¡¯t necessarily mean that it wasn¡¯t a dream. Dreams weren¡¯t obliged to confess themselves as such. Though it did feel real.


    She looked back down at her body, just to be sure of what she was seeing. When the morning came, she¡¯d wake up, and this would be at most a fragment of happiness for her to reach out desperately for.


    The gentle flapping of wings distracted her. A pair of doves had swooped to land on the shoulders of Fr¨¦reves. They chittered and sang, and nestled their beaks in each other¡¯s feathers. ¡°Hello there,¡± she said, and they looked at her. One, its head glowing with roseate plumage, cooed at her, and returned its attentions to its mate. ¡°Suit yourself,¡± she laughed, and crouched beside the goddess.


    All of a sudden, the very earth seemed to shake. She looked around, frantic. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± But there was nobody to answer her. The birds, the trees, the whole garth seemed oblivious to the clangour. Fr¨¦reves the stony goddess was silent. She thought she heard a man¡¯s voice on the wind. It was so faint she could scarce be sure she heard it at all. The words, if any, were long dead before they got to her.


    And then a pop. A cylinder of hewn stone had popped out from a nearby boulder, like a cork from the bottle. From the gap it left, water was pouring out. A trickle quickly became a flood, drenching her, making her recoil.


    The birds fluttered. One, with its feathers a drab beige, squawked abruptly. Its call was cut off by the rushing of a jet of water, which ripped it from its perch. The pink dove sang a mournful cuccurou for its lost companion. It looked at Tema. Your fault, it was saying. You did this.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t do this,¡± she told the bird. It didn¡¯t make any attempt to move, nor to disavow her of her assertion. Of course not, she thought. Birds couldn¡¯t talk, any more than they could understand. This bird had no blame for her, and nor should it.


    In time she became aware of a heavy weight on her foot. She looked down and recoiled at once. A baby lay there, pink and wrinkled, half-formed. It was more akin to a demon than a human being. Smears of blood covered it, and pooled on the floor beneath it. The baby caught her eye, and at once it began to cry.


    ¡°No. Don¡¯t do that.¡± She looked around the grove once more, and there was nobody to help. Only the pink dove who could not understand her. What do I do now? Babies weren¡¯t her area. Doctor Sinclair had trained in midwifery. Viola Watling¡¯s first placement was in a maternity word. They would be able to handle the baby, to soothe it. Tema didn¡¯t know what to do. She crouched down towards it, but when she went to reach out a hand she found it repulsed her. Everything about it was wrong. The flesh was spongy, almost liquid. The blood with which its entire surface area was doused was viscous. ¡°Please be quiet,¡± she begged it. ¡°Please, I¡¯ll do anything, just shut up.¡±


    And then the baby stopped crying. Its rocking stopped. Its eyes looked at hers with accusatory iciness. No sounds came from it, not even the faint rattling of breath.


    Clutched tightly in her hand was a knife. When had she picked that up? She dropped it instinctively, letting it crash to the ground. It wasn¡¯t her knife.


    It wasn¡¯t her hand either. It was somebody else¡¯s, a man¡¯s, hairy and warty with grubby fingernails.


    <Stay calm, Tema.> The voice was back again. Fr¨¦reves. Where was Fr¨¦reves just now?


    ¡°How can I stay calm? How?¡± That¡¯s it, Tema, you¡¯re doing great, girl. Yes, you¡¯re yelling at a statue, but so what? Everyone¡¯s done it. You¡¯re keeping together great.


    Fr¨¦reves had an answer for Tema. <Stay calm.>


    Unhelpful bitch.


    Her feet were wet. Where had the water come from? The grass was gone, replaced by a pool of water never less than two inches deep. In places it sank further, plumbing depths known only by the darkness. She shivered at the idea. Down in the deep and gloom, nothing good was found. All that lingered there was the abominables of the ocean, the ghosts of centuries-lost shipwrecks.


    Here at the surface of this pool, a different ghost lingered. This one was cold and clammy, a beauty sleeping with blue lips and orange hair. Caroline.


    Tema grabbed at Caro, but her hand came up empty. How could that be? She was only just below the waterline. Tema reached again, and again her hands scooped only water.


    The pink dove called again, an urgent plea in birdsong. The grove was suddenly dark. Had night fallen? Did this place have night? But up ahead, the sun was at full height acrest an azure sky. It was noon. Noon, and the darkness was encroaching.


    Yes, it was getting closer. On all sides, she could see, the shadow crept in. The trees were swallowed already, and the leaking boulder. Gone from her view, the rushing water suddenly made no sound.


    ¡°It won¡¯t hurt, baby. I promise.¡± There came Fr¨¦reves, speaking in a different voice, an indistinct voice. Tema thought it was one she¡¯d heard before, but she couldn¡¯t be sure.


    She was distracted by a sudden searing pain. Her arm was burning. She looked for the fire. There was only shadow, and darkness, licking at her arm. ¡°It really hurts,¡± she complained, stepping out from the shade.


    By now the shadow was at the statue, and closing in. Fr¨¦reves spoke again. She was distant, an echo, faintened by the oncoming night. ¡°It¡¯ll all be over soon. Just close your eyes.¡± The dove squawked an anxious squawk, and then it was gone, given to the dark, and with it the statue. The baby too was gone.


    What do I do here? If this was a dream, she¡¯d better wake up soon. If not, she wasn¡¯t prepared for a situation like this. How do you fight the darkness? Caroline didn¡¯t wake up when the shadow swallowed her. She lay still beneath the water, a ghostly angel. Tema watched mesmerised as bit by bit she was taken. When there was nothing left of her, the shadow turned to Tema. It was only her now, alone, on a tiny spit of drowned land.


    She couldn¡¯t back away. Darkness was on all sides of her.


    This is going to hurt, she thought. She braced herself. But the pain was of a kind she could not have anticipated. If ever she was going to experience the ravages of being flayed alive, this must surely be it. Every fibre of her being was rent apart, tearing and tangling. She wanted to scream, she could not scream.


    And then she was not¡ªneither man nor woman, human nor animal. There was no place in the universe for her, and nor could she reside outwith it. There was no pain. As the shadow took her whole, she saw a woman lying in her bed, fast asleep. The woman had the body of Tema Caerlin, and Tema¡¯s name too.


    And the shadow in the form of a man standing over her bed went nameless. He watched the woman with the body of Tema Caerlin, and he reached out to touch her. Behind the ear he stroked her. He played with her hair. He whispered unheard words to her.


    In a sudden rush, Tema was again. The pillow was soft and cool beneath her. She opened her eyes a crack, just enough to see the bedroom. Every mundane item had an evil shadow in the night-time.


    She smiled despite herself. A dream, she thought. The grove was a dream, and everything in it. Just her warped mind messing with her. She could sleep easy now.


    <Yes>, said the plum voice of Fr¨¦reves. <Just a dream.>

 18. Skerrett

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Ian ~


    Footfall out of the valley had been limited up to now; a couple of small fortifications had been chartered on the bordering hills, tiny garrisons of a dozen men or fewer, and there was a larger fort some way to the north. One or two farmsteads spread beyond the valley, too. In lieu of formal roads, they¡¯d carved desire paths to their sundry holdings. The cartographers had marked these paths on their maps, giving them names: the Northern Road, the Mettywood Road, the Brokewheel Road¡ªthe latter apparently in reference to a quarrier¡¯s wagon that had thrown an axle along the track. These few trails, in theory at least, were the only trodden routes out of the valley.


    But there was a trail not included on the maps. It was easily missed. Sergeant Pratley had been the one to bring it to Ian¡¯s attention. At the northern edge of the town, half a mile downstream of the Clearwater from Goodwife Sara¡¯s Tavern, a stable had been hurriedly put up. This was shunned by most people¡ªbeing right out of the way, apparently not owned by any of Hultry, Speke and Cendemecan, and smelling strongly of horse shit. To get there, one had to cross the river by the trunk of a felled tree. Even then, the stable itself was hidden by the cluster of woodland that encompassed much of the river¡¯s northern banks. Behind the stable was a little pond, rippling azure, hedged by thick leafy trees and berry-filled bushes.


    The trail was hidden by these bushes.


    Even knowing exactly where it was, it didn¡¯t look like much. The thin grass had been covered over by a fine layer of crumbled dirt, patchy and uneven. Small mounds of soil, recently wetted, bordered either side of the path. Something had been planted, by somebody.


    A couple of white garrons watched them curiously from the stables. The creatures were well-attended with plenty of hay, but there was no sign of people about.


    Ian looked at Sergeant Pratley. ¡°Where does this go? Is there a fort?¡±


    ¡°No forts up this way. Closest is Robison¡¯s place on the eastern ridge. This one¡¯s a church.¡±


    ¡°A church? I wasn¡¯t aware there was one in the plans. Why have they decided to go all the way out here? The valley¡¯s big enough to accommodate them, surely.¡±


    Pratley shrugged. ¡°You¡¯d have to ask them about that, sir,¡± he said. ¡°All I know is that the place exists.¡±


    ¡°Do I want to know how you came about that information?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    He stifled a sigh. Having Sergeant Pratley available at his beck and call wasn¡¯t without its advantages, but the man was frustratingly aloof. Whenever he tried to ask questions, he was met with evasive answers. So far, he¡¯d learned that Pratley spent a period of time on Malindei, but that he didn¡¯t grow up there. No word on whether the Sergeant might be the sort of man to prioritise answers over ethics.


    Would it be bad for his conscience if it was somebody else doing the dirty work on his behalf? I¡¯m trying to be good, he thought. Hadn¡¯t he always?


    ¡°Let me guess. Goodwife Sara.¡±


    ¡°What? Oh, the tavern lady. No, she was useless,¡± said Pratley. ¡°Told me which direction her husband tended to go, and not much else.¡±


    ¡°Then how? Tell me you didn¡¯t hurt anybody.¡±


    Sergeant Pratley laughed. ¡°Don¡¯t be absurd, sir. I wouldn¡¯t do that. It¡¯s surprising what you can hear if you keep your ear to the ground. The Constabulary¡¯s already been up there for a little chat, so I hear.¡±


    ¡°So when you said I didn¡¯t want to know¡ª¡±


    ¡°It takes the magic out of it. Isn¡¯t it more fun to leave some wonders?¡±


    Ian shook his head resoundingly. ¡°There¡¯s plenty in this universe that I don¡¯t know. The peace of mind that my soldiers aren¡¯t torturing people won¡¯t kill me.¡±


    ¡°Am I your soldier now?¡± Pratley asked. ¡°I thought you didn¡¯t want security.¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound like me.¡±


    ¡°I distinctly remember you saying I was a waste of your time,¡± said Pratley.


    Ian shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t recall saying that.¡±


    ¡°You did.¡±


    He shot Sergeant Pratley a rude gesture. ¡°Let¡¯s go, then. If you like, I¡¯ll apologise on the way.¡±


    Pratley held back. ¡°If it¡¯s all the same with you, sir, I¡¯d rather not. Churches have never agreed with me.¡±


    ¡°They don¡¯t agree with me either, Sergeant, but the job is what it is.¡± He mulled it. ¡°Still, I can handle myself. Churches aren¡¯t normally violent places. You¡¯re sure I¡¯ll find it up here?¡±


    ¡°That or the valley¡¯s best dogging spot.¡±


    Despite his assurances that the church would be there, Sergeant Pratley could not be persuaded to head up the hill. Ian left him sat on the trunk of a fallen tree, a dozen feet from the stables, with instructions to sound the alarm if he wasn¡¯t back by nightfall. He planned to be far quicker than that. There was a night in the company of top-quality erotica awaiting him. His next book had over a hundred depraved pictures that he was eager to properly examine.


    The valley was lined with an arboretum¡¯s worth of strange trees, but at the top of the hill these became sparse. Here the terrain was primarily grass. A man in a pale grey smock was crouched down over a patch of raked brown dirt, hands soiled by the earth. He glanced Ian¡¯s way, then returned focus to his dirt.


    Beyond, a whitewashed titan had loomed into view. The building was tall, and it stood as resolute contrast to the bright blue sky. Wooden scaffolding enveloped it. No workmen were to be seen. An old lady, overdressed in vintage attire with all the trappings, was sat on the dust, her back against the wall of the building, basking in the shade.


    ¡°There¡¯s a handsome lad,¡± she said, catching sight of Ian.


    He shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m neither. See these grey hairs?¡± By way of demonstration, he pinched a tuft of hair from his fringe and held it out to show her. She laughed.


    ¡°A bit of grey is nothing to be ashamed of. We all age.¡± As he approached, he could see that she wasn¡¯t as old as he¡¯d assumed. There were some wrinkles, yes, but they were gentle ones. Her eyes had a youthful sparkle. It was the clothes that had confused him. People who looked like they¡¯d stepped out of a history book didn¡¯t often turn out to be in the prime of their lives. ¡°Are you here for the sermon?¡±


    ¡°Sermon?¡± Ian wasn¡¯t sure why he was surprised. Sergeant Pratley had mentioned a church. It followed that they would be engaged in churchey activities, he supposed.


    ¡°Everyone should listen to the Testimonies,¡± said the woman. ¡°And there¡¯s nobody who reads them quite like the Lightness.¡±


    ¡°Well, I suppose it couldn¡¯t hurt to have a listen,¡± said Ian.


    The woman clapped her hands together. ¡°That¡¯s the spirit! Now, I don¡¯t suppose you passed a girl on your way up the hill? Small and blonde. She wandered off chasing after a wild cat she wanted, and I¡¯m afraid I quite lost track of her.¡±


    Ian shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m afraid not.¡± The old lady was the first woman he¡¯d seen since he¡¯d passed ¨¢ine carrying a barrel into the Tavern way on the outskirts of town.


    ¡°A pity. If you see her, tell her Mabeth¡¯s worried about her.¡±


    ¡°How will I know I¡¯ve seen her?¡±


    Mabeth tilted back her head and laughed. ¡°She¡¯s pale as milk and she¡¯s always blushing. Her name¡¯s Eva. If she looks like she¡¯s about to cry, she¡¯s the one.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be sure to keep an eye open.¡± Not that he¡¯d find the girl. Give it five minutes and he¡¯d have forgotten every detail about her.


    Mabeth gathered her skirts and rose unsteadily. ¡°You¡¯d better hurry, if you want to catch the sermon. Lightness Skerrett is very prompt.¡± She pointed left towards a gleaming clockface, embedded into a jutting wall. It was ticking desperately close to the hour mark.


    Beneath the clock was a wooden door, unpainted and unvarnished. A few stragglers were trickling in. Mabeth hurried off with them, leaving Ian alone. He stopped for a few seconds to examine his surroundings¡ªthe day was clear, so most of the valley was visible, but looking west there were only trees in great plenty, and in the distance a looming mountain.


    He shrugged his shoulders and reached for the church¡¯s door.


    Time for a sermon.


    The inside was thick with incense. A bearded man stood atop a raised platform at the far wall, projecting his voice out to a silent congregation with bowed heads. Lightness Skerrett, this must have been. The man¡¯s hair was thick and speckled with grey. He wore a smock of unadorned fabric, a grey-white weave; the only hint of extravagance was a golden pendant on a chain around his neck.


    ¡°In ancient times in the Old Land,¡± the preacher recited, ¡°there lived a woman of uncertain origins. A slave she was, the chattel of a lord, enchained in perpetual bondage in the lowest reaches of an opulent palace. She came to Narv¨©m in the company of a passing trader.¡± Narv¨©m was a city of great import in the early days of civilisation. Ian had read the histories often enough. Any event from the Era of Treasures, the so-called Gods¡¯ Days, seemed somehow to link back to Narv¨©m. What made it stand out was that it had not survived into the Era of Kings. When scholarly chronicles took the place of oral tradition, Narv¨©m disappeared. To Ian¡¯s knowledge, nobody had ever quite worked out whereabouts it was.


    He walked forward a bit, standing beneath an archway. A doe-eyed woman glanced his way, then hurriedly looked back at her feet. Lightness Skerrett didn¡¯t seem to notice him. ¡°The trader brought with his goods a plague, and for his sins was put to death. Before the King they were paraded, the trader and the girl child, and in the sunlit court of Narv¨©m one was parted from his head. The woman alone survived. The King was struck by the rose of her cheeks and the jewels in her eyes, and so he spared her life. She came to his chambers that night, prostituted by his decree¡ªand every night thereafter she would be brought there, to please the King until he fell asleep.¡±


    The story continued for some time. It had the metre of a passage that should drive a man to tears, out of nothing but desperation for it to end. Somehow this preacher gave it life. His voice was a magic touch. It lifted the words up, made them into something more than they were, something almost ghostly. Ian found himself engrossed in the story of the lone woman. Huddled there in the corner of a smelly church, he shed a tear.


    She died, after all. In the end. She didn¡¯t deserve to die.


    Ian began to tune out of the story. The building itself had captured his attention. All of the congregation were huddled onto long wooden benches, beneath a low ceiling. But above Lightness Skerrett¡¯s dais, the ceiling was far higher. He craned his neck, but he couldn¡¯t tell exactly how high it went. It looked like it went a fair whack higher than the gallery¡ªnot quite finished¡ªabove Ian¡¯s head. To the heavens it stretched. To the stars themselves.


    The Lightness broke from his story. ¡°My friends, we have a visitor.¡±


    Heads turned in sync to look at Ian. His cheeks were still damp from the sad story. He hung his head so they wouldn¡¯t see.


    But Lightness Skerrett saw. ¡°Lift your head, friend,¡± he said, stepping down from the dais. ¡°Let the lightness in.¡±


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    Ian steeled himself. So what if these people saw him cry? Where was the crime? He lifted up his head, at once cast in a bright glow. Lightness Skerrett approached him slowly, meandering through the pathway which partitioned his congregation.


    ¡°Did you enjoy the story?¡±


    Ian nodded. ¡°I did. It was sad, though. Why did it need to be so sad?¡±


    ¡°All the best stories are sad,¡± said Lightness Skerrett. ¡°The sad ones remind us of the world we¡¯re in. There are no happy endings. And as it happens, this particular story is true. It¡¯s sad because the reality was sad.¡± He spoke with some hint of longing, like he¡¯d known the Maid of Narv¨©m personally.


    ¡°Who was she?¡±


    The priest smiled. ¡°A friend. A daughter, a mother. A woman, no different from any other. What matters is that the Gods chose her.¡±


    If the Gods chose her, why didn¡¯t they intervene? The powers of Gods had no limits, Ian knew that¡ªthey need not have let her die. They could have saved her, when the time came. Instead they stood by. Indifferent spectres, they watched¡ªwatched as their champion was accused of heresy, and sentenced to death in the view of all Narv¨©m. She¡¯d been pierced by the blades of seven, and left to bleed on the ground. That was a suffering that the Gods¡¯ chosen didn¡¯t deserve. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t like to have been her,¡± he said.


    ¡°Few would,¡± agreed Skerrett. ¡°But we cannot choose who we are born to be. Some are fated to enjoy the most bounteous luxuries of life, while others must die destitute. It¡¯s a cruelty.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe in fate,¡± said Ian.


    Lightness Skerrett looked him over. ¡°Fate doesn¡¯t care whether you believe in it or not.¡± When he¡¯d got close enough, he reached out a hand, and placed it on Ian¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Come. I would very much like to show you around.¡±


    Ian shrugged. Who was he to turn down a free tour? The crowd was beginning to disperse; many of them were making for the doorway, causing a backlog. He¡¯d be fighting his way through that lot for some time before he could hope to get outside. Might as well learn something.


    Skerrett led him to the back of the church. An archway had been carved into the stone behind the preacher¡¯s platform. The man responsible for measuring it had done a poor job; they had to duck to walk through, else they would have hit their heads.


    On the other side of the archway, there was a narrow corridor, bisecting the church. To Ian¡¯s right, several oaken doors lined the path. There was only the one door on the left side; at the far end, a spiralling staircase wended up and down. ¡°The stairs will ascend to the very top of the tower,¡± Skerrett explained. ¡°It can be a very transcendent experience to come so close to the Gods¡¯ home. Unfortunately, man cannot live on experiences alone, and perishable goods don¡¯t share humanity¡¯s proclivity for godliness. They live in the cellars.¡±


    They didn¡¯t go left. Skerrett walked briskly to the very end of the right-hand pathway, to the furthest door, and entered. The room on the other side was an architect¡¯s wet dream. Amidst a cluster of half-empty bookshelves and heavy tables, diminutive windows bathed every corner in glorious sunlight. The ceiling was pyramidal. Each tier had been adorned with elaborate carvings, of fair maidens and snarling grotesques. A man could stare up at that ceiling for days and still not take in every detail.


    Skerrett didn¡¯t so much as glance up. He took a book from a shelf as he passed and dropped it casually onto the large table in the middle of the room. It was a hefty volume, bound in wine-shaded leather. Gold lettering filled the cover: ¡®EMERGENCE¡¯.


    ¡°Sit,¡± said Skerrett. ¡°Have a drink, if you¡¯d like. Brandy, or rum. There¡¯s a bottle of my own special somewhere.¡± He started fiddling around in various cabinets, none of which appeared to contain anything at all. A crystal decanter was on a side-table, with a golden brown residue at the very bottom. Skerrett noticed it and grabbed it, unscrewing the cap and pouring a few dribbles into a nondescript cup. He offered the cup to Ian.


    ¡°Not for me,¡± said Ian. Skerrett shrugged and downed the lot in one mouthful.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been waiting for your visit for some time, Master Fitzhenry,¡± said Skerrett. Ian stopped dead for a second. He didn¡¯t recall telling Skerrett his name. ¡°You, or another of the council,¡± Skerrett continued. ¡°It¡¯s good to have support from the high offices.¡±


    ¡°The high offices?¡±


    ¡°The faith has a long history of being disallowed. Having the peace of mind that myself and all those who come to listen to me won¡¯t be rounded up and killed on the orders of the government of the day allows me to focus on my prayer.¡± Skerrett smiled. ¡°Are you a holy man, Master Fitzhenry?¡±


    Ian shook his head. ¡°Not as much as I should be, perhaps. My parents told me some of the stories. I¡¯ve always been more interested in the sciences.¡±


    ¡°I understand,¡± said Skerrett. ¡°The sciences have much to teach us on the nature of the universe and all within it. That said, they lack the personal touch of the scripture. The tribulations of the shepherd Mordant capture the imagination moreso than the boiling points of obscure compounds.¡±


    Ian wasn¡¯t familiar with the shepherd Mordant, and had no idea what his tribulations might have been. He nodded in mute agreement with Skerrett.


    The priest slid the purple book across the table. It would have fallen off the far end were it not for Ian being in the way. ¡°You will find this a fascinating read, no doubt. The first of the Testimonies. It¡¯s Eia¡¯s story.¡±


    Eia¡¯s story was one Ian had heard of. Everyone knew Eia¡¯s story. She was the most famous character of the old mythologies, the woman for whom the ship had been named. More often, people called her the Mother. She¡¯d appeared in the midst of a savage world and brought civilisation. For that she¡¯d been revered as a god. ¡°I know the story,¡± he said.


    ¡°Ah, but have you read the book?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°I thought as much,¡± said Skerrett. ¡°Please, take it. Read it. It will enlighten you, no doubt.¡±


    Ian smiled wryly. ¡°I¡¯m sure it will. Now, if you¡¯ll oblige me, I have a question or two for you.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± said Skerrett. ¡°The mind is a curious thing, ever hungry. I am a vessel of the Gods themselves. I must feed.¡±


    Off-putting choice of words, Ian thought. Probably a quotation from one of his holy texts, though. Priests liked quoting their holy texts. ¡°This church,¡± said Ian, ¡°why build it so far out of the way? Why not keep it in the valley? It would be easier for people to come to you, surely.¡±


    ¡°Many reasons,¡± Skerrett said. ¡°To build high is to converse with the Gods. The valley might bring larger congregations for a time, but eventually the day would come when we were drowned. Here we can rise above. Plus, we¡¯re on the shores of a great lake, so fresh water is easy to come by, and there¡¯s plenty of flat land on which to build.¡±


    ¡°And why hide yourself? All the way up here, at the end of a road that the maps don¡¯t show.¡±


    ¡°Is that not obvious, Master Fitzhenry?¡± Skerrett was openly scowling. ¡°The Church of Lightness has been moulded by millennia of persecution. To build beneath the nose of the Governor would be to invite our demise. I walk this world so the church might endure.¡±


    ¡°Forgive me,¡± said Ian¡ªglancing skyward, in case the phantom Gods might be watching from the ceiling¡ª¡±but we¡¯ve travelled the breadth of space. Where were the Gods? They must live somewhere.¡±


    Skerrett rubbed his beard. ¡°Do you trust in something only so long as you can see it? Even a small child understands that existence is more than merely what¡¯s in the line of sight. I was born and raised on a world called Ressenin¡ªa quiet, dreary place.¡±


    ¡°I know it,¡± said Ian. ¡°My wife and I once talked of visiting.¡±


    ¡°The Eia did not pass by Ressenin on its journey. Would you deny its existence?¡±


    Ian shook his head. ¡°Of course not.¡±


    ¡°Then do not deny the existence of the Gods, on the same evidence. Even unseen, their influence never wavers. Have you ever seen a ghost?¡±


    He thought of Dani, and screwed shut his eyes to drive her image from his mind. And yet she lingered, on the edge of shadow in the corner of his vision. A ghost. ¡°A ghost is not a God,¡± he said.


    ¡°And what is a ghost? Everything that is physical dies with the body¡ªand yet a ghost lives on. How?¡±


    For that, Ian had no answer.


    Skerrett only seemed to have wanted a chat. He spoke for nearly an hour about various obscure bits of scripture, and platitudes passed through the generations. The actual tour¡ªan afterthought which only happened because Ian reminded him about it¡ªlasted barely four minutes. It mainly consisted of Skerrett walking Ian to the door, stopping occasionally to point at various bits of architecture and say what they were. The viewing gallery Ian had worked out, the pulpit too. The fresco on the wall of the rear transept had barely been started, and there Skerrett actually had to explain.


    ¡°In time, this wall will show the Gods themselves, in the bodies of mortal men and women. It¡¯s said that they¡¯ve all walked among us, from time to time.¡±


    Ian raised an eyebrow. ¡°Is that so?¡±


    Skerrett offered no elaboration. The echo of nearby footsteps told them somebody was approaching, and sure enough a shadow appeared on the floor. A tall woman in a cotton smock walked by them, her hands gloved. She smiled at Ian. Her eyes had the glimmer of a sparkle¡ªjust a hint, mostly concealed by grey. Her cheeks were so pale they seemed almost to glow white, and her hair hung like shafts of dried straw from beneath a plain caul. One bare leg had been devastated by a wound behind the shin; beneath a flap of skin, a deep hole bored into the flesh. That flap wobbled awfully with every step she took. Her walk gave no hint of pain from the wound.


    ¡°Good morning, madam,¡± he said, with the gentlest suggestion of a bow. The woman looked at him.


    ¡°Jen doesn¡¯t speak,¡± said Skerrett. ¡°She¡¯s not said a word in many years now.¡±


    As if to prove Skerrett¡¯s point, Jen smiled a bit broader, her mouth fully open. Inside, the teeth were blackened at the tips; the rotting remnants of a tongue hung in the middle of her mouth, the tiniest suggestion of pink flesh.


    Ian looked away.


    When silent Jen had gone, Ian realised that he¡¯d not seen her blink.


    About the church, they came upon more of Skerrett¡¯s acolytes. There was Tim Fawley, who spoke with a dull, droning voice; Melemir with the knotted red beard; Tarvis with the clubfoot. Boneskin Bets, who they passed on the spiralling staircase up to the higher gallery, was gaunt and emaciated. Ian almost offered to give her a couple of copperheads to buy a proper meal.


    There were a few of the day congregants still hanging about, too. Old Goodwife Mabeth and a blonde girl who Ian assumed was Eva curtsied demurely as they passed him. Across from the front entrance, they came upon a young woman in a satin smock, reading from a copy of the Creation while a sandy-haired acolyte poured water over her head. ¡°It¡¯s said in the Books that there were those who came before man,¡± explained Skerrett, ¡°and that the Gods chose to wipe them away in a sundering flood¡ªto leave the world clean and pure for mankind to be born. The water serves as a reminder that we are not the masters of our own destiny¡ªand of the fleeting nature of reality. Soon, Jael here will return to the valley, to the family for whom she serves. In an hour or so the sun will have dried away the last vestiges of the water. And yet if she were careless, that same water might drown her.¡±


    ¡°Would it be the water that drowned her, or the man holding the bucket?¡±


    Skerrett nodded, with a smile of approval. ¡°Some of the greatest minds have pondered that very question. If I roll a stone down a mountain, eventually it may grow into a great boulder. Am I to blame, if that boulder should crush somebody?¡±


    ¡°You should make sure there¡¯s nobody below, if you¡¯re rolling boulders.¡±


    ¡°And yet it¡¯s often impossible to see the road ahead. The mountainside is dotted with trees, and unpredictable terrain. How can I know what path my humble stone will take?¡±


    Ian frowned. ¡°So don¡¯t roll a stone down a mountain.¡± He was getting a bit tired of Skerrett, truth be told. The riddles and evasive talk were getting on his nerves.


    Skerrett shook his head. ¡°Whenever we walk, we shift stones. Often we don¡¯t even see them, tumbling beneath our feet. It¡¯s the boulder that¡¯s to blame, just as it¡¯s the water that drowns or the blade that cuts. Man is but a vessel passing through.¡±


    ¡°You speak well, Lightness, but I¡¯m not sure any of what you said means anything.¡± Ian was keenly aware of that old ghost behind him, Dani there as Dani was always there. It wasn¡¯t the water that drowned her. The water hadn¡¯t held her head down.


    Skerrett regarded Ian coolly. ¡°Just because you don¡¯t see the meaning doesn¡¯t mean the meaning isn¡¯t there. It merely means you¡¯re blinded to it.¡±


    ¡°My eyes work just fine.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll see.¡±


    At the very end of the tour, as Ian was about to leave, a woman had entered the church. She was a stick thin being, her long dark hair worn straight and her dress silk in an elaborate pattern of florals. One arm was badly scarred. She¡¯d pushed by Ian, ignoring him as his eyes wandered to her rear, and fallen to her knees before Skerrett. ¡°Lightness, I wish to join your flock,¡± she said, holding a hand out.


    Skerrett had kissed her hand. ¡°You are quite welcome, my dear,¡± he¡¯d said, ¡°but first I must show my friend out.¡±


    Ian had made his own way, not wishing to interfere with church business. It was only when he¡¯d left the building and began down the hill that he realised who the young woman had been. There was no mistaking the face of Molly Bradshaw. For a time, the General had brought his eldest daughter along to every event he could, to get her face known and to find her a husband. On the first account he¡¯d had roaring success. Judging by the fact that Molly was in the process of pledging herself to a religious order, the second ambition had failed.


    Most of the walk down was pleasant. Ian enjoyed a good chuckle at the idea of General Bradshaw¡¯s face when he found out that his daughter was no longer his to sell. The General was a dick with an inflated sense of his own family¡¯s worth. Molly deserting him would be the thing to crush him completely.


    Chris would love it.


    He was nearly back in town when he heard footsteps. He stopped, and so did the footsteps. Still, he was convinced that there was somebody. He turned to look behind him, but he couldn¡¯t see shit. It was the early hours of dusk; in the midst of these tall trees, impenetrable shadows were king.


    Unable to see a thing, he had no choice but to assume that he was going insane. But the very moment he started walking again, so the footsteps started up again. And once again, they stopped when he stopped.


    A plan came to mind. He started walking for the third time, and right on cue the footsteps following him resumed. This time, he gave no indication that he¡¯d heard anything. Instead, he walked three or four paces, then slapped his pockets. ¡°Damn keys,¡± he said, loud enough that anybody nearby might hear. And he turned around, and began to ascend the hill again.


    One of the trees encroaching on the makeshift path was twice as thick as the others, with a deep canopy and a tangle of twisted branches. If somebody was following him, they¡¯d want a hiding place, and the tree was the most likely candidate. He deliberately aimed his path to walk right past the tree, so close he brushed its leaves with his fingers.


    As he did so, somebody squeaked. A figure dashed out from behind the tree, haring towards town. Ian pivoted to get a good look. It was a woman, her long mousy hair blowing all askew as she ran. The girl from the plaza, the one who¡¯d been following him around.


    ¡°Hey,¡± he called. She didn¡¯t stop to look his way. ¡°Come back here.¡±


    The woman went out of sight behind a tree, and never reappeared again. Ian sighed. It was too dark, and this planet too big, for him to obsess over finding her now. But having a stalker sounded like a pain in the arse.


    I¡¯ll have a word with Sergeant Pratley, he thought. Pratley will have her in no time at all.

 19. Autopsy By Midnight

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Caroline ~


    In the dead of night, slick with sweat, Caroline awoke.


    She¡¯d had the dream again. It seemed to come more often now, sometimes only a few days apart. The pills had held it at bay. They were beginning to lose their effect, it seemed. Now she was right back to how she had been before. She was only a small girl the first time, lacking the words to describe what she saw. All she¡¯d known then was that it was¡ªsomehow¡ªterrifying. As she got older, she began to understand fragments of the dream. The image as a whole still never made sense. All she could say was that it scared her.


    Over the years, she¡¯d grown used to it. The scary stories Armand used to tell her stopped being scary when she knew every detail. And the dream stopped being scary when she could recognise every sight, every smell, before it came. For a good few years it hadn¡¯t come to her at all. Five years ago it re-emerged, at first only very rarely. Since they¡¯d left home, it had been growing in frequency, and the more frequent it became, the more it made her uneasy.


    It felt like a warning.


    When Caro mentioned her fears to her family, they¡¯d told her she was being silly. The Foresleepers are all gone, they said, and they probably couldn¡¯t really tell the future anyway. Dreams don¡¯t have meanings. They aren¡¯t dark portents. She was inclined to agree. She fancied herself a rational woman. She knew what chemical reactions caused the brain to hallucinate.


    But then she¡¯d had the dream. It wasn¡¯t at all like the others. Normally, if her nightmares got too frightening, she¡¯d jolt awake. And when she¡¯d had a few minutes to calm down, she¡¯d see it was just her imagination and go back to sleep. Not with the dream. She never woke up from the dream until it was over.


    It always happened the same way. All of a sudden, she¡¯d be in the old graveyard on the hill behind her house. One of the headstones was a crooked triquetra, the stone cracked and worn, its inscription long lost to the ages. Though her mind would be screaming at her to run away, she¡¯d always reach out to touch the triquetra. And then it would be there. She wasn¡¯t really sure what it was. In a funny way, it almost resembled a human being. But its limbs were just a little bit too long. And it was always cast in an impenetrable shadow.


    And it would beckon her onwards.


    There was a house high on the hill, a house so unfathomably ancient that not a single person living in the town it stood over could remember it as anything other than a crumbling ruin. The shadow man led her inside the house, and she was always overcome with sadness. Every item in the house had been loved by somebody once upon a time, and the person who had loved it was long dead. Caro could feel their ghosts, watching her. She never turned to look upon them. The shadow man never let her.


    Once, in a rare burst of courage, she¡¯d gone to the house with the others. She¡¯d even been the one to open the door. She¡¯d told herself that the dream was just that, a dream. She¡¯d wildly hoped that seeing what the house really looked like inside would take the fear away from the dream. But as soon as she¡¯d set foot inside, she¡¯d recognised it all. For years in her dreams, she¡¯d seen in complete accuracy the interior of a house she¡¯d never entered before. The carved banisters and the mottled, mold-stained walls, the bust of the one-eyed man above a darkened doorframe, even the skeletal remains of a dead fox nestled at the foot of the staircase.


    She¡¯d been sick in the doorway. And then she¡¯d run home without a word of explanation. It was ten years after that before she finally left for medical school, and she never again set foot on the hills behind her house.


    Not while she was awake, at least.


    The dream continued beyond the house. Caro would follow the shadow man on and on, through a hundred places she didn¡¯t know, all the while feeling the heavy pit in her stomach growing heavier. There was a man bleeding from a hundred wounds, crying through dead eyes for his mother. And then there was the empty watchtower, its insides swept by the wind as the ghost of an ancient king hovered in the air above it, laughing. And there was worse, too: a pregnant woman lying on a bed of nightshade, stabbing herself over and over again; a horse, its coat made of spun silk, ridden by a faceless rider; a field of stars, so many stars she could never count them all, and each one fading to nothing as she looked on.


    The images she saw would darken, until she was walking down an empty hallway. It was so narrow, so silent. The odour of oaken beams from a lost century filled the air, filled her nose. She could taste the history. A ring of yellow light surrounded a door at the very end of the hallway. Every time, she knew she didn¡¯t want to see what was on the other side. But she could never help herself. She¡¯d always open the door when she came to it, and she¡¯d always walk through.


    And suddenly, it would hit her that the shadow man was no longer leading the way, and she was stood at the bottom of a cenote, with no way out. Water slowly filled the cenote as a million screams deafened her, and then fell silent as the water engulfed her.


    But even though she was drowned, she didn¡¯t wake up. She¡¯d float to the surface of the cenote, climbing out onto dry land, and she¡¯d try to cry for help. No matter how hard she cried, she had no voice. And she¡¯d stay there, silently, beside the water, until eventually she woke up.


    ¡°You should speak to a dream psychologist,¡± Chris had told her, when she¡¯d told him every detail of the dreams. So she did. And the dream psychologist told her she was going mad, and put her on a regimen of pills. Eight a day, none of which had any effect, but there was the signature of a medical professional on the receipt, and as far as Chris was concerned that made the pills necessary. They¡¯d argued once, when Caro pointed out that she was a medical professional, and she didn¡¯t think the pills were doing her any good. But as Chris said, her specialty was in infections and diseases, not in neurology.


    They hadn¡¯t argued again. It wasn¡¯t worth the trouble. His help, misguided as it was, had been borne out of love for her, and she was being resolute in ignoring his kindness. That wasn¡¯t fair. She took the pills every day, and tried to pretend that she wasn¡¯t sleepwalking to her own eventual death by apathy.


    As she woke up in the small hours of the morning, drenched in sweat, knowing that there was no chance of her getting back to sleep, she found herself wondering why she kept at it.


    Caro looked around the room. In the darkness, she could see nothing more than the outline of Chris, asleep beside her. His snores rang out in all corners of the room. Somehow, he¡¯d spread out to cover three quarters of the bed. By break of day, he¡¯d probably cover all of it.


    For a week, she¡¯d made him sleep on the sofa. He¡¯d begged her forgiveness, apologised for daring to talk about her baby girl, and made a show of his love for her. He¡¯d even cooked for her, a gourmet platter of tomatoes and celery with a sweet garnish. In the end, she¡¯d relented and allowed her husband to return to the marital bed¡ªbut she¡¯d been sure he understood that there were no more chances. Next time, it was over.


    Caro swung her feet out of the bed. The metal floor felt like ice, but she stood up nonetheless. She wandered to the adjoining bathroom, picking up a uniform on her way. If she was going to be awake anyway, she might as well get some work done. After the lad Jem had died, they¡¯d realised that there was no coroner in the colony. She¡¯d volunteered to do an autopsy on his body, to find out what she could. Now was as good a time as any to work on that.


    The pills were in her hand, she noticed. ¡°CAROLINE BALLARD,¡± the label read. And underneath, in a smaller text, ¡°care of Chris Ballard¡±.


    Care of?


    She squeezed her hand into a fist, cracking the tinted plastic of the pill bottle. And then she poured them all away¡ªevery last tablet¡ªand flushed them out of sight.


    If Chris wanted to complain, he¡¯d have to argue with her.


    The ship was unsettling in its silence. Caro had done her share of night shifts on the long journey here, but things had been different then. There were so many systems that needed constant attention, so more people were up and working. All the lights were kept on then, and the hum of the engines never stopped.


    It was dark now. Not completely¡ªthe dim emergency lights on the ceilings couldn¡¯t be turned off as long as they had power¡ªbut enough to make the air feel dead. A musty smell had settled throughout, permeating. The stale sweat of six thousand men and women.


    Rounding a corner, she could feel a lump beginning to form in her throat. These corridors were just like the long hallway from her dream. The one the shadow man had led her down. She hadn¡¯t noticed it before, not when it was fully lit. But in the dark it was unmistakeable. This was the hallway she¡¯d dreamt of.


    She was beginning to believe in premonition.


    There were other people awake. She knew that. The hospital alone had a dozen or so staff every night. And some of the most essential systems¡ªthe ship¡¯s life support, for instance¡ªneeded someone to work them, even if just to watch a computer all night and restart it if it crashed. But those few night owls were all at their posts. Caro was nearly at the hospital before she saw another soul.


    The man was well-concealed in a little alcove at the side of the hallway. Hidden by the shadows that filled the corridor, he might have gone unnoticed had he not moved from his spot. He ran out into the middle of the corridor, colliding with Caro and almost knocking her over.


    ¡°How is it you¡¯ve come to be awake at this hour?¡± Caro¡¯s question seemed to startle the man, who looked at her with wide eyes. His hair was a mess of long curls, and his face looked as though it hadn¡¯t seen a razor blade in weeks. He was well overdue a trip to the barbershop. Tobacco stained his fingers, and the red stain of vilsa leaf made his teeth look like bloody masses in his mouth. Caro gagged at the smell, and held her breath.


    He grunted something unintelligible and tried to push past, but Caro put a hand on his shoulder. He swung his arm out, catching her on the side of the head. She lost her balance and stumbled, but she was still holding on to the man. Rather than having the chance to make his getaway, he was pulled over and fell to the floor himself.


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    Caro stood over him. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t try that again, not unless you want a criminal record already.¡±


    ¡°You hit me first,¡± the man grunted. ¡°Let me go. I¡¯m working.¡±


    She raised an eyebrow. ¡°Is that right? What is your job then, that you¡¯re up at this hour?¡±


    He glared at her. ¡°Night guard. I watch the tapes.¡± It made sense. Night guards weren¡¯t, strictly speaking, required to go and investigate anything they saw, provided they reported it. But it wasn¡¯t out of their remit. He could very well have seen something here, a suspicious character perhaps, and come to check it out for himself. She had a feeling that wasn¡¯t the case.


    ¡°And what brings you to the hospital?¡±


    The man had no answer. He looked at her through beady little eyes, and spat on the ground. ¡°I know you,¡± he said. ¡°Mistress Ballard. You think you can do what you like just because you¡¯re fucking the Governor. The walls are closing in, Foresleeper. One of these days someone¡¯ll poke you till you bleed out, and ain¡¯t nobody going to be mourning you.¡± He pulled himself to his feet and strode into the darkness. She watched him until he¡¯d disappeared around the corner.


    Prendergast had sworn not to tell a soul. The twat! She should have known that he wasn¡¯t to be trusted.


    A faintly-lit sign on the wall revealed her present location, somewhere not altogether far from the nurses¡¯ quarters. In the early days, while the Eia was still on the other side of the Dead Zone, she¡¯d followed a couple of the nurses there. They¡¯d spent much of their shift having a great joke, her and Lily Day and Callie Huston and some others besides, and the chatter had continued after they¡¯d clocked off. It had continued until they came to the door leading to the nurses¡¯ quarters, when Huston had pulled a face. ¡°This is the nurses¡¯ quarters,¡± she¡¯d said, pointedly, and Mary Ellen Tolcross had told her they didn¡¯t want any of the nurses to feel like they didn¡¯t have a safe space to vent their feelings about the senior staff. They¡¯d claimed it was nothing personal. As far as Caro was concerned, that was irrelevant. Once again she was shut out, and the great sisterhood of her peers was closed to her.


    Always she was the well-loved boss, praise lavished on her, but nobody wanted to be friends with the boss.


    She was closer to the hospital than she¡¯d realised, close enough in fact that the man could probably have listened in on any conversations. There were none to be had. With Jem dead, the hospital¡¯s workload was limited to workplace injuries and minor ailments. When she¡¯d left at the end of her previous shift, there had been no patients at all. The result was a quiet hospital, the night staff trying to find ways to entertain themselves. As she entered, she saw one of the orderlies sat behind the reception desk, reading a book by the light of a small lamp.


    ¡°Keeping busy, I see,¡± she called. The poor girl hadn¡¯t heard her coming in, and jumped so suddenly she almost fell out of her chair.


    ¡°Doctor Ballard,¡± she said. ¡°I didn¡¯t see you.¡±


    Caro laughed. ¡°I guessed as much. Sorry, Cherry, I didn¡¯t mean to scare you.¡±


    Cherry shook her head. ¡°I should have been paying more attention, Doctor Ballard. It¡¯s not right to be reading on the job.¡±


    Caro looked around the hospital. There were supposed to be twelve of them on shift at the moment, but other than Cherry she could see none. ¡°Where are the others?¡±


    ¡°In the break room. Some of them are sleeping, I think,¡± Cherry explained. Her face had paled, but Caro wasn¡¯t too bothered. Strictly speaking they were supposed to be awake for their whole shifts, but as long as there were no patients to be cared for and all the paperwork was completed by the end of the shift she didn¡¯t mind what they did. And night shifts felt twice as long as they really were, even when there was real work to do. She couldn¡¯t begrudge anyone sleeping to stave off the boredom.


    ¡°It¡¯s early, Doctor Ballard,¡± Cherry said. ¡°You aren¡¯t due here for another three hours.¡±


    ¡°I have some work I have to do. Who¡¯s in charge of this shift? Is it Doctor Maynard?¡±


    Cherry glanced down at a sheet of paper on the desk in front of her. ¡°No, Ma¡¯am, it¡¯s Doctor Staniforth.¡±


    ¡°Where might I find him?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s asleep in the break room, Doctor Ballard.¡±


    Caro laughed. Of course he was. She debated going to find him, but decided against it. ¡°When he appears, tell him he¡¯ll find me in the mortuary.¡±


    Cherry nodded. ¡°Yes, Ma¡¯am.¡±


    Hidden out of sight behind the grand staircase that was the centrepiece of the hospital, the mortuary was the coldest part, kept at a permanently chilly temperature to stop bodies decaying before they could be examined. Owing to the lack of dead people, and indeed the fact that those who¡¯d travelled aboard the Eia were by and large healthy people in their prime¡ªand thus not at an especially high risk of death¡ªthe corridors and rooms of the mortuary had gained a second purpose as cold storage.


    There was an actual cold storage, but it was three times further from the main wards than the mortuary was, and two stories up. None of the nurses could be hassled to wheel trolleys laden with supplies all that way. It was a lot easier just to dump things in the cadaver-corner. The autopsy rooms were lined with bottles of climate-sensitive medicine.


    It was dark as Caro entered. There was a delay of about two seconds after the switch was pressed before the lights came on, ample time for her to take in all of the odd shadows and turn them into horrors in her mind. She¡¯d never been a fan of mortuaries.


    Jem¡¯s body had been taken to Autopsy Room A, the first and biggest, according to the file Doctor Maynard had filled out. Handily, the door to Autopsy Room A was directly adjacent to the outer door of the mortuary. She pushed it open to find one of the nurses standing over the corpse. With thick black hair braided tightly down her back, all kept beneath a felt cloche, Viola Watling was immediately recognisable. The door shut heavily behind Caro, and Viola jumped at the noise.


    ¡°Viola? I didn¡¯t expect there to be anybody here.¡±


    ¡°Doctor Staniforth told me to prepare the tools.¡± Viola held up a small knife that was clasped in her hand. ¡°Sorry, Doctor Ballard, I got sidetracked. He¡¯s the same age as my brother. It¡¯s hard not to imagine Sam lying there.¡±


    Something like a smile flashed across Caro¡¯s face¡ªa sympathetic smile, she hoped. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t dwell on stuff like that.¡±


    Viola shook her head. ¡°If I look at him right, I can see Sam¡¯s face. It¡¯s comforting. I know it shouldn¡¯t be, but... it reminds me of home. Am I weird?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    Viola looked crestfallen. That hadn¡¯t been the intention.


    Caro fumbled for more to say. ¡°That doesn¡¯t have to be a bad thing, though. We¡¯re all weird in our own ways. I put mustard on my scones.¡±


    The girl giggled. ¡°That¡¯s vile.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t knock it. You¡¯d be surprised.¡±


    Viola offered the knife to Caro. ¡°I should get back to the ward,¡± she said. ¡°Or Staniforth will have my hide.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯ll have your hide for forgetting his titles, if anything,¡± Caro laughed, taking the knife from Viola. ¡°Anyway, I¡¯m in charge here. Have you ever done an autopsy before, Viola?¡±


    ¡°Once. In a simulation.¡±


    ¡°Stay. Watch. It¡¯ll be good for you.¡±


    Having an extra pair of hands was a useful boon. Viola took a position just behind Caro, close enough to hand her a piece of equipment if need be but far enough away that she wouldn¡¯t get taken by a stray elbow.


    Caro looked at the face before her. When he was alive, she hadn¡¯t realised how young he was. If her daughter had lived, she¡¯d be a similar age. A lump caught in her throat. She¡¯d put that girl out of her mind, never thought of her if she could help it. No good ever came of it. She swallowed hard, and determined not to think about her now¡ªnot until the end of the shift, at least.


    As she made the first incision, a thin line of blood bubbled out. Viola gasped. ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± said Caro. ¡°It¡¯s perfectly normal.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just... the blood...¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s an autopsy, Miss Watling. What were you expecting?¡± It took a special sort of idiot to go into medicine yet be surprised by blood. She¡¯d known Viola in passing for some years before the Eia¡ªher eldest brother Terry had been at medical school at the same time as Caro, though he¡¯d failed out after the first year. She was only a child at the time, but to Caro¡¯s eyes Viola had always seemed studious and smart.


    Looks, apparently, could be very deceiving.


    She looked once more at the body on the gurney before her. The skin was covered with half-dry blood; lakes of gleaming, sticky claret pockmarked his face and chest. It was a wonder he¡¯d lived for as long as he had. There wasn¡¯t really any need for an autopsy. You wouldn¡¯t look at a flayed man and wonder how he died¡ªand these wounds, while not quite as severe, had had the same effect.


    She was suddenly tired again. Bed was such an inviting prospect. It would be so nice to give herself over to the warm eider, to stretch out her legs and drift off for an hour or seven. She could bin this all off and go back to sleep. Who would tell her off? The Lord Physician? He was eighty years old, half blind, and a dozen light years away on his ivory chair. Chris? If he had anything to say, it would be quietly, behind closed doors. Image was too important to him.


    Viola yawned. Dammit. Now she had to carry on, or she¡¯d seem like a soft touch. ¡°Is this boring you?¡±


    ¡°No, Doctor. Of course not.¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you lucky? It¡¯s boring me.¡± She made another cut, and peeled back a tiny square of skin. ¡°It¡¯s gruesome and it¡¯s boring. Jobs aren¡¯t meant to be fun.¡±


    That was true, wasn¡¯t it? Nobody woke up in the morning excited to spend their day labouring away, surely. It was just something that had to be done. Chris liked to say that she¡¯d be a queen one day. That was her bloodright, just as Nana Raine always said it was, and she¡¯d be able to enjoy the highest luxuries of life without lifting a finger she didn¡¯t want to. She¡¯d live forever in the pages of history. But a good queen had to make hard decisions, and keep all of her subjects happy, and provide heirs for her king. How was that any different from work? It certainly didn¡¯t sound fun. And she definitely didn¡¯t want to live forever. Eternity was a long time. She¡¯d get bored.


    Tessa probably had it figured out. She¡¯d been the first to realise that work was a bitch. ¡°One day,¡± she¡¯d said, at family dinner, ¡°I¡¯ll have enough money to disappear. I¡¯ll go around the universe, see all the sights, do what I want to do, and not have to worry about what anybody else thinks.¡± And sure enough she¡¯d done just that. It had been years since anyone had heard from Tessa. Perhaps nothing bad had happened. Tessa was probably living in peace by one of Altaborea¡¯s azure beaches, no doubt living with the daughter of some innkeeper whose establishment she¡¯d stayed at, enjoying the dream life she¡¯d talked about.


    For a moment, Caro wished she could take her sister¡¯s place.


    A shrill squeal distracted her. ¡°Doctor. I think he¡¯s still alive.¡±


    She looked at Viola in disbelief. How had this woman got a job as a nurse? ¡°Don¡¯t be absurd, Miss Watling, I saw him die myself. You¡¯ve been here for who knows how long, you know he¡¯s cold.¡±


    ¡°I know. But the blood.¡±


    ¡°Dead people have blood too.¡±


    ¡°It was moving,¡± said Viola.


    ¡°Liquids often do, when there¡¯s gravity.¡±


    She tried to go back to the daydream, but the moment had gone. With it, her memory of what exactly she was doing. She was performing an autopsy, but she¡¯d been in the middle of an action and for the life of her she couldn¡¯t remember what it was. She turned the knife in her hand as she tried to think.


    ¡°You must have seen that, Doctor!¡± This time, Viola¡¯s cry was right in Caro¡¯s ear. She winced bodily, and wondered if her eardrum had been perforated. It didn¡¯t hurt, so she was probably in the clear¡ªa turn of luck.


    But she could see what Viola had seen. A tiny rivulet of blood had run down Jem¡¯s stomach from the incision, and the bead had settled just above his belly button. Well, she said settled, but it wasn¡¯t still. It seemed to be dancing, like jelly that had been introduced to a catchy beat.


    ¡°Uh... Viola, can you pass me a magnifying glass?¡±


    ¡°Here you go.¡± Viola pressed an ivory handle into Caro¡¯s hand.


    She held it over the dancing blood. It didn¡¯t have nearly the magnification of a microscope, but it was more immediately accessible. And it was enough. There was something in the blood, some sort of particle. Crumbs of black seemed to be held in place by the tension of the fluid. She¡¯d never seen blood like it.


    ¡°Viola, sweet, be a doll and run to the reception. Tell Cherry to call the Governor.¡± Chris had to see this.

 20. Masks and Make-up

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Tasha ~


    ¡°Carry that carefully, it¡¯s very fragile.¡± Tasha watched as Eva Renet left her stateroom, arms laden with a porcelain mask. It was one of a set, hand-made and painted for a distant ancestor of hers, back when hers had been a wealthy family. The money hadn¡¯t made it through the generations, but the masks had. There were four of them in total, and they all belonged to Tasha. They were oversized, far too big to wear.


    The first time Oliver had visited her, back in her tiny Tol Manase flat, he¡¯d pointed out the absurdity of these priceless masks bunched together in the corner of a narrow room. ¡°You should sell them,¡± he¡¯d said to her. ¡°You¡¯d make a lot of money from them.¡± She¡¯d told him in no uncertain terms to forget that idea. The masks were a family heirloom, formerly in the possession of her late aunt Danyer, and a dozen other Caerlin women before her. No amount of money would persuade her to part with them. And besides, one day she¡¯d live in a house big enough to display them properly.


    At last the time had come. The parcel of land Oliver had claimed was very generous. When their house was fully built, it would be worthy of her. In her mind she could already see the vast ballroom where the masks would hang. They¡¯d have parties for the well-to-do every single week. By the time the histories of this new world were committed to paper, Tasha Caerlin Wrack would be the most envied lady in the valley. The pinnacle of society.


    She followed Eva as the girl navigated her way through the gleaming corridors. It was a waste, really, spending all that money on a nice new ship. Most of its passengers had chosen to sleep through their journey, and the number still living out of the Eia was dropping with every new house that was thrown up. In a few months it would probably be abandoned, left to gather dust and become a relic. Now, at least, it was still clean. Tash wondered if someone was responsible for mopping the floors every night. What a soul-sucking job that would be.


    Eva caught her eye. She was looking at the mask in her hand with a frown on her face. ¡°What is it, Lady?¡± she asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s a mask, Eva.¡±


    The girl nodded. ¡°Yes. But... pardon, Lady, but I don¡¯t see the point of it. Who has a face that big?¡±


    ¡°It isn¡¯t for wearing,¡± Tash explained. The concept seemed alien to Eva. ¡°It¡¯s a display piece. A decoration.¡±


    ¡°But why is it so big?¡±


    ¡°Are you going to ask questions all day?¡±


    Eva¡¯s pale skin flushed pink. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Lady. I didn¡¯t mean to annoy you.¡±


    ¡°To be honest, your grovelling is more annoying. I don¡¯t want to hear the word ¡®sorry¡¯ coming from your lips, not unless someone¡¯s died and you¡¯re the one responsible. If you do something wrong, Goodwife Mabeth will hear the apology. I can receive it from her at my own convenience.¡±


    The girl nodded silently and scurried off. Tash felt a little guilty for shouting, but she had to be told somehow. If this question was answered, there would be more. The sun would have set before her masks were moved.


    They didn¡¯t have until the sun set. Oliver wanted her to get on with the job, to spend her day doing rather than moping. Her mind had been running circles of late. There were thoughts of Tema, demonstrating her low morality by mocking Tasha and refusing to make space for her to have a scan. And there was the baby, her little Jem. She¡¯d once thought she was to have a daughter, but the man in the hospital had pointed at her, and screamed ¡®mama¡¯, and she¡¯d known then that she was looking at her own son.


    Tema being Tema, she had to know better. Her biology had left her incapable of ever carrying a child, so she acted as though the mother¡¯s instinct was nonsense, but Tasha had the instinct, so she knew the truth of it. It didn¡¯t stop Tema from putting out an injunction, banning Tasha from visiting her son. Oliver had taken Tema¡¯s side, incredibly. Oh, they¡¯d had a row after that. Sesi had to ply Tasha with starflower tope to calm her down. She passed out, and by the time she awoke in the morning her thunder had died.


    Her son was dead, so she¡¯d heard. Barbara Flower, her old friend Barbara, had supplied her with that titbit. Who did Tema think she was, claiming to be hard done by when she¡¯d denied Tasha the chance to see her son on his dying bed?


    Oliver had grown fed up of Tasha repeating this. ¡°Forget about Tema,¡± he¡¯d snapped, the previous evening. ¡°Do something to make fun. You insisted on bringing those masks¡ªwhy not get them moved in?¡±


    So that¡¯s what she was doing. And she intended to be done before Oliver returned from his business of the day.


    She caught up to Eva a little way outside the ship. The young maid¡¯s head was cast down, and she was walking slowly, clutching the mask tight to her chest as if it was heavy. It wasn¡¯t. They were all deceptively light, made so as not to damage the flesh beneath them. The dead were fragile, so the stories went, and burial just a vessel to guide them to the Hills of Al¨¦nor. If a face was crushed or broken by a heavy mask, its owner would be impure for eternity.


    Nickie the cook¡¯s girl was approaching them the other way, long hair fluttering in the breeze. She¡¯d been given the job of transferring Mam Argent¡¯s kitchen equipment to the new place, and had taken to the task without any issue. She wore a thin jacket over her dress, which she threw to the floor next to Eva. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you the best thing about this place,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s nice and warm. Not at all like home.¡±


    She wasn¡¯t wrong. The heat wasn¡¯t stifling, but it was sticky, and coming up to the point of being uncomfortable. All around, people were talking, and the smell of roasting meat was wafting over from somewhere. It smelled like the open air market they had in Tredelon every summer weekend. Tema used to enjoy those. He... no, she¡ªTema¡¯s a woman now¡ªalways went to the racks of unwanted clothes and rummage. Tema always pulled out a few pretty dresses which she said were presents for Mother. Funnily, Mother never seemed to receive any of them.


    Tash hadn¡¯t seen the point of the markets. They felt like excuses for grubby men to sell off all the cheap old tat they¡¯d gathered over the year, and fund their next month¡¯s drinking. Now they made her think of the oppressive heat, the grubby men pawning wares. She kept her eyes fixed firmly on the ground.


    A shadow fell over her, the shadow of somebody approaching.


    There was a man, squat and chubby, his teeth red and misshapen. His hairline had receded so far that Tash was expecting a tsunami to shoot across his scalp, but what hair there was grew long and unkempt, thick as straw.


    ¡°Can I help you?¡± she said. A courtesy, nothing more. She didn¡¯t intend to help him any. He was grotty. If Cassandra Fiouhart saw her conversing with him, that would be the end of her society aspirations. She felt her brow crease into a scowl, which she made no attempt to disguise.


    The man laughed a pig laugh. ¡°Don¡¯t you worry your pretty little face. I don¡¯t give half a rat¡¯s turd about you.¡± He flashed a toothy grin at Eva, who looked away with a whinnying gasp. ¡°It¡¯s Little Miss Terrified here I want to see. I have a message for the bitch, so this is the point where you leave us be.¡±


    ¡°You think I¡¯m just going to leave my friend here all on her own? If you have something to say, I¡¯m sure Eva won¡¯t mind if I hear it.¡±


    The man raised his eyebrows. In his hand, Tash saw suddenly, he was nursing a blade, running his finger along the blunt edge. ¡°Stay if you want,¡± he said, ¡°but you definitely won¡¯t be hearing anything. Ever again.¡±


    For some stupid reason, she felt suddenly emboldened. ¡°Are you going to kill me? The wife of a reeve?¡± Don¡¯t antagonise him, she thought. You¡¯ll only make things worse. But she didn¡¯t heed her own thoughts. ¡°And what about Eva? Will you kill her too? If you don¡¯t, she¡¯ll raise the alarm. You want to risk a murder sentence?¡±


    The grotty man grinned. ¡°If you think the little bitch is going to be raising any alarms, you don¡¯t know her well enough to die for her. She won¡¯t say a word.¡±


    ¡°Okay then,¡± said Tash. ¡°If you¡¯re sure.¡± Trembling as she was, her voice remained steady.


    For a minute, she thought the man was going to follow through on his threat. He gripped his knife tighter, so tight his knuckles turned white, and briefly raised it. She tried to recall a prayer. What was the one Aunt Danyer used to say? Something about pillars and seas.


    With a sigh, the man pocketed his blade. ¡°The Ealdor wants this bitch dead.¡± He looked Eva in the eye, as though he was looking at distended faeces. ¡°Your friends can¡¯t be everywhere, bitch. Watch your step.¡±


    When the man was gone, Tash turned to Eva. The poor girl was shaking. ¡°Give me that before you drop it.¡± She took the mask from Eva and set it gently on the ground. It was a favourite, with markings of red lacquer on it in an imitation of a pattern carved into the rock innards of the Caerlin barrows¡ªa kind of curved cross, each line bulging in the middle. Her ancestors had wielded this mark when they were kings of their small corner. If Eva dropped this one, she¡¯d never be able to shake off the debt.


    ¡°You... think me a friend...¡± Eva spoke hoarsely through tears.


    Tash couldn¡¯t abide weepers. ¡°Stop that,¡± she said. Little infants cried, not grown women. Eva rubbed at her nose, and a large bead of yellow snot came away on her hand. She rubbed it off on the side of her dress.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Lady,¡± she whispered. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have listened to him.¡±


    ¡°No. You shouldn¡¯t.¡± Eva was a state. It would be to nobody¡¯s benefit to make her stay. ¡°Go and see Goodwife Mabeth. Get yourself cleaned up.¡±


    ¡°But Lady... your masks...¡±


    ¡°I can move them myself.¡± And then see about getting a manicure to fix the mess it¡¯ll make of my fingers. ¡°Go on, go. You look like an urchin.¡±


    Eva quickly disappeared.


    As luck would have it, Lieutenant Sharp was on the gate when Tash reached the house. He took pity on her, and sent a couple of the household guard to help her move the masks. Wilkie and Quant did the brunt of the lifting. They didn¡¯t ask nearly as many questions as Eva did.


    Tash hung a few of her favourite masks on the wall of her solar, and spent the rest of the morning alone, running through the great Belaboran queens. Their names flowed nicely off her tongue. Marguerite, the forgotten empress. Peach-face Bessily. Anna and Edith, two virgin daughters to end a hundred-year dynasty. Adelina, the princess of the wall, who¡¯d faced down a fleet of foreign invaders whose swords were already soaked in the blood of her father and brother.


    These were the heroes she grew up worshipping. She liked to toddle into her mother¡¯s powder room and ruddy her cheeks to look more like Bessily. Oftentimes, she¡¯d cut a piece of cardboard into a mask and pretend she was the second coming of Good Matilda, the third Queen Matilda, who hid her face to conceal her war wounds. There was a grove in her parents¡¯ garden, a clearing surrounded by dark-leaved cherry trees. She spent many a summer day sat on the curved stone bench in the heart of the clearing, singing to herself like Adelina had sung while her father was being cut down.


    When she went through the list, she always added her own name at the end. Maybe Belaboras was out of her reach, but why could she not have Essegena? She could be Queen of the Valley. Oliver wouldn¡¯t deny her, if she asked. Hers wasn¡¯t a queenly name. It wasn¡¯t regal in the way Marguerite was, nor did it conjure up visions of great deeds like Adelina¡¯s. But were any names queenly before they were the names of queens?


    ¡°Lady.¡± She was interrupted by Eva, announcing her presence in her characteristic timidity. Her eyes were still red from the sobbing. ¡°You have a visitor.¡±


    ¡°Thank-you, Eva. You may go.¡±


    Eva did a half-decent curtsy, and left the room. When she was gone, a woman with an unusually large nose entered. It looked almost like those caricatures that the crones of old cartoons had, without the wart on the end, but it was very much her real nose. She had hair tied up in the shape of a star on the top of her head, held in place by sea-shell clips. Her gown was adorned in an ermine pattern.


    ¡°I hope you aren¡¯t thinking of names for your child. Edith? Adelina? Don¡¯t you know it¡¯s gauche to use a royal name?¡±


    Tash shook her head, no. ¡°I¡¯m having a boy, not a girl.¡±


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Edith would be doubly bad then.¡±


    Tash blinked, momentarily confused. ¡°Who are you?¡±


    The woman smiled a fake smile. ¡°Apologies, Mistress Wrack. We¡¯ve yet to be acquainted.¡± She curtsied, substantially better than Eva had ever managed. She¡¯d obviously had plenty of practice. ¡°My parents named me Felicity. I have Dall blood, but my husband is of the Peulions, and like yours a reeve of the Council. As it goes, his father is High Commissioner.¡±


    ¡°Felicity Peulion?¡± Why did she have to be so confusing about saying it? ¡°I¡¯m Tasha Wrack.¡±


    ¡°Oh, sweetie, I know who you are. I wouldn¡¯t be here if I didn¡¯t.¡±


    Tash frowned. ¡°Why are you here?¡±


    ¡°I wanted to extend an offer of friendship. And advise you.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need advice.¡±


    ¡°Of course you do.¡± Felicity Peulion sat herself down on one of Tash¡¯s nice chairs, unbidden. ¡°Your money¡¯s recent. It¡¯s only natural that you aren¡¯t familiar with all of the proper social graces.¡±


    Tash took issue with that. What matter did it make how long she¡¯d had money? She had it. It was just as good as gold that had been sat in somebody¡¯s vault for a few centuries. If anything it was better. She¡¯d worked far harder for her wealth than Felicity Peulion ever had. The woman¡¯s fingers were slender and smooth, fingers that had never seen manual labour.


    ¡°What social graces am I not familiar with?¡±


    ¡°Oh, hundreds.¡± Felicity pointed at her face. ¡°Your make-up is commoner make-up. Your cheeks are red. That¡¯ll never do. Common maids blush, society ladies do not.¡± She placed a pot of mustard yellow on the table in the middle of the room. ¡°Please take this, as a gift from me. It¡¯s a more noble colour for you. I¡¯m sure your girls will be able to find more easily enough, but if not you can point them in the direction of Madame Dravis. Hers is the grandest emporium on this quaint little world.¡±


    Tash thanked Felicity. It was a surprisingly kind gift. Assuming it was actually the fashion, and not just a plan to make her look like a fool in front of all of the society ladies. If she rocked up looking like Oliver had beaten her, and they were all peachy-faced like Bessily, she¡¯d be humiliated. She made a note to have Sesi look into the veracity of Felicity¡¯s advice.


    In the here and now, she was being a poor host. ¡°Would you like something to drink? Something to eat, maybe? Stini¡¯s a fantastic cook.¡±


    Felicity nodded, so Tash yelled for Eva. The girl poked her head around the door. ¡°You called, Lady?¡±


    ¡°Have Mam Argent bring some cake and coffee, please, Eva.¡±


    ¡°At once, Lady.¡±


    ¡°And there¡¯s another mistake,¡± said Felicity, the moment the door clicked shut behind Eva. ¡°You should never refer to your staff by their given names. Are you a cook?¡±


    Tasha shook her head. ¡°No. I¡¯m terrible at it.¡±


    ¡°Are you inferior to a cook?¡±


    Just what was she insinuating? ¡°Definitely not,¡± Tash bristled.


    ¡°So don¡¯t act like you¡¯re on their level. Face to face is fine, in certain contexts¡ªthey actually do better work if they feel like you care about them. But in prominent company, remember they¡¯re your staff, not your friends.¡±


    She forced a weak smile. It was embarrassing to be wrong, but at least Felicity was the only one here to see it. She wondered why Sesi hadn¡¯t said anything. But then, Sesi wasn¡¯t a Lady herself, she¡¯d just spent a lot of time in service. She wouldn¡¯t know the ins and outs. ¡°I¡¯m glad you came.¡±


    ¡°I shall give you an additional freebie.¡± Felicity continued as though Tash hadn¡¯t spoken. ¡°Your maidservant. She¡¯s been crying. You¡¯ll want to sit her down with a cup of something hot and find out what it is that¡¯s bothering her. You¡¯ll be surprised at how her work improves when she feels valued¡ªshe might even begin to curtsy properly.¡±


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s not that important to me¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous.¡± Felicity reached across the table and squeezed Tash¡¯s hand between hers. ¡°I¡¯ve been where you are. I know how much it hurts you¡ªit might as well be written on your face. Maids don¡¯t come cheap nowadays. For the money you¡¯re laying down, surely the least you can expect is that they can do the basics right.¡±


    Tash pulled her hand free. ¡°She¡¯s only young. She¡¯ll get better.¡±


    ¡°Will she?¡± Felicity stood up. ¡°Perhaps you¡¯re not ready to listen to my advice. It¡¯s fine if you want to be a rich pauper. When you want to be a proper Lady, you can come to me. You know where you¡¯ll find me.¡±


    Tash followed Felicity to the hallway, just to make sure she left. She watched through the open doorway for a short while, then ran up the first flight of stairs. There was a better view to be had from the window there. At her insistence, Oliver had conceded that a touch of plush carpet would better suit the stairs than cold tiles. Her bare feet thanked her for this decision. She stretched them out as the pile hugged them.


    She turned at the sound of clacking heels, and saw Eva emerging from the kitchen with a plate of Mam Argent¡¯s finest. ¡°You can bring them up here, Eva,¡± she called.


    Eva nodded and started up the stairs. As she climbed, she looked from side to side. ¡°I don¡¯t understand, Lady. Is Mistress Peulion hiding?¡±


    Tash laughed. ¡°She¡¯s gone, Eva.¡±


    ¡°But the cakes.¡±


    Tash grabbed one and jammed it into her mouth. It was too stuffed full for her to close it properly, and crumbs sprayed all over the carpet as she chewed it down. ¡°We¡¯ll have to eat the cakes ourselves, won¡¯t we?¡± she said, as soon as she was able to talk.


    Eva, the dear girl, shook her head. ¡°No, Lady, I shouldn¡¯t. Mam Argent made these for you. They¡¯re much too sweet for the first floor, she says.¡±


    Tash picked up another cake and pressed it into Eva¡¯s free hand. ¡°Don¡¯t talk such nonsense,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m the Lady of the household, and I want you to eat these cakes with me.¡± She spoke with sufficient force that Eva winced, then meekly nibbled on the cake. There was no disguising the way her eyes lit up as she tasted it. Clearly she¡¯d not tasted Mam Argent¡¯s recipe before. Tash hoped this revelatory moment wouldn¡¯t become the gateway to a craving for finer things. She had no intention of sharing these cakes on a regular basis.


    While Eva worked through the cake, Tasha took the plate from her and set it on the floor of the first floor landing. She sat down beside the plate and beckoned Eva to join her.


    ¡°You had an upsetting day today,¡± she said. ¡°That man who threatened you. Is he somebody you know?¡±


    Eva said nothing, but kept her lips pursed.


    ¡°Come on, Eva, I want you to feel safe. Did you know him?¡±


    Eva nodded her head slowly, shakily.


    Tash put a hand on Eva¡¯s shoulder. ¡°It¡¯s alright. You¡¯re in safe hands here, Eva. Who was he?¡±


    Once again, Eva was silent. Tash started to ask again, but Eva cut her off, shaking her head. ¡°I can¡¯t say. I won¡¯t say.¡±


    ¡°You can trust me,¡± said Tash.


    Eva shook her head. The implication there angered Tash, but she resisted the urge to lash out, channelling that anger into her clenched fists. A cake which she happened to be holding was crumbled into dust. ¡°Okay, you don¡¯t want to tell me. I understand.¡± She didn¡¯t understand why Eva wouldn¡¯t speak to her, but the maid was fragile enough at the best of times. If Tasha tried to force an answer, Eva was more likely to break completely than yield anything. ¡°What about the Constabulary? Will you tell them?¡±


    ¡°The Constabulary?¡±


    ¡°Their job¡¯s to enforce law and order here, Eva. We can go and make a report, if you like?¡±


    Eva nodded enthusiastically. ¡°I¡¯d like that very much, Lady.¡±


    Tash smiled. ¡°Good girl. I must dress first, but we¡¯ll head up straight after. Eva, if you send Sesi up to my chambers, I¡¯ll be ready all the sooner.¡±


    The home of the Constabulary was a half-finished tower at the northern extremity of the town, at the end of a road that sloped upwards and never seemed to end. Tash was shattered when they arrived.


    Eva had been all keen and enthusiastic to go until it came to leaving the house. At that point, nerves had got the better of her. She¡¯d shrunk back and refused to leave, and worked herself up into such a state that Goodwife Mabeth had to take her off to get some bedrest. By that time, Tasha was ready to go. She¡¯d spent the time making ready, and had Sesi do fresh make-up. It seemed a waste to then not go anywhere.


    So she and Sesi went together. She¡¯d have gone alone, but she fancied the company.


    A towering woman was stood outside the tower. She glowered down at Tash. ¡°Can I help you?¡±


    ¡°That depends on whether or not you can take me to the Lord Constable.¡±


    The woman sniggered. ¡°The tower¡¯s not open. The Lord Constable isn¡¯t to be disturbed.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a Lady of society,¡± said Tasha, puffing out her chest. ¡°My husband is a reeve. He sits on the Council. I demand to see the Lord Constable.¡±


    This earned a strange look from the tall woman, who didn¡¯t seem sure whether to be amused or scared by Tasha. ¡°You don¡¯t get to make demands. I don¡¯t care if you¡¯re the High Commissioner himself, the Lord Constable isn¡¯t to be disturbed. So turn around and sling your hook.¡±


    ¡°Now you listen here,¡± said Sesi, suddenly springing to life. Tasha hadn¡¯t noticed it happen, but Sesi had a firm grip on the tall woman¡¯s collar, and the woman was looking very ill at ease. ¡°You¡¯ll let Mistress Wrack in to see the Lord Constable, or I¡¯ll be in the Tavern tonight and I¡¯ll let slip to the wrong person just who you¡¯ve been sleeping with. How will his wife take it when he finds out?¡±


    The tall woman paled. ¡°How do you know?¡±


    Sesi lifted an eyebrow. ¡°I know a lot. My ear is always to the ground. Now, I will know your decision. What will it be?¡±


    ¡°Go on through.¡± The woman stood aside, and Tash ran in with Sesi. She was beginning to fear her ladiesmaid herself.


    As soon as they were safely inside the tower, the door shut behind them, Tash stopped Sesi. ¡°How did you know about her?¡±


    Sesi merely shrugged. ¡°It was a guess. Everybody has a weakness, hers is sex. Surely you could smell the semen?¡±


    Tasha shook her head.


    ¡°Then I have the better nose,¡± Sesi laughed.


    ¡°But how can you know who the man is?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± said Sesi. ¡°But the guard on the door doesn¡¯t need to know that, does she?¡±


    Tash smiled.


    After a small, empty antechamber, the tower opened out into a wide reception area. The front desk had already been put in place, albeit without any sort of furnishing. A man and a woman were leaning against a wall. They made straight for Tasha and Sesi when they saw them.


    ¡°Excuse me,¡± said the man, ¡°but what business do you have here?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m here to speak to the Lord Constable,¡± said Tasha. ¡°I wish to report an assault.¡±


    ¡°An assault.¡± The man sighed. ¡°Fine. Come with me. But next time please obey the guard on the door telling you not to disturb me.¡±


    ¡°I can relieve the guard if you¡¯d like, sir,¡± said the woman with him. ¡°Clearly she¡¯s not up to the task.¡±


    The man¡ªthe Lord Constable, presumably¡ªshook his head. ¡°No, Lieutenant, I need you with me. You know my hand cramps when I have to take notes too quickly.¡±


    The Lord Constable led them to an office in a tucked away corner of the tower. There was nothing inside but a desk and some wooden chairs, stacked in a tidy pile at one side. The smell of varnish hung heavy in here.


    ¡°You must forgive the smell,¡± said the Lord Constable. ¡°When you come barging into an unfinished building, you have to accept some imperfections.¡± He helped himself to a chair, and sat in it on one side of the desk. The Lieutenant followed suit, slotting in beside him. Neither Tasha nor Sesi bothered to retrieve a chair. If the Lord Constable wanted them to sit, he¡¯d have brought the chairs to them himself.


    The Lieutenant had procured a pad of paper from somewhere, and she¡¯d begun to scribble something on it.


    ¡°Tell me your name,¡± said the Lord Constable. ¡°Your full name, with all the parts.¡±


    ¡°Natasha Entellia Letheren Accilei Caerlin Wrack.¡± The last time she¡¯d needed to care about her middle names was her wedding day. There was some obscure legal justification which Tasha had resented at the time and could no longer remember. She¡¯d spent a week reciting it all, her two given names and her mother¡¯s unmarried name, the floranym of her birth month and her own birth surname. She just had to add ¡®Wrack¡¯ to the end, and she could do that.


    The Lord Constable looked across to his Lieutenant, who was frantically scribbling. ¡°Did you get that?¡±


    ¡°Natasha Wrack,¡± said the Lieutenant. ¡°With some stuff in the middle.¡±


    ¡°Tasha, if you would.¡±


    ¡°Okay then, Tasha.¡± The Lord Constable cleared his throat loudly. ¡°Tell me what you can about this assault.¡±


    ¡°My maidservant was threatened,¡± said Tasha. ¡°Not Sesi. Another maidservant. The man was brazen enough to do it even in my presence.¡±


    ¡°And was it just a threat? Or did something actually happen?¡±


    Tash pursed her lips. ¡°I don¡¯t know that I like that tone,¡± she said.


    The Lord Constable rolled his eyes. ¡°The door¡¯s behind you, if you don¡¯t want to answer the question.¡±


    Tash sighed. ¡°It was just a threat. But only because I reasoned with him. He held a blade to my throat. He may well have cut me open.¡±


    ¡°But he didn¡¯t,¡± said the Lord Constable.


    ¡°And next time he might,¡± said Tash, raising her voice. ¡°The maidservant who was attacked is afraid to set foot outside. The man¡¯s known to her, and clearly she feels unsafe with him wandering about. So stop him.¡±


    The Lord Constable looked at her for a few seconds, then sighed long and loud. ¡°We can do nothing unless a crime is committed. But we can identify the man, and keep watch on him. You say the man is known to you?¡±


    Tash shook her head. ¡°Not to me. To my maidservant. She won¡¯t tell me who he is.¡±


    ¡°Helpful,¡± said the Lieutenant.


    ¡°And can you describe the man?¡± asked the Lord Constable.


    ¡°Yes, I¡ª¡± What had he looked like? There was something distasteful about his appearance, Tash could remember that much, but quite what she couldn¡¯t recall. ¡°He had greasy hair,¡± she said, reaching for any detail she could recall. None more were forthcoming. ¡°And he wasn¡¯t very nice.¡±


    The Lord Constable leaned forward ever so slightly. ¡°He wasn¡¯t very nice?¡±


    Tash shook her head. ¡°Not at all.¡±


    And then, to her surprise, the Lord Constable began to laugh, a hearty, uproarious laugh. ¡°Well, thank-you, Mistress Wrack, for your helpful description. Why, I do believe you¡¯ve given us enough detail to pinpoint exactly who assaulted you.¡±


    ¡°Are you going to investigate it for me?¡±


    The Lord Constable looked her in the eye. ¡°Don¡¯t be absurd,¡± he said. ¡°There¡¯s nothing to investigate. It¡¯s just a waste of time.¡±


    ¡°My husband¡¯s on the Council,¡± said Tasha, a red mist descending. She focused on keeping her voice clear and even, though she could hear it wavering. ¡°If something happens to me or my maidservant, and you didn¡¯t investigate, he¡¯ll know you¡¯re to blame. Wouldn¡¯t it be such a shame if you came all this way across the Unity only to be stripped of your command?¡±


    The Lord Constable regarded her with an icy glare. ¡°I don¡¯t care for your tone,¡± he said.


    ¡°And I¡¯ve not cared for yours since you sat down,¡± said Tasha. ¡°But I¡¯m a civilian requesting an investigation, and you¡¯re in charge of upholding law and order. So I suggest you discharge your duty and investigate.¡±


    The Lord Constable scowled. Beside him, the Lieutenant was staring at Tasha, her face inscrutable. ¡°Fine,¡± said the Lord Constable. ¡°We will open an investigation. If necessary, one of my soldiers will find you. Now please leave my Constabulary.¡±


    Tasha nodded. ¡°Thank-you for your professionalism, Lord Constable. You¡¯re truly an example we should all aspire to follow.¡± She made sure the sarcasm was overbearing.


    She was out of the Lord Constable¡¯s office before he had time to finish calling her a ¡®wanker¡¯.

 21. Oddities

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Ian ~


    A thunderstorm. Fitting.


    The council chamber had been a boiling pot slowly rising in pressure until it had threatened to explode. It was only right that the pressure might have seeped outside, into the very weather. Ian turned up the collar of his jacket as Sergeant Pratley fell in behind him.


    ¡°How did it go, sir?¡±


    Shit, was the answer, not that Ian was about to discuss the matter with Sergeant Pratley. Chris had taken a barrage of criticism from all corners. Some bits, Ian reflected, had been fairer than others.


    Bradshaw wanted to know why the three missing soldiers hadn¡¯t been found¡ªa disingenuous request, given it was his decision to reduce the searches for them. This Ian knew from David. Chris was there, he should have been able to push the point back into Bradshaw¡¯s face, but he¡¯d crumbled. He¡¯d given a non-answer. A fool could see that he was being evasive. ¡°Essegena¡¯s very big,¡± he¡¯d said, as though the senior leadership of the colony might not know what a fucking planet is.


    Oliver Wrack had asked when the allowance of food was going to stop¡ªor at the very least when he was going to be allowed to implement some rationing. The stores weren¡¯t running low yet, he reported, but there was a clear path of progress towards them being emptied. Thus far the handful of farms that had sprung up in the valley barely had the capacity to feed a third of the colony, even months down the line when the first harvests would arrive, and wayward hunting of game was not going to make up the shortfall. Ian had begrudged Master Wrack the point. Wrack was supposedly on their side, an ally Chris had picked up at some point. What was he doing adding to the pile-on in an already-tricky meeting?


    The rest had taken their turns to raise issues big and small. Master Ruddingshaw raised the issue of Caroline¡¯s consistent non-attendance. The time would eventually come, he said, when they¡¯d have no option but to vote to replace her. Bradshaw had used this as a hook to criticise her character. Scattered murmurs of assent made it clear that he wasn¡¯t the only one with ill feeling towards her. Master Dombric had complained about the order of priority for building work, implying that it favoured Chris¡¯ interests. The fact that it was Master Holden who was in charge of the order of priority seemed not to matter.


    The low point had been when Master Stockton raised the issue of elections. ¡°Why has no provision been made for a free election to allow the people of Essegena to choose their own government?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s mandated in the Unity statutes,¡± added Ruddingshaw, ¡°and the code of conduct for territorial governors clearly extols the benefits of democracy.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s beginning to seem like you don¡¯t want to give up your power,¡± Bradshaw said.


    ¡°Elections will happen in due course,¡± Chris stated. ¡°When I feel the time is right.¡±


    ¡°And who put it in your hands?¡± Bradshaw had fumed.


    Chris, clearly oblivious to the hostile atmosphere towards him, had given Bradshaw a smug look. ¡°The Unity,¡± he¡¯d said. It left him convinced he¡¯d beaten Bradshaw back. The meeting had run its course within a wall of scowls and whispers. Chris hadn¡¯t even seen them.


    ¡°That went well,¡± he¡¯d said to Ian, as they made their way out of the chamber. ¡°Who said we needed to be afraid of Bradshaw?¡±


    After seeing his friend¡¯s performance in that meeting, Ian had to say that he thought they needed to be afraid of Bradshaw.


    So all in all, today¡¯s meeting had been shit.


    ¡°Business as usual, Sergeant,¡± he said, all cheery. ¡°You know how government is.¡±


    ¡°No sir, I don¡¯t,¡± said Pratley. ¡°Never been there myself. I always thought politics to be boring. Give me a target to kill, and all that.¡±


    Ian glanced sideways at the Sergeant. ¡°It would be ideal if we could avoid the killing,¡± he said.


    Pratley held back. ¡°Quoting the Books to keep me away? A low blow, sir. A low blow.¡±


    ¡°What? No, I don¡¯t see how not wanting the private security that¡¯s directly answerable to me to be killing people is such a controversial position that I have to be quoting something.¡±


    Pratley snickered. ¡°I know, sir. But you have to admit, the wording was uncanny. Are you sure you¡¯re not thinking of converting?¡±


    He wasn¡¯t. In truth, he hadn¡¯t even looked at the book Skerrett had given him. It had been sat on a shelf in his quarters all along.


    ¡°One of these days you¡¯ll have to tell me why you¡¯re afraid of that church so much.¡±


    Sergeant Pratley shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m not afraid, sir. I just don¡¯t get on with the Faith. I¡¯ll spare you the wherefores.¡±


    Of course you will. The wherefores were the only part Ian was interested in.


    He parted company with Sergeant Pratley at the entrance to the Eia. One of the younger lads was currently posted outside his chambers, Corcoran his name. Pratley was happy to accept that Ian wouldn¡¯t come to any harm during the short walk there. Corcoran nodded as he passed, and he locked the door tight behind him.


    The book was there waiting for him. Had he put it so prominently on display? He supposed he must have done¡ªbooks don¡¯t walk on their own, as a general rule. It was softly coloured in a wine-purple leather. A blazing marigold adorned the cover, crudely painted on, and beneath it ornate gold lettering spelled out ¡®The Testimony of Eia¡¯.


    The pages were thin and fragile. He had to open them with care in order not to tear them, and as he was planning on returning the book to Lightness Skerrett at some point he was keen to make sure it stayed in one piece.


    Inside, the print was very small¡ªobviously chosen to get as much as possible onto the pocket-sized pages. Each chapter was headed by a colourful illustration. The drawings, so rough around the edges that the scuffed pencil marks showed clearly, were old, too old to be from Skerrett¡¯s hand. They had come from another Lightness. Perhaps an acolyte. A hundred years ago, by the looks of it, or more.


    Ian tried to put himself in the mind of someone a century ago, reading these same words as they took a break from their life. What had their day been like? The histories never gave a real picture. They pulled statistics and sterile figures and drew from them stereotypes. Those people in the past had probably been just the same as he was. Thinking about them made him feel funny, and he tried to focus on the text.


    The Mother Eia, sketched coarsely and coloured in yellow and red inks at the top of the page, found herself on a beach, in some ancient corner of the universe, to find that her daughter was missing. Ian knew the story, even if the meter was unfamiliar. He hoped something else would happen. The book would get boring, otherwise, and he¡¯d have to put it down.


    After half a dozen pages of the Mother Eia¡¯s search, Ian caught himself scouring every sentence for poor word choices or double entendres. It was his usual trick. Whenever he had it in his head that he wasn¡¯t going to enjoy something, he¡¯d look out for any flaws he could find, any excuse to justify not enjoying it. What was the point? If he was set in not enjoying it, why had he bothered to open the book in the first place? It wasn¡¯t as if anybody was forcing him to read it.


    So he stopped being critical, and tried for a while to enjoy it for what it was. He didn¡¯t have to believe it was true. ¡®The Tragedy of Tembenel¡¯ wasn¡¯t true, not in any sense more than that a young woman called Tembenel had existed once, probably. It hadn¡¯t stopped him from becoming enamoured with the story every time he went to see it. It hadn¡¯t stopped him from weeping every time poor Tembenel laid her head on a pillow of gauze to die, and accusing Elise of being the one who¡¯d cried.


    With that mindset, washed free of the cynicism, the purple book became an altogether more pleasant read. Some of the prose was outdated, but it rushed over him like an incorrigible tide of heliotrope water. The words danced. Beneath each one was the Mother Eia¡¯s signature in invisible melancholy. She must have been a devoted woman to search so long for something.


    He wasn¡¯t sure how much time had passed¡ªwhether it was a few minutes or an hour, or longer perhaps. By the end of the first chapter he¡¯d found himself rooting for the Mother Eia to find her daughter. But Matheld could not be found.


    And then he came to a chapter that stood out from the rest, in how it was presented. The first ten had all followed the same design, the illuminations coloured from the same palette and beneath them the text in rows of tiny, organised print. This one was different. The words were sparser, and several smaller pictures had been scribbled in the margins in lieu of one at the top.


    ¡®Dear Thilde do not care to think ill of me,¡¯ the text read. ¡®It is not for want of love that I have left my search empty. I did journey a thousand miles, and that again when still I had not found you, and now I find myself back at this place where first I found I was without you. Where now is there to look, when I have already searched the world?¡¯


    Ian flipped over the page. Overleaf, he saw the left hand side was printed in the same disjointed style. On the right, a poem. Perhaps not one he was familiar with, but he¡¯d been through the school system and listened to the teachers, and he could recognise a poem when he saw one.


    This poem, he felt, wouldn¡¯t be a joyful one.


    The page before it didn¡¯t exactly set a cheerful tone either. ¡®In this place I will commit your memory to the earth, and that without a body, for I know that in the darkness of my days you can be a beacon for me. Let that beacon shine bright. Let it shine for the life you lived with me, and the life that still you live, and will live for years to come, even if not in my arms. Sweet child, whither you are take solace: your Mother loves you. It is out of love that I let you be, out of love that I set you free from me. What stronger love can there be than that?


    ¡®Listen to these words I say, that I might mourn you now and leave you at peace:¡¯


    Ian¡¯s eyes flicked across to the poem, his head a mess of thoughts. The memories of a soiled adolescence came back in confusion. He could not untangle the weave.


    ¡®The winter light hangs still upon the thick forgotten grove


    Where tagetes for Thilde grow as suns upon the floor


    No wailing wind will take her there


    No summer breeze upon her hair


    When I have wandered everywhere I¡¯ll search for her no more


    Not in the deep declivities the aspect of a girl


    Nor in the hush of twilight oer the wheat there in the field


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    I carried her through shadowed lands


    I tightly held her infant hand


    And yet awoke on golden sand


    Alone


    Sweet daughter, sweet child, please don¡¯t be afraid


    I will find you one day


    Sweet daughter, sweet girl, come out from the shade


    Let me see you again


    Here in this garth of willow trees walled by a stranger¡¯s spell


    This place where others fear to tread but which to me is home


    I¡¯ll bury you beneath the dirt


    I swear to you it will not hurt


    I promised that it wouldn¡¯t hurt to voyage through the gloam¡¯


    Ian paused, his breath caught in his throat. Dani was there in the room with him, so clear he wanted to touch her. A shade or a hallucination¡ªhe couldn¡¯t tell which was which. She must have heard his promise. ¡°It¡¯ll be over soon, I swear. It won¡¯t hurt a bit.¡± Her mute eyes demanded that he plead for forgiveness. You lied, she screamed, in the voice of a child. The only voice of hers he could still remember.


    ¡°No,¡± he told her. ¡°No, I didn¡¯t lie. I never lied.¡±


    The corner of her lip twitched, that phantom in the form of Dani Carrigan. The skin was clammy on her face, he could see. Thick and flaking away. Waxy. The muscles moved uneasily. The mouth didn¡¯t open. Remember what you¡¯ve done, she said.


    He¡¯d never forgotten.


    He turned back to the book, pressed it so close to his face that he couldn¡¯t see beyond the pages. The words fell out of focus, and he had to read each in turn. But at least he could pretend there was nothing other than the book.


    ¡®This stone will be remembrance of everything you were


    You live on in my memory, you¡¯ll live on now beyond


    The darkling day encloaking you


    The fire¡¯s light to birth anew


    My daughter on the morning dew


    Alone


    Sweet daughter, sweet child, please don¡¯t be afraid


    I will find you one day


    Sweet daughter, sweet girl, come out from the shade


    Let me see you again


    I woke upon a beach as soft as that sweet child¡¯s kiss


    And for a year I saw her in the shadows of my eye


    I never heard her happy song


    Nor in this lonely world belonged


    And I will carry every wrong until at last I die


    Then in the kind God-Mother¡¯s hall I¡¯ll see my girl again


    And warmth again will dwell within the hollows of my soul


    Sweet Thilde, I would watch you grow


    I¡¯d love you more than you could know


    My poor heart breaks to let you go


    Alone¡¯


    The poem continued to the end of the page, but he didn¡¯t take in a word of it. He turned the page, turned several pages ahead so he could skip past that whole section. Let somebody else listen to the Mother Eia as she buries her child. He wanted the uplifting stuff.


    He didn¡¯t find any uplifting stuff. Instead, he found a distraction in the gentle tapping on his door. Corcoran poked his head in. ¡°Governor Ballard to see you, sir.¡± Unlike Sergeant Pratley, Corcoran didn¡¯t insist on his presence. When he was on duty, he guarded Ian by standing silently outside the door. That suited Ian fine. But unlike Sergeant Pratley, Corcoran would never tell the Governor himself to take a hike, no matter how much Ian wanted to be left alone.


    He stuffed the book beneath his pillow and stood as Chris came in.


    ¡°Is this where you¡¯re living?¡± Chris pulled a face. ¡°Ian, it¡¯s tiny. You should have said something. Let me speak to Master Holden, bump your manor up the priorities.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine, Chris. This is enough for me.¡±


    The very notion seemed to take Chris aback. ¡°Oh. You¡¯re sure?¡±


    Ian nodded. ¡°I have a bed. That¡¯ll do me.¡±


    ¡°I need a favour,¡± said Chris, with no time devoted to the transition between topics. ¡°I¡¯ve double-booked my schedule and I shouldn¡¯t disappoint Caroline today. I fear I¡¯ve upset her lately.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the favour?¡±


    ¡°Master Stockton wants to see me,¡± said Chris. ¡°Don¡¯t know why, he didn¡¯t say, but to be honest it doesn¡¯t sound pleasant. I¡¯d rather spend the day watching Caroline gush over some exotic fish or something.¡±


    Ian frowned. ¡°Does she normally do that?¡±


    ¡°No, but you never know. She¡¯s got it into her head that there¡¯s some lake somewhere that¡¯s worth wasting a day on. There¡¯s fish in lakes, I think.¡±


    ¡°Try not to get into too much bother trying to catch them,¡± said Ian. Chris had once fallen from a boat while out fishing, something which was a bit of a sore spot for him. He glowered at Ian and turned to leave.


    ¡°Speak to Stockton,¡± he huffed. ¡°Find out what he wants.¡±


    And Chris was gone.


    Dougray Stockton¡¯s laboratory was dimly lit, with a permeating air of sterility. The stench of bleach filled the room, only partially disguised by a lavender perfume that somehow smelled worse. At least it was clean, Ian thought. The walls, painted a pale blue, were lined with worktops, and several long benches filled the room. At the far wall, a young woman in a white frock was stood over a tank filled with dirt, shining a torch into the dirt as though the light might come out the other side. She was the only one in the room.


    Ian forced a cough, and the woman glanced his way. ¡°Sorry,¡± she said, setting the torch down on the side and balancing a plastic lid over the tank. ¡°I didn¡¯t hear you coming in.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s quite alright,¡± he said, pulling out a stool from the nearest bench and sitting on it. As the woman walked towards him, showing her face for the first time, his mind tuned out. She was saying something, but he wasn¡¯t sure what¡ªhis brain was too busy running through a mandatory list of a million and one thoughts. There was something familiar about that face. Something that was making his blood run cold. What was it?


    He suddenly realised that the woman was looking at him. Waiting for him to reply, no doubt. ¡°I didn¡¯t catch that,¡± he said.


    ¡°I only asked how I can help you,¡± said the woman.


    ¡°Ah. Yes. I¡¯m looking for Master Stockton. I¡¯m told this is his laboratory?¡±


    The woman nodded. ¡°Master Stockton¡¯s out the back, working on a special case. He asked me not to let anybody through to see him¡ª¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s odd,¡± Ian said, cutting her off, ¡°because he specifically asked me to come. I¡¯m here on behalf of Governor Ballard.¡±


    The woman bit her lip, looked at him for a second. She had a steely gaze, piercing eyes that seemed to smile and scowl at once. He was certain somebody else had looked at him like that, in the past. Either he knew this woman, or she had a doppelg?nger. Was it something in her face? Perhaps the way she wore her hair? But no matter how he wracked his brain, he couldn¡¯t remember how it was he recognised her. ¡°Sorry,¡± he said, ¡°have we met before?¡±


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t believe so. I¡¯ll go and fetch Master Stockton.¡± She pivoted on her heel and walked through a door at the back of the room¡ªinto the depths of the lab. Who was it she looked like? Alone in the near-dark, Ian found himself running through different women in his head. Women he¡¯d worked with before, women he¡¯d met in bars, women he went to school with. None seemed to match. And then it hit him. This woman... she looked like Dani. He shook his head¡ªit couldn¡¯t be her. Dani was dead, and long may she rest with Tal¨¦a. It was just coincidence. The woman had a couple of features that favoured Dani, that was all.


    A man¡¯s voice brought him back to reality. It was coming from through the door, where the woman had gone. Stockton. ¡°I must admit, I was a little surprised to be given a job like this,¡± he was saying. ¡°I¡¯m less a coroner than your wife is. But I¡¯m glad she passed the body on to me.¡± The door opened and Stockton came through. His cheeks flushed slightly when he saw Ian. ¡°Master Fitzhenry. I apologise, I was expecting Ballard.¡±


    ¡°Governor Ballard¡¯s occupied at the moment,¡± Ian said, short, suddenly annoyed at Stockton. It was technically true, even if a picnic in the sunshine wasn¡¯t quite what Stockton would assume he meant. ¡°He sent me.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± Stockton stood in the doorway. Ian had only ever seen him seated before. Standing, he was a squat, slightly chubby man. He seemed to be sizing Ian up.


    A small voice came from behind him. ¡°Excuse me, Master Stockton.¡± Stockton stood aside as the woman from before came back into the room. On second look, she didn¡¯t really resemble Dani Carrigan all that much. She was superficially similar, sure, but her hair was a few shades lighter than Dani¡¯s had been, her face a little more angular. Her eyes were blue, where Dani¡¯s had been that unforgettable hazel. She gave Ian the briefest of smiles, then made for her tank of dirt.


    ¡°I see you¡¯ve met Miss Trang,¡± said Stockton, pointing a hand in her direction. ¡°She¡¯s a good worker. A lot of the youngsters here are cut from the same cloth¡ªtheir minds are sharp enough, but they don¡¯t have the work ethic. They get pulled out of universities where they¡¯re sleepwalking to failure, given great placements on the Unity¡¯s next big project, and they think they¡¯ve got it made. And as soon as we have a nice sunny day like this, they all find excuses to get outside and waste the day.¡±


    ¡°Youngsters are the best we¡¯re gonna get,¡± said Ian. ¡°There¡¯s not many people willing to leave their wives behind and go to the far edge of human life, not when they can stay at home and still get any job they want.¡±


    Master Stockton held up his hands. ¡°I understand the wherefores. I¡¯m still entitled to moan. Anyway, Miss Trang¡¯s not like the others. She stays until the work¡¯s done.¡± Ian couldn¡¯t help but notice that the woman had stopped what she was doing. Her hands were hovering over the tank of dirt, and she almost seemed to be glancing towards Master Stockton. ¡°I should like to keep her working here with me. She¡¯ll go far.¡±


    The woman let out an almost inaudible squeak, and dropped the torch she was holding onto the lid of the tank. The crash caused Stockton to turn to her. ¡°Sorry,¡± she muttered. ¡°Clumsy.¡±


    ¡°What was it you were saying, before you came in? About the body?¡±


    ¡°Huh? Oh, yes. That man they found out up by Plateau Watch. The so-called ¡®time traveller¡¯. I had a look at it on Doctor Ballard¡¯s request. It¡¯s unsettling, to say the least. Here, see for yourself.¡± Master Stockton bent down to open a cabinet below one of the benches, and pulled from it a small cardboard folder. He dropped it on the bench in front of Ian. Inside were a series of colour photographs¡ªof what, Ian couldn¡¯t really say. It was a maze of crystallised red tendrils. Like a snowflake, magnified to extremity, but in a bizarre crimson. ¡°These were taken from samples from the deceased¡¯s blood. Magnified, of course.¡±


    Ian laughed. ¡°Blood doesn¡¯t look like this. However much you zoom in.¡±


    Master Stockton nodded. ¡°That¡¯s just the thing, Master Fitzhenry. This poor fellow¡¯s blood does look like this. We¡¯ve taken samples from several different sites all over his body, and it¡¯s all the same.¡±


    ¡°How does that happen to someone?¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t like to say. Certainly, I¡¯ve never come across any chemical that has this effect on blood.¡±


    Ian traced the path of red on one of the photos. The ink seemed to bubble and fizz beneath his fingers. I¡¯m imagining things, he told himself. It¡¯s just a photograph, it¡¯s not magic.


    ¡°There might not be anything wrong.¡± The woman seemed to have given up any pretence of not listening. Ian and Master Stockton turned to face her almost in unison. Her face turned red, and she looked away. ¡°Sorry, I shouldn¡¯t be listening in.¡±


    Stockton smiled. ¡°It¡¯s quite alright, Ella. If I didn¡¯t want you to hear, I could have spoken to Master Fitzhenry in a different room.¡±


    ¡°In what way might there not be anything wrong?¡± Ian asked. ¡°Are you saying blood should look like this?¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°Perhaps he wasn¡¯t human. No, that¡¯s silly, I¡¯m just thinking out loud. Sorry.¡± She returned her gaze to the tank, and seemed to find something very important to do there. Ian looked back at Master Stockton.


    ¡°Not human?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s possible, I suppose. We¡¯ve been on this planet, what, half a year?¡±


    ¡°Less,¡± said Ian.


    ¡°Less,¡± Stockton nodded. ¡°Exactly. Less than half a year. It hasn¡¯t been fully explored, it hasn¡¯t been fully mapped. We¡¯ve barely ventured out of this valley yet. Let¡¯s face it, Master Fitzhenry, it¡¯ll be a long time before we have a clear picture of the lay of Essegena. Who¡¯s to say there isn¡¯t some as-yet-unknown form of life here?¡±


    Ian couldn¡¯t help but raise an eyebrow. ¡°An unknown form of life that speaks our language? Wears our clothes? That looks and acts exactly as any human being¡ªthat, by pure coincidence, has evolved to be identical to us in every way. Only its blood looks like this?¡± He thrust one of the photos in Stockton¡¯s face.


    Stockton merely smiled. ¡°It¡¯s unlikely, I admit. But I can¡¯t think of any solution that¡¯s not equally unlikely. It doesn¡¯t hurt to keep an open mind.¡±


    ¡°Well, say it¡¯s not. Say the truth is as simple as some substance doing this to the poor fellow¡¯s blood. Is there any way you can find out what might have had this effect on the man¡¯s blood?¡±


    Master Stockton nodded. ¡°It¡¯s my top project. If there¡¯s an answer, I¡¯ll find it. Just give me some time.¡±


    ¡°How much?¡± asked Ian.


    Stockton regarded him with pursed lips. ¡°As long as it takes,¡± he said stiffly. ¡°As for how long that might be, I wouldn¡¯t like to say. And yes, you can take that quote to Ballard. Science can¡¯t be rushed.¡±


    ¡°We always get there in the end, though.¡± That was the girl, Miss Trang, piping up.


    Stockton looked at her. ¡°What was that, Ella?¡±


    ¡°In the end. The solution always presents itself, right when it¡¯s needed the most. That¡¯s what my mam says.¡±


    Stockton¡¯s lip twitched.


    ¡°Always listen to your mam,¡± Ian smiled. ¡°Keep me posted, Master Stockton.¡±


    By the time the door had shut behind him, Ella Trang¡¯s face had become Dani¡¯s in his memory. That damned ghost would continue to haunt him.

 22. To The Lake

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Macel ~


    Sam was gone for five days. Lieutenant Bennett huffed when they told her where he was, and she huffed again each morning when Sergeant Malleston called the roll and he wasn¡¯t back yet. It¡¯s not like he¡¯d missed anything. Other than some exercise each day, and the tedium of the night watch, Bennett had found nothing for her soldiers to do. Sergeant Malleston¡¯s skeleton crew had done the heavy lifting in building the fortress before they arrived.


    Macel had spent some of his downtime at the stables, helping Bess out, but horses weren¡¯t his specialty. He quickly found he was a hindrance there, especially once there was no more need to carry lumber and processed wood into place to build the stables and the horse-handlers¡¯ little cottage to Speke¡¯s satisfaction.


    In the absence of anything better to do, the soldiers took to drinking. There was a kindling shed in the rear courtyard, flush against the outer wall of the barracks and overlooking Speke¡¯s cottage; it had been well-stocked with firewood, but the weather had thus far remained warm, and there¡¯d been little need for fires. Bored soldiers gathered there in the day. It was well-shaded, and away from the prying eyes of Bennett and Sergeant Donnelly.


    Macel was sat with Delie and Dana Shroot, an old hand who¡¯d been a homesteader in the backwaters of Malindei in her old life and had thus come up to help with Sergeant Malleston during the building phase of Plateau Watch, when Matt Grogan announced his presence. ¡°I hope you¡¯ve saved some ciders,¡± he said. ¡°Look what just washed in.¡±


    Behind him came Sam, looking sheepish with a bandage visible on the ankle. ¡°You don¡¯t all need to rush to me at once,¡± he said.


    ¡°You needn¡¯t stress about that,¡± said Delie.


    Sam smiled. ¡°The good news is, I brought food.¡± Matt opened the door a little wider to reveal a barrow full of goodies, all in bags stamped with ¡®UNITY RATIONS¡¯.


    ¡°Before we eat any of that,¡± said Delie, ¡°tell me who you stole it from.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t steal a bite. It was a gift.¡±


    Delie laughed. ¡°Why would the hospital give you a barrow full of food?¡±


    ¡°Oh, they didn¡¯t,¡± he said. ¡°Funny thing, there was this girl in the hospital with a broken finger. I got to talking to her¡ªbecause our injuries were so similar¡ª¡±


    ¡°A broken finger and a bruised ankle,¡± Macel interrupted. ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s the same thing.¡±


    ¡°Macel gets it,¡± said Sam, pointing a dramatic finger his way. ¡°Anyway, I got to talking, and it turns out we¡¯ve got loads in common. So after they let me out of the hospital I went to her place for a couple of rounds of rutting.¡±


    Delie winced at Sam¡¯s choice of word. ¡°And she was so bowled over by your... ¡®rutting¡¯... that she just gave you a load of food?¡±


    ¡°Pretty much,¡± Sam nodded. ¡°She¡¯s a clerk at the food stores, so she can basically take whatever she wants and just change the figures in the books to make it like it was never there in the first place. Apparently the reeve who¡¯s supposed to be in charge of it all is too busy on other things to really care what goes on at the stores.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s this girl¡¯s name?¡± asked Dana Shroot.


    ¡°Hortense,¡± said Sam, immediately.


    Delie blinked. ¡°Fair play, I didn¡¯t expect you to come up with a name like that. Your imagined conquests normally have more common names.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t choose her name,¡± Sam protested.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t? So while you were convalescing in the hospital, you managed to meet a girl who was so blown away by your prowess that she immediately agreed to commit fraud for you?¡± Delie pretended to swoon. ¡°You¡¯ll have to anoint me with your magic cock.¡±


    ¡°Pick a time,¡± said Sam, raising an eyebrow. Delie flushed red and sat down.


    Macel reached over and grabbed an ear of corn from the top of the pile. He bit into it, sending bits of kernel to the dusty floor. It was delightfully sweet, far better than the rations Lieutenant Bennett had insisted that the cook serve the garrison as breakfast, and it set his mouth watering. ¡°Tell this Hortense that Macel says thank-you,¡± he said. ¡°She¡¯s a life saver.¡±


    Even Delie had to admit that Sam had brought a boon. She helped herself to a handful of bell peppers, and tried not to let anybody see the loaf of sourdough she¡¯d stuffed beneath her serge for later consumption.


    It was surprising how quickly life became routine, made up of habit. There was the uninspiring breakfast, the days spent on whatever inane task Lieutenant Bennett could concoct, the afternoons in the kindling shed. All passed Macel by. They were the same each day, long shorn of anything interesting. Only the evenings held true excitement. The evenings were when he visited Bessily at the stables.


    She always stayed with the horses until darkness came; he often brought a bottle of amber cider, or whatever else he happened to have, and the two of them would drink it together by the light of the moons. They always talked, but they never said a thing. Bess was occupied by her horses, it seemed, and not much else. They had names taken from the stories: this chestnut brown stallion was called Bersam, that piebald mare was Fennia. Adelina was shy, and hid at the back of her stabling whenever Macel was around. Claine was too friendly, and Bess always had to restrain him. There were altogether too many of them, with too many names. Macel couldn¡¯t remember half.


    Last night had been just like any other. He¡¯d crept from his bedroom when the others had fallen asleep, taking care not to wake them as he crossed through the common room. Delie was sleeping on a chair, right in his path, but she did not stir. His passage was unimpeded.


    The night air outside was still; a light rain fell gently on his shoulders, and wispy clouds cast shadows over the faces of the moons. The stables stood at the edge of a slight promontory, and beyond them the drop was steep. Next to them was the farriers¡¯ cottage, where Bess and the others lived. Speke the stablemaster kept a small household. Half a dozen had come with him, farriers and stablehands and a solitary maid. Enlisting the help of some of the garrison, he and a thick-necked teamster had built an imposing cottage out of logs, roofed with sod, while Bess and the other women sheltered in the unused northern wing of Plateau Watch. Macel had enjoyed helping Speke with this; it was something to do, and a damn sight more stimulating than the predictable routine that had followed.


    Bess was sheltering beneath the stable roof when he reached her. Her eyes were rimmed red. She was quite clearly upset, but when he asked her about it she said it was because she¡¯d had a small hole in her boots, and some horse shit had managed to get in. They moved in silence to the grassland outside, to the narrow corridor of space between the stables and the cottage, where a stripped log had been set into the earth to serve as a bench. It was well-positioned; beyond the uneven fence the Easterwood rose tall, and from here they could see it well.


    Bess drank most of the cider. She snatched the bottle as soon as Macel produced it, and would have downed the whole thing in one go if he hadn¡¯t asked her to save some for him. And then she talked. ¡°Elly used to like the horses,¡± she said. ¡°They used to race them in the fields behind our house; she¡¯d beg me to pick her up and set her in the tree so she could watch them going by. After she¡¯d gone, the sight of a horse made me sick inside.¡±


    ¡°How did you end up doing a job like this?¡±


    Bess shrugged. ¡°Have you ever been to Lakestable?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of Lakestable.¡±


    She laughed. ¡°You and everybody else. The name says it all. You grow up in Lakestable, you either work with horses or boats. I liked boats even less. Besides, dad always said I didn¡¯t have the strength to row. Anyway, it wasn¡¯t so bad. A couple of days in the stable and the horses didn¡¯t bother me anymore.¡±


    They watched the stars together for a few minutes. Rather, Bess watched the stars. Macel watched her nostrils, the way they flared every time she breathed. Sometimes, she¡¯d manage to line a breath up perfectly with the harrumphing of one of the horses.


    She ran an idle thumb along the top of one of the fence-posts. ¡°Do you ever feel like coming here was a mistake? I hated home, I couldn¡¯t wait to get away. Now I¡¯m on the opposite side of the universe and all I can think about is everything I love about home.¡±


    ¡°If it makes you feel better, you¡¯re not on the opposite side of the universe,¡± said Macel. ¡°Just the galaxy.¡±


    Bess nodded sarcastically. ¡°That makes all the difference. Thanks. Have you got any more cider?¡±


    ¡°Not tonight.¡±


    ¡°At home there was always more cider. That was the best thing about it. All the fields outside Lakestable were filled with great big orchards¡ªsome of them went on for miles, just thousands of apple trees. Every second house had a press. If apples weren¡¯t your thing, it was time to start looking for somewhere else to live. We used to have this festival, the Matilda Feast it was called. I think it was religious once, but nowadays it¡¯s just an excuse to eat a lot and drink even more.¡± She laughed. ¡°One time, this old lady made an idol of Matilda out of old wood and scraps¡ªreally impressive, must have been a year¡¯s worth of work.¡±


    ¡°It sounds amazing,¡± said Macel.


    Bess nodded. ¡°It was. And then someone hooked it up to a keg, so every time a new cup was poured it looked like she was pissing into the glass.¡±


    ¡°You should have a Matilda Feast here, when the time comes. People love eating and drinking. Shit, you can do anything you want to. This is our chance to start again. Keep the bits of home you miss and let the bad bits wither away in your mind.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s strange.¡± Her smile burned away. ¡°When I¡¯m alone with the horses, I find myself thinking about all the things I used to do when I was home, all the places I used to visit. I took it all for granted. I was happy there sometimes, truly I was. But I lumped it all in with Mother and Father, and I begged to leave. I begged Speke to take me with him, like the idiot I am. I¡¯ll never go home again.¡±


    He squeezed her hand. It was warm and soft, and it brought a smile back to her eyes. ¡°You¡¯re far too young and beautiful to say ¡®never¡¯,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s not like we¡¯re here for life.¡±


    ¡°I am.¡± That was the last thing she¡¯d said all night, but she sat there in silence for a few hours as the rain grew heavier and then subsided. He sat with her the whole time, so she wouldn¡¯t be alone¡ªand when the wind blew a gale, they dashed across the yard together, giggling all the way, and warmed themselves in front of Master Speke¡¯s crackling hearth. It was the small hours of the morning by the time he got back to his bed. He¡¯d sunk onto the mattress anticipating some good hours, but he wasn¡¯t as lucky as all that.


    A knocking on his door woke Macel. Hot, still air had settled in the room, without a hint of a breeze. He shifted to find a cool patch of bed. ¡°I¡¯m sleeping,¡± he said, without even opening his eyes. If he kept them shut he could hold on to the sleep inside. But the knock came again, and again.


    ¡°Ignore me if you want,¡± came Sam¡¯s voice through the elm door. ¡°But your girlfriend wants you, and if you keep her waiting much longer I¡¯m going to have to make a move on her myself.¡±


    That got him out of bed.


    ¡°You¡¯ve missed breakfast,¡± Sam muttered, as Macel joined him in the hallway outside the bedchambers. ¡°Shit, you¡¯re going to miss lunch too if you don¡¯t hurry up.¡±


    ¡°Where¡¯s the Lieutenant?¡± Usually if somebody didn¡¯t turn up for breakfast, Lieutenant Bennett would have them dragged bodily out of bed and forced to eat their rations still in their sweat-soaked nightclothes.


    Sam shrugged. ¡°She rode out with the Sergeant at first light. I don¡¯t believe she¡¯s back yet.¡± It wasn¡¯t the first time she¡¯d done this. A week or so back, she¡¯d requisitioned a horse from Speke¡¯s stables¡ªa grey filly named after the heroine Berengue of the lilacs¡ªand not returned until after dusk. Bess had been furious. She¡¯d had to wait at the stables for the Lieutenant¡¯s return, so she could make sure  Berengue the filly was properly stabled for the night.


    If Lieutenant Bennett was gone, Macel needed not worry about her wrath today.


    The height of summer was the height of discomfort. In the three minutes it took Macel to cross the fort¡¯s rear courtyard, dark patches of sweat had appeared in the pits of his arms.


    Issy Cutler was tilling at the soil inside the low stone wall between the fort and Speke¡¯s courtyard. A cotton blouse lay discarded atop the wall, and she had only a brassiere for her modesty. Greg Fentiman was crouched behind the wall, peering over to get a good look at Issy¡¯s bare body. Macel called out to Fentiman: ¡°A fine morning, isn¡¯t it, Greg?¡±


    Fentiman ducked quickly behind the wall... but not quickly enough. Cutler caught sight of him and whipped him with her sweat-drenched blouse. ¡°Is your life so empty that you have to perv on me?¡± she asked. ¡°Go on, before I fetch Sergeant Malleston.¡±


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Fentiman scuttled away, and Cutler put her blouse back on. She smiled at Macel and returned to the soil.


    There was a narrow strip between the fort and Speke¡¯s place, where a channel half a metre wide had been dug. Water trickled along it, diverted from a spring up on the southern hill; a single duckboard bridged the gap, balanced on parallel logs dug into the ground. On the other side of the board, the courtyard was floored with stone, from bricks hewn by labourers from the valley a fortnight hence.


    Bessily was perched atop the split-rail fence, right on the join between two diagonals, beating a tune on the timber with her fingers. She¡¯d woven two braids into her hair, which met as one at the nape of her neck and hung long down her back, and her face was painted with the gentlest kiss of pink. Gone were the drab brown dishabels she normally wore. In their place, she¡¯d put on a dress of powder blue, the skirt hemmed with white lace that hugged her knees, and her favourite brown boots. A small leather purse hung from a strap around her neck. She grinned at the sight of him.


    ¡°You look lovely today,¡± Macel said.


    ¡°Speke gave me the day,¡± said Bess. ¡°I thought we¡¯d spend it together.¡±


    ¡°And what would you have done if the Lieutenant couldn¡¯t spare me?¡±


    Bess poked her tongue out. ¡°You¡¯ve never done any proper work, you always say so. Why would you start today?¡±


    That wasn¡¯t strictly true. From time to time, there was a decent workload. Work parties had ascended the hills either side of Plateau Watch to fell trees and fetch the lumber. It had been difficult, especially on those days when the sun seemed determined to boil the sweat on their skin. But it was work.


    When the fences were done, there¡¯d been no need for any more wood. Every day a handful of people drew search duty. The search for Corporal Bartley, Cailie and Warner consisted of scouring the land in a particular direction, marking it on the maps¡ªor taking notes for the cartographers if it wasn¡¯t on the maps¡ªand being sure to be back by nightfall. Captain Mannam¡¯s men were taking point on the search, but the Lord Constable was fairly laid back when it came to who did what, and he¡¯d never complained about the Plateau Watch garrison mucking in. His Lieutenant, Baxendale, would pop along to the Watch every week or so to receive any updates on the situation.


    Those not on search duty were given busywork that was either tedious or pointless, often both. Two days earlier, Macel had spent an hour picking stones out of the dirt. At the end of the hour, he¡¯d found only a dozen stones, the largest no wider than a two-bushel coin. Under Bennett¡¯s instruction, he¡¯d thrown the stones back into the dirt when he was done, so the next person would have something to do.


    At least he was still getting paid for it.


    Still, he¡¯d also be paid for spending the day with Bessily. And it would be considerably more fun.


    He hoisted himself up on the fence beside her. ¡°What did you have in mind?¡±


    Bess jumped down, smoothing down her dress as she turned to him. ¡°Follow me,¡± she said, smiling, and she was off. Macel caught up to her as she jumped off the duckboard, running south along the channel and cutting over the edge of the hills.


    The woodlands started sparse a dozen feet from Plateau Watch¡¯s outer wall, scrappy trees at first but thickening imperceptibly until the sun had to work to get to them and the guards on the wall could have no hope of seeing them. Bess ran until she was deep in these woods, brushing the stems of high-reaching flowers with her outstretched hands as she went.


    At some point she disappeared behind a tree. Macel had glanced away from her for a second, perhaps to make sure he didn¡¯t run at speed into a tree himself, and when he looked back she was gone.


    ¡°Bess! Bess, where are you?¡± His voice rebounded through the trees, echoing back at him. Only a brave mettysnatcher, watching him from a nearby branch, replied¡ªa chitter-chatter as it scampered down the trunk of the tree and into a burrow somewhere. He kept his distance. Small mammals were not to be trusted. He¡¯d embarrassed himself on the Merrowain Heights, the only man in history to lose a fight to a marten. Uncle Lynal had had to finish the bastard off, while Macel had lain on the ground clutching a bloodied arm. He wouldn¡¯t embarrass himself like that again. Not in front of Bess.


    He called again. ¡°Bess, if you¡¯re hiding, I give up.¡±


    Nothing, at first. And then he heard a faint voice. ¡°I¡¯m just up here,¡± she said.


    ¡°I can¡¯t see you,¡± he shouted, walking slowly. The ground was uneven, and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt himself. Dead vegetation crunched beneath his shoes, and a fly came to drink of the sweat on his face. He swatted at the fly, which flew away.


    Bess giggled. ¡°Why did you hit yourself?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t,¡± said Macel. ¡°It was a bug. Look, where are you?¡±


    ¡°Look to your right.¡±


    He did, and there she was. He wasn¡¯t quite sure how he¡¯d missed her. She was sat on a fallen log, thick with moss. The dead bark came away on her dress as she stood. She turned her back to him. ¡°Can you brush all that crap off?¡±


    Macel brushed a load of the big chunks away, but most of it was stuck to her bottom. He hesitated. ¡°Are you sure you want me to?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just an arse, Macel, it won¡¯t bite you.¡±


    He tried to be as gentle as he could rubbing all the mess away, but that was easier said than done. The moss had made the bark wet, and some of the smaller bits had stuck fast to Bessily¡¯s clothes. By the end he was picking individual lumps off and dropping them to the ground.


    ¡°You can¡¯t run off like that,¡± said Macel, as Bess strained to examine the state of her dress. ¡°I¡¯d hate to lose you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a dog,¡± she said, ¡°and anyway, you found me. Not many would have bothered.¡±


    ¡°A girl like you is worth finding,¡± he said.


    Bess scoffed. ¡°You want to explain that to my parents?¡±


    They walked for most of the morning, Bess leading the way through the trees as though she¡¯d walked it a hundred times before. She didn¡¯t run off again, in fairness, but Macel could see her growing impatient whenever the pace slowed down. In untouched woodland, that was often. Fallen trees remained where they landed, blocking the way without discrimination, and brambles grew thickly in places. All of this seemed to miss Bess, but it was right there a few seconds later when Macel made to follow her.


    ¡°Remind me where we¡¯re going,¡± he said, when his stomach rumbled for the third time. He could feel his legs beginning to cramp. They must have been walking for three hours by now, or more. Did Bessily have infinite stamina? She¡¯d not actually told him where they were going in the first place, nor had she given any hint as they¡¯d traipsed through the woods.


    She turned to him with a look of withering impatience, the sort a parent might give to a child three years behind in their development. ¡°We have a job,¡± she said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.


    ¡°And we had to walk there? I thought you worked with horses.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re going to the lake, Macel,¡± she said. ¡°Do you think a horse could handle this terrain? They could fall and break a leg. This is dangerous ground.¡±


    ¡°But it¡¯s fine for us?¡±


    ¡°Well, you¡¯re dispensible,¡± she said, with a mirthful face.


    He laughed at the joke. ¡°It¡¯s nice to know how you really feel about me.¡±


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t be sensitive,¡± said Bess. ¡°Come on, we should be speeding up. The sun¡¯s nearly at its height.¡±


    ¡°Surely we could have gone around the woods,¡± said Macel. ¡°I bet that would have been quicker.¡±


    Bess shook her head. ¡°No. This is the way.


    The lake was one of those topics which had endured despite nobody in Plateau Watch being especially interested in discussing it. Matt Grogan reckoned he¡¯d been the one to discover it, sitting just feet away from a cliff edge and the Eia Valley below. He¡¯d gone wandering after a night of drinking, so he said, and ended up there by accident. Everyone else agreed that Matt Grogan was full of shit, and it had been Jackson¡¯s cartographers who¡¯d found it.


    Bess stopped abruptly.


    ¡°Give me some warning next time you¡¯re going to stop,¡± said Macel, ¡°otherwise I¡¯ll keep bumping into you.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re going the wrong way.¡±


    ¡°What? How do you know?¡±


    She pointed at a big tree with a bowed trunk, a little way behind them, which was shedding viridian foliage with each gust of wind. The trunk was coated from top to bottom in soft moss. ¡°Moss grows on the south side. We¡¯re meant to be going south, the moss should be behind us.¡±


    He squinted. ¡°How do you know these things?¡±


    ¡°I spent my adolescence wandering,¡± she said. ¡°I figured I should learn how to find my way back. Speke reckons I should be with the orienteering corps.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t think there was an orienteering corps.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I told him.¡± Bess jogged past Macel, back almost exactly the way they¡¯d come. ¡°It¡¯s this way, I think.¡± She veered slightly to the right, rather than retracing their steps exactly, and before long they were moving through a dense blanket of trees. Little brown mettysnatchers with big black eyes skittered across the branches, and birds with the most delightful plumages of azure and ruby and salmon sang their twittering refrains in nests. The distant caterwauling of a grimalkin rang out amidst the trees. That put Macel on edge, but the cries never got louder.


    Before long they had a good game going. Whenever Macel spotted another creature he¡¯d never seen before, he¡¯d point it out to Bess, who would come up with a name for it. The snow-white birds who made their nests amidst the lilac leaves of the tall, crooked oaks were bemenels. Those chestnut-furred scamps who poked their heads out from behind the thickets that lined the ground for long enough to snatch a mouthful of fruit weren¡¯t called mettysnatchers at all, according to Bess¡ªthey were solliers. Macel wanted to catch her out, to get her to name the same animal twice. Often he¡¯d point out things he¡¯d already shown her. Every time, she named them correctly.


    ¡°You aren¡¯t going to trick me,¡± she said. ¡°So stop trying.¡±


    The forest they walked through had a deceptively steep incline. It looked like nothing more than a gentle slope, the kind that could be breezed through without any noticeable effort. If it was as easy as it looked, Macel wouldn¡¯t have been exhausted before they were even nearly to the edge. ¡°I¡¯m shattered,¡± he said, leaning against a rugged boulder. ¡°This has beaten me. I don¡¯t think we¡¯re supposed to find the lake.¡±


    ¡°Then how do you explain that?¡± Bess was pointing through a tiny gap in the trees, through which the sun was shining brightly. There, unmistakeable, was the glint of water, warm and inviting.


    ¡°You said we had a job,¡± said Macel, as they walked through those trees towards the water. ¡°What job?¡±


    Bess stopped walking for long enough to flash him an enigmatic smile. ¡°Treasure hunting.¡±


    ¡°Treasure hunting. Right. Mundane stuff then.¡± He traipsed after her. ¡°Here was me thinking you wanted to have a picnic.¡± He groaned inwardly. Treasure was usually gaudy, useless stuff, not worth the effort to dig for. How was that any different to the pebble-searching he¡¯d done for Lieutenant Bennett?


    Between the woods and the lake, the grass sat at a gentle incline, fifty metres of the purest green. Flowers grew in every colour¡ªbellflowers and amaranths, starfire and strawflowers. They combined in a heady perfume, strong enough to smell even away from the places they grew thickest.


    Just short of the lake shore, Bess found a small boulder of sun-bleached rock upon which to sit. She removed her boots and socks, leaving them behind on the rock, and waded into the water. Macel loitered a while at the boulder, watching her.


    ¡°Hurry up,¡± she said; by now, she was knee-deep in the water, which nipped at the hem of her skirt and darkened the material. ¡°It¡¯ll be sunset soon.¡±


    ¡°Is it cold? The water?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s toasty.¡±


    That was enough to set his mind at ease. He stepped forward, and at once discovered the lie. Beneath the surface, the water was frigid. ¡°You¡¯re a bloody liar,¡± he said, gasping.


    Bess shrugged. She crouched down and started to dig at the sandy lake floor with a finger. Loosened silt swirled around her. Macel watched in bemusement, until suddenly she grasped at the sand.


    ¡°What have you found?¡±


    Bess looked at him. ¡°Nothing. False alarm.¡±


    A dark pebble was captive in her fist. ¡°What¡¯s that, then?¡± Macel said.


    ¡°It¡¯s just a stupid stone,¡± she said. ¡°I thought perhaps it was something different.¡± She dropped the pebble with a splash. ¡°Look, are you going to help? It¡¯ll take me longer if I¡¯m searching on my own.¡±


    ¡°I just don¡¯t see the point,¡± said Macel. But he began to rummage around anyway. Once he¡¯d got used to it, the water wasn¡¯t actually that bad. It was clear, with just a hint of blue to it. He did wish he¡¯d thought to take his socks off first, though. They would be uncomfortable on the walk back to Plateau Watch.


    He looked over to Bess, who was practically lying in the water. Her reward, for having the foresight to go in with bare feet, was the attention of tiny little fishes, no bigger than a bug. They¡¯d swarmed around her toes. Every now and then she¡¯d shake a foot around. The fish scattered when she did, some of them in Macel¡¯s direction, but they found no reward, so before long they came back to her.


    So there were at least some upsides to his idiocy.


    He didn¡¯t see anything but sand, and rock beneath it. ¡°Tell me what we¡¯re looking for, at least,¡± he said. ¡°Otherwise I¡¯ve got no chance.¡±


    ¡°An idol,¡± said Bess.


    ¡°An idol?¡±


    ¡°A carved figure. The Willow Queen.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the Willow Queen?¡±


    Bess shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I¡¯ve never read anything about a Willow Queen.¡±


    ¡°Then how will we know when we¡¯ve found her?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t imagine there are too many idols in the lake.¡±


    Macel laughed. ¡°Why should there be any at all?¡±


    Bess pouted. ¡°I don¡¯t know why, I just know that there are. She told me.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°The moonlight woman.¡±


    Macel laughed again. ¡°The moonlight woman? Bess, is this some sort of trick? Have you got Sam and Delie hiding behind a tree somewhere, ready to come out and laugh at me as soon as I start to dig around in this?¡±


    She pursed her lips. ¡°It¡¯s not a trick,¡± she said.


    ¡°Then who¡¯s the moonlight woman, and why does she sound like something out of a ghost story for little children?¡±


    Bess paled. ¡°Ella,¡± she said, after a few seconds¡¯ silence. ¡°You know Ella Trang?¡±


    He did, albeit only vaguely. She¡¯d shared a floor of the tenement with Bess and Delie, and once or twice she was even around when Macel visited. Delie said she was a biologist, or studying, and always busy working. ¡°I know Ella,¡± he said. ¡°How does she know there¡¯s a carved figure here?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d have to ask her,¡± said Bess.


    He chuckled. ¡°I¡¯ll take your word for it.¡± He was still doubtful that there¡¯d be even one idol here. If Bess came to think that there were lots of them, she¡¯d probably want to come and search for more every day until the end of time. That wasn¡¯t his idea of a good time. There was no limit to the other, more fun things they could be doing instead¡ªeven just sitting next to the water with a good basket of lunch would be a better use of his day.


    They continued their search until dusk, without any joy. Macel was the first to give up, a full hour before Bess did. He¡¯d eaten nothing, and his stomach was punishing him for it. The day had already been wasted, so he figured he might as well enjoy some of it. He sat on the grass beside the water, nursing pruned fingers, with his socks and boots laid out beside him in the hopes that the sun might dry them at least a little bit before he had to put them back on.


    Eventually, Bess had had enough. She sighed and trudged out of the lake, dripping water, her purse held tight to her. She was a sight to see. Her clothes were soaked through, to the point of transparency. Macel looked away from her as often as he could; it was too easy otherwise for his gaze to slip and catch a full view of her breasts, not even slightly concealed by three layers of outerwear. She shivered in the still air.


    ¡°Did you find anything?¡± he asked, looking south towards the valley.


    ¡°No. But there¡¯s something. I swear it. We¡¯ll have to come back tomorrow. I¡¯ll have a word with Speke, I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll let me have another day¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not coming back tomorrow,¡± said Macel, ¡°and neither are you. There¡¯s nothing here, Bess. You¡¯re wasting your time.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s an idol¡ª¡±


    ¡°And who put it there? Idols don¡¯t just come into being. Somebody needs to carve them, and we¡¯re the first people here. Whoever the Willow Queen is, Ella Trang is pulling your leg.¡±


    She sighed. ¡°I suppose you¡¯re right,¡± she said. ¡°But she said.¡± Her face was set resolute, hardened by disappointment, a rare scowl etched on her brow.


    Macel said nothing. Instead he offered her his coat, to give her some semblance of modesty, and started the long walk home. Bess, thankfully, took the lead before he¡¯d got very far. Without her, he¡¯d probably have got completely lost.

 23. The Figure of a Queen

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Caroline ~


    ¡°You¡¯ll have to keep the weight off the thumb for a while.¡± Caro peered over her clipboard at the patient of the day, a hefty soldier with red-stained teeth by the name of Rawlinson. He¡¯d come in with a cut on the back of his hand, just at the base of the thumb. The cut had been red and infected. Caro had somehow not noticed this. She was about to discharge Rawlinson when Lily Day, ever observant, spotted the error.


    They¡¯d kept him in for three days, plied with antiseptics. Now, at last, the swelling of the hand had mostly subsided. Only a slight tenderness remained in Rawlinson¡¯s thumb. It didn¡¯t look like being any cause for concern. By coincidence, Caro was once again paired with Lily today. She had gaunt cheeks and slender fingers, but she wasn¡¯t skinny. And while her face was always perfectly made-up in the morning, she never seemed to care if it got smudged in the course of her work. ¡°Proof of a hard day,¡± she called it.


    ¡°Lil, go with Corporal Rawlinson, and make sure Delphine fills out the discharge form properly.¡± Delphine Janley often had her mind on other things. It caused an administrative headache when half of the boxes in a form hadn¡¯t been filled in, and half of the others were clearly wrong.


    Lily led Rawlinson away, towards the reception desk. When they were gone, Caro ripped off the plastic gloves she¡¯d worn and cast them into a waste bin. Hang the bloody things, she thought. All they did was make her hands sweaty. That, and reduce the spread of lethal infections.


    At the end of the bed that Rawlinson had slept in, tied around one of the metal posts, was a green ribbon. The edges were lightly frayed; in one area, a small tear had developed. Lily had brought the ribbon in with Rawlinson¡¯s dinner, the first night of his stay here. She¡¯d tied it in place and left it there. He wasn¡¯t the first to have received this treatment. Since Jem had passed away, at least a dozen ribbons had cropped up. They spanned the gamut of colours, all in pristine condition when they were first appended to the beds.


    ¡°It¡¯s a nice touch is all,¡± Lily explained, when Caro had questioned her on it. ¡°When that poor man died, I couldn¡¯t help but think how ugly the whole place was. It¡¯s so sterile and grey. If I was going to die in a hospital bed, I¡¯d like to at least get to see a splash of colour in my last days.¡± She¡¯d got the idea, so she claimed, from the memoirs of an old war nurse who had used coloured strips of card to distinguish between soldiers of different battalions, so that she knew what to talk about when she tended to them to make them feel like they had a friend.


    ¡°She died of cholera,¡± Caro had said, knowing exactly which war nurse Lily was referring to. ¡°She caught the disease because she spent so much time talking to sick patients.¡±


    Lily had smiled. ¡°We don¡¯t have cholera anymore. Isn¡¯t it so incredibly selfish to leave these people in misery when they¡¯re unwell, just because we¡¯re scared they might make us sick for a while?¡±


    Since then, Caro had grappled on and off with the idea. There was a part of her¡ªthe core, that soft heart of hers that had fired her through the hardest days of the academy¡ªthat understood exactly what Lily was saying. They were the medics, after all. Risking her life if need be to make people better was just a part of the job she¡¯d signed up for. But then again, the cynical side of her always argued, a doctor needs to be there for everybody. If she were to get sick making one patient feel slightly more at ease, there would be dozens more who she¡¯d be simply unable to treat.


    She¡¯d never settled on her answer. If it comes to it, I¡¯ll go with my gut, she resolved. For now, there was no need to do anything other than what she¡¯d always done¡ªto treat everybody who entered her hospital with the same respect and attention.


    Lily returned to the room just as Caro was untying the ribbon from the bed. As she pulled at it, she noticed the way it caught the light. It seemed almost to glint. Looking closer, she saw that in amidst the green, tiny strips of golden fibre had been woven.


    ¡°I love the colours on this one,¡± she said, handing the ribbon to Lily. ¡°You¡¯ll have to tell me where you got it from.¡±


    Lily put the ribbon away in the pocket of her tunic. ¡°It¡¯s pretty, isn¡¯t it? Rare fabric. Cost a bushel or two, from some market in Tallaske, and that just for an offcut. They were selling it by the sheet, but I didn¡¯t have a small planet to pay for it with, so I just got this.¡±


    ¡°But why?¡±


    ¡°I like my ribbons,¡± said Lily. ¡°And I didn¡¯t have that one. The old crone who sold it reckons it¡¯s a lucky cut. Perhaps some of that luck will rub off on me, but if not at least I get something pretty out of the deal.¡± As if suddenly remembering it, Lily passed a piece of paper to Caro, who took it. ¡°Phina got it all right this time, if you¡¯ll believe that,¡± she said. ¡°Even spelt ¡®discharge¡¯ right.¡±


    They¡¯d all laughed at Delphine¡¯s most egregious error, when a woman with a sinus infection received ¡®the scourge¡¯ papers. ¡®The Scourge¡¯ had briefly become Delphine¡¯s nickname, said as a warning herald whenever she approached. She never laughed at it, or indeed reacted at all, and it quickly lost its humour.


    Caro thanked Lily and took the paper to her office, leaving the nurse to clean up Rawlinson¡¯s bed and mark it as empty on the system.


    Her office was the centrepiece of the admin block, an octagonal room with walls of frosted glass around which the other doctors had their rooms. The door had a magnetic lock, a complex electrical system requiring a passcode to open. She¡¯d never bothered with the initial set-up, so the magnetic lock was always disengaged. Instead, she secured her office with a good old-fashioned key. It lived in her boot. She figured that if anybody wanted to break in, they¡¯d devote all their energy into trying to find out a code that didn¡¯t exist. Who would think of forcibly removing her shoes for a physical object?


    Inside, the office was always perfectly tidy. Caro preferred to work on the wards rather than secluding herself away. She only came to the office when she needed to do something in particular, so what was the point in making a mess? Easier just to seek out any paperwork she needed and return it to its proper position.


    The exception was Rawlinson¡¯s file. She remembered staying late to fill it in, at the end of a long day. One of the nurses had distracted her with a call for assistance¡ªover something trivial, it turned out, but she¡¯d not known it at the time. She¡¯d left Rawlinson¡¯s file on her desk and rushed to see what was going on, pausing only to lock the door behind her. She never forgot to lock the door. How could she? She had to take off her boot to get into the office, so she¡¯d made it a habit to leave the foot bare until she was done. Putting the boot back on would remind her to lock the door¡ªand surely Janna would have commented if she¡¯d turned up half-shod. In any case, the key had still been with her just now. If she¡¯d forgotten to lock the door behind her as she left, the key would have been still sitting on her desk.


    By the time she was done helping Janna Davis, it was well past time to clock off. So she¡¯d gone straight home, rather than traipse all the way back up to the admin block just to put a folder away. She hadn¡¯t been back to her office since. Rawlinson¡¯s file should have been on her desk, where she left it. Instead her desk was clear.


    So where was it?


    Immediately her mind began to race. Had somebody broken in? Somehow stolen the key? How could they? She still had the key on her. It would take a particularly capable thief to steal something from inside her shoe while she was wearing it, without her noticing. In any case, who would want to steal a file? If Rupert or Emmeline or Tema needed something from her office, they¡¯d only have to ask.


    Unless they didn¡¯t want her to know.


    What was it Emmeline had told her? ¡°Staniforth¡¯s after your job.¡± It would make sense if he¡¯d tried to sneak a look at her files without advertising the fact.


    No. She shook her head, for the benefit of nobody. Rupert Staniforth wouldn¡¯t do that. None of the doctors would. They were good people, all of them.


    On a whim, she took a detour via Staniforth¡¯s office, once she¡¯d made sure to lock her own. The lights were off, as they should be. Staniforth wasn¡¯t working today. On the code panel beside his door, an amber circle flashed off and on. Caro glanced right to the next door along, Edith Sinclair¡¯s office. That panel was in darkness. Too, Tema Caerlin¡¯s to the left. Only Staniforth¡¯s was lit.


    The door, she noticed suddenly. It¡¯s not closed properly. Whether it had been deliberately done or not she couldn¡¯t tell, but Staniforth hadn¡¯t latched it fully shut. The magnetic lock wouldn¡¯t have engaged. Tentatively, she pushed at the door. It slid silently inwards. The sanctum within was open to her. Staniforth was evidently not such a stickler for tidiness. Piles of paper adorned both his desk and the floor around it, all scattered about wherever they lay. The waste bin in the corner of the room was overflowing, and a pile of plastic cups had begun to form in its wake, each bearing the telltale brown droplets of a cup that had once held cola.


    She crept over to Staniforth¡¯s desk, aware that if somebody were to chance upon her here she¡¯d have no reason for her intrusion. As expected, Rawlinson¡¯s file was right there, sitting atop a pile of papers in the very corner which looked untouched. Caro helped herself to the file. If Staniforth were to miss it, he¡¯d have no way to complain without admitting to having been in her office, so she knew he¡¯d drop it.


    Caro was about to leave when another item caught her eye. A small leather-bound notebook lay on the desk. Upon a label stuck haphazardly to the front, the words ¡®Doctor C Ballard¡ªobservations¡¯ were written. She felt a surge of the white-hot rage. How dare Staniforth keep a book about her? Taken by curiosity, she peeled back the first few pages.


    The contents inside were neatly written. Staniforth had an immaculate print, and he seemed to stick rigidly to invisible gridlines. Each entry was in a different colour too, alternating between blue ink and green, red and orange. The format was the same each time. A date, a time, a scathing comment. ¡°Doctor Ballard exceeded the regulation time in conversation with a junior orderly¡±; ¡°Doctor Ballard¡¯s inability to observe time manifested itself today by her absence from the hospital¡±; ¡°Doctor Ballard conducted an autopsy without prior authorisation, and in the presence of an unqualified nurse assistant, and further failed to complete the autopsy before leaving¡±. Every mistake Caroline had made, big or small, was noted here in infuriating detail. How could Staniforth be so attentive when it came to what she was doing, and yet not apply the same standards to his own work? She was often correcting his poorly-filled-in forms, and she knew she wasn¡¯t alone in doing so.


    Some god of mischief took hold of her. With a smirk on her face, she took a pen from Staniforth¡¯s desk and added another entry to the bottom of the list, taking great pain to write the date and time exactly. ¡°Doctor Ballard caught wind of my attempts to undermine her authority,¡± she wrote, ¡°and was magnanimous enough not to report me to the Governor for working contrary to the oath I swore¡±.


    Let Staniforth have a moan about that, she thought. See what the Council thinks about grubs like him.


    She left the pen atop the book and made her exit, folder still in hand.


    She met Viola Watling as she came down the grand staircase.


    ¡°Doctor Ballard,¡± said Viola, panting. ¡°I¡¯ve been looking for you. There¡¯s a woman asking at reception for you.¡±


    ¡°A woman?¡±


    As they walked side by side, Viola nodded. ¡°Bethany, I think she said her name was.¡±


    Stolen story; please report.


    Caro regarded Viola with furrowed brow. ¡°Might it perhaps have been Bessily?¡±


    ¡°Yep.¡± This time, Viola nodded with more gusto. ¡°That was it. Say, you¡¯re popular of late. That¡¯s the second time you¡¯ve had someone asking for you.¡±


    Caro swung her head to Viola so sharply she thought she might have given herself whiplash. ¡°Who else was asking for me, sweet?¡± She hoped she sounded casual.


    ¡°Some man,¡± said Viola. ¡°He didn¡¯t give his name. Strange man, breathing really heavily. Sounded like he was just about to cough his guts out. This was a week or so ago.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t come to find me?¡±


    Viola shook her head. ¡°You weren¡¯t here. He didn¡¯t like it when I told him, said he¡¯d wait until you showed up.¡±


    That was definitely strange enough behaviour to rule out it having been someone she knew. Chris wouldn¡¯t have waited, nor Ian Fitzhenry. They¡¯d have sought her out elsewhere, or found people who¡¯d know where to find her. Not even Edward Ruddingshaw would go to that extreme. Why Master Ruddingshaw would want to speak to her she couldn¡¯t fathom, but he seemed to enjoy her company. Whenever she didn¡¯t go to a Council meeting, Ruddingshaw found opportunity to ask where she was. But Master Ruddingshaw was just an old man. He acted like a grandfather towards Caro, on those infrequent occasions when the two interacted at all. And he was sufficiently by the book that Caro didn¡¯t doubt he¡¯d give his name immediately when asked.


    So who was waiting to speak to her? ¡°Nobody came to me,¡± she said. ¡°Are you sure this man said he¡¯d wait for me?¡±


    Viola nodded. ¡°He did, me and Cherry made a joke about it. But then he was gone.¡±


    ¡°Gone?¡±


    ¡°Gone. He was sat in the waiting room, and then he wasn¡¯t anymore. Neither of us noticed him go.¡± Viola stopped suddenly. ¡°I should have said something, Doctor Ballard. I¡¯m so sorry, it completely slipped my mind.¡±


    ¡°Something special must have happened to make you forget about that,¡± said Caro. She wasn¡¯t angry, though perhaps she should have been. No strange man had accosted her. If anybody did, the personal security detail assigned to her and Chris was just a word away. If she asked, they¡¯d follow her so closely they¡¯d be atomically bonded to her shadow, and any untoward characters straying too close would receive a savage beating.


    To her surprise, Viola flushed. ¡°It¡¯s embarrassing,¡± she said, shuffling her feet.


    ¡°I¡¯m not here to judge.¡±


    ¡°I went to the Tavern, after my shift. Got a bit drunk¡ªa lot drunk, really¡ªand... I didn¡¯t mean to kiss Phina, we were sat next to each other and we turned our heads at the same time and the next thing I know she was all over me.¡± Viola was rushing herself. The words blended together into one as she spoke. ¡°I don¡¯t like girls. Not in that way. It was just because I was drunk, and I wasn¡¯t really thinking clearly, and Phina had this gorgeous honeysuckle perfume on, but I couldn¡¯t stop thinking about her all night. I still can¡¯t look at her without blushing a bit.¡±


    Caro laughed. ¡°Love¡¯s a tricky thing, and it doesn¡¯t really make any sense.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not love,¡± said Viola. ¡°I don¡¯t love¡­ I can¡¯t¡­ Not with a woman.¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t have to be love. The emotions are the same.¡± She hadn¡¯t loved Chris to begin with, not at all. He was just another one of the Borrowood crew, a friend of Armand and Tessa who had allowed Caro to enter his life when she was half the height of everybody else. One day, when she was about twelve years old, she¡¯d found herself thinking more and more about him. She¡¯d made excuses to be near him, overslept and been late for school because he¡¯d featured in a dream she was having and she didn¡¯t want to wake up. Only later had she realised that she was obsessed with Chris, when Dani Carrigan asked her why she had a notebook full of doodles, the redhead girl and the brown-haired boy hand in hand, each one signed ¡®Caroline Ballard¡¯.


    That was a decade before she¡¯d said the vows, and been able to sign her name as ¡®Caroline Ballard¡¯ for real for the first time.


    ¡°Tell you what, Viola, I¡¯ll have a look at swapping some shifts around. That way you won¡¯t be paired with Delphine for a while, until it stops being awkward.¡±


    Viola smiled thinly. ¡°You¡¯re too kind, Doctor Ballard.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not kind, sweet, I just don¡¯t want you being distracted. You don¡¯t work as well when your mind¡¯s elsewhere.¡±


    When they came to the reception, she found Bessily Edwards stood waiting beside the desk, hands interlocked in front of her skirt, while Delphine Janley kept herself busy with a nailfile. Viola melted away at some point, before either of the women in reception spied her.


    ¡°Mistress Ballard,¡± said Bessily, her face lighting up when she saw Caro. ¡°You said to find you if I needed somebody to talk to.¡±


    Caro nodded. ¡°Come with me,¡± she said, putting an arm around Bessily and spinning her around. ¡°There are far nicer places to talk than this.¡±


    The Clearwater was just such a place. The principal river running through the valley, much of the little town was centred on it. Large swathes of both banks were undeveloped still, patches of greenery where people would sit and talk, or else enjoy a picnic together. A group of women in identical grey smocks, each with a white cotton bonnet affixed on their heads, curtsied at Caroline as she passed, Bessily beside her.


    They came to a halt at an area a half-mile north of the Eia. Here, the Clearwater curved sharply to steer around a raised hillock; the result was a small secluded area, a shale beach hemmed in by trees and grass. Caro removed her shoes and balled up her tights into the left one, and wandered barefoot to the water. Something about the coolness lapping at her toes was intensely peaceful.


    Despite her coaxing, Bessily wouldn¡¯t join her. She stood at the very edge of the river¡¯s reach, just close enough for the soles of her boots to be wet, and spoke from there.


    ¡°I had a dream the other night,¡± she said. ¡°There was a woman in it. I was sat looking out at the fields around my house¡ªthe place I lived before, there were great cornfields that went on for miles, and sometimes in the summer I¡¯d sit on the back porch and just watch the sun set over them. But I looked up, and this woman was in the clouds. Like she was watching me. A pale woman, waifish, with hair like straw.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen her,¡± Caroline murmured. ¡°Just the once.¡± Clair de Lune, she called herself. That was all she¡¯d said; for the rest of that particular dream, she¡¯d just hovered in the sky watching as Caro danced with her mother. There was a sinister spectrality to Clair de Lune. Her skin was so pale it could almost be seen through, and her feet pointed downwards as she hung still and silent in the air. Caro was glad never to have been visited by her again.


    ¡°She watches me sometimes,¡± Bessily continued. ¡°This time she spoke. She told me I needed to go to the lake.¡±


    Caro turned. ¡°And did you?¡±


    Bessily nodded, and rummaged around in the little purse she wore around her neck. ¡°The woman told me I¡¯d find this,¡± she said, producing from the purse a small figurine. She offered it out to Caro, who took it from her and held it up to the light. It was little more than six inches in height, carved out of wood. The features had been dulled, but there was no mistaking the basic shape. This was a woman, with hair down her back and a crown on her head.


    ¡°How did this get here?¡±


    ¡°The woman said I¡¯d find the Willow Queen,¡± said Bessily. ¡°I can only assume that¡¯s what this is.¡±


    ¡°The Willow Queen.¡± Caro had to sound out the name for herself. It made her lips tingle as it trickled off her tongue. Where had she heard it before?


    Vaguely, she remembered an evening at home, in the drawing room of the family manor. Nana Raine was sat in her starched armchair, looking serene as ever. Armand and Tessa had been lured to bed by the promise of sweet macaroons and warm milk, but Caroline had stayed. She wanted Nana Raine to tell her a story. Nana Raine knew all the best stories, and she told them in such a warm way. Father just read the words off a page, like it was a chore that had to be done. Mother found the stories to be too sad, even the happy ones, and always looked like she was just about to burst into tears.


    She¡¯d found some mayflowers growing in an aspen grove, and she¡¯d picked them as a gift for Nana Raine. They were in a vase behind Nana Raine¡¯s chair, soaking up the light from a little candle. She remembered the way her grandmother had looked back at the vase, and then to Caroline, and then patted on her lap, the way she always did to say that it was time for a story. Caro had perched on Nana Raine¡¯s lap, resting her head against the organdy of Nana Raine¡¯s dress, and listened to a story.


    The Willow Queen. ¡°She lived a long time ago,¡± she said aloud, telling the tale to Bessily as it came back to her. ¡°What her real name was, we don¡¯t know.¡± In truth, Caroline had an inkling that the Willow Queen had been called Isabella, but she couldn¡¯t be sure she was remembering right. ¡°Her husband was the king, and a great warrior, and she had a dozen sons, who were all just as great. One day, war came to their little kingdom. The menfolk all sailed to meet the enemy, while the women stayed behind. Only the men never reached the field of battle. Whilst they sailed on their way, a savage storm blew. The king and all his sons were strong fighters, and they could match any foe on land, but the Gods are a foe no mortal man can face, and all the martial prowess the world over meant nothing when those Gods unleashed their fury on the ships.¡±


    Bessily stepped back, away from the water, and sat leaning against the dirt bank that kept them apart from the rest of the valley. Caro followed. She found a handy perch, where the thick branch of an overhanging tree lay at just such an angle that she could sit demurely on it.


    ¡°In her village, the women wept. They wept for the king, and they wept for their husbands, and their sons. The hours became days, and days became weeks, with no sign of returning ships. The women asked the queen why she didn¡¯t weep, why she didn¡¯t mourn for those who had been lost. And the queen replied that they weren¡¯t truly lost. To prove it, she lit a candle in the shade of a great willow tree overlooking the ocean, where the women had often sat to wait for their husbands to return.¡± Caro paused for a second, to take a breath and to steady herself. Nana Raine had done the voice for this next part. She always did the voices in her stories, so well that as a very small girl Caro had actually believed these wondrous characters were speaking.


    She wanted to capture the essence of Nana Raine¡¯s vocal talent, if she could.


    ¡°¡®This candle is our hope¡¯, said the Willow Queen. ¡®For as long as it burns still, so we will know that our men enjoy good fortune in their wars. I promise that it will burn until the ships sail back over the horizon, and every one of your husbands is returned to you.¡¯ And every night, she returned to sit beneath the great elm tree, in the light of the candle, and it never went out.¡±


    ¡°Did they come back?¡± asked Bessily. ¡°The men?¡±


    Caro had asked the same question of Nana Raine. She gave Bessily a sympathetic smile, just as Nana Raine had smiled at her those years ago. ¡°No, sweet. They were drowned in the storm, every last one of them. But the Willow Queen never gave up hope, and because of her neither did any of the other women. When at last she died, she was buried in the shade of that great willow tree. The candle was still ablaze then. If the legends are true, it burned for a hundred years after she died, until another king came along and her husband, along with all of his men, was forgotten.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a nice story,¡± Bessily murmured. ¡°But what does it have to do with me? Why is the Willow Queen floating in the lake?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a question probably best suited to somebody who isn¡¯t me,¡± said Caro. ¡°I stopped looking for the meaning in my dreams a long time ago. It¡¯ll make itself apparent, if it¡¯s something I need to know.¡± She pressed the idol into Bessily¡¯s hand. ¡°You should hold onto this. It¡¯s better in your hands.¡±


    ¡°What will I do with it?¡±


    ¡°Hide it away. Tell people it¡¯s a doll if they ask¡ªa memento from home. People won¡¯t ask, trust me.¡±


    Bessily shook her head. ¡°I can¡¯t keep it. Mistress Ballard, you know more about this stuff than me. I was meant to find it, but I don¡¯t know that I was meant to hold on to it.¡±


    She daren¡¯t take it. Chris would see it, sooner or later, and he¡¯d want to know what it was. She¡¯d tell him the truth, because he was her husband and there was nothing she wished to keep from him. But that would degenerate into an argument about the existence of Foresleepers, an argument she was not prepared to have, and it would mean telling him about Bessily. Chris would then feel obliged to present the idol to the whole Council, and then everything would be revealed. Within the week, everybody would know that she was a Foresleeper, and Bessily too.


    Caroline wasn¡¯t worried about her own life. The personal security detail she shared with Chris, Sergeant Marris and the others, would guard her devoutly. But she couldn¡¯t vouch for Bessily¡¯s safety. The girl would be miles from her protection, surrounded by soldiers of uncertain trustworthiness. It would only need one to beat her bloody in the night, and undoubtedly General Bradshaw would step in to deny that the mashed up pulp in Bessily¡¯s bed had ever been a human woman.


    ¡°I can¡¯t have it, sweet,¡± she said. ¡°If it was meant to come to me, I¡¯d have been the one to have the dream. The woman showed you for a reason.¡±


    Bessily nodded, clearly disappointed, and reluctantly put the idol back in her satchel.


    ¡°You should tell somebody,¡± said Caroline. ¡°It has to be somebody you trust with your life, because they might want to take it. But I can¡¯t always be there to look after you, and to listen to your dreams.¡±


    Bessily looked confused. ¡°You said to keep it secret.¡±


    ¡°And I meant it. This world is a dangerous place for people like you and I. It¡¯s always good to have a friend who¡¯ll look after you, just in case the worst thing possible becomes reality.¡± She put her hand on Bessily¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Take time to find the right person, you¡¯ll only get one chance. But there has to be someone. For when I¡¯m not around.¡±


    After a while, Bessily nodded, and swallowed hard. ¡°There¡¯s someone,¡± she said. ¡°He¡¯ll protect me.¡±


    ¡°And don¡¯t forget, you can always come to me. You¡¯ll be my top priority, no matter what.¡±


    Caro sat with Bessily for a while longer, neither talking. The soft flow of the river filled their ears with its gentle sound. Somewhere distant, the shrieking of laughing children carried on the air. A bird in the trees flapped its wings and cawed loudly. It could have been summertime at home, by the meandering river that they all went swimming in. She could have been fourteen again, enjoying her best years surrounded by her best friends.


    Filled with a happy melancholy, she bade farewell to Bessily, and went off to rejoin society at large.

 24. A Favour

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ David ~


    Plateau Watch was well concealed. The dusty track that led there was marked on the maps as the Northern Road, and it was easy enough to find it, but once out of the valley it seemed to take the least passable course. The road wove through forests full of trees in a variety of shapes and sizes, uneven hillocks. The topology of Essegena was in the fort¡¯s favour. The bluff it had been built on seemed to rise out of the earth without warning. Approaching from the valley, the fort itself was hidden well behind a taller promontory. And the road wasn¡¯t even well-marked. It would be easy to take a wrong turn, go too far, and wander aimlessly into the who-knows-where.


    David was glad he wasn¡¯t going alone. General Bradshaw was leading the inspection, and he¡¯d brought a dozen soldiers along with him. Not that Bradshaw was paying them any mind. He spent the entire journey silently following Sergeant Malleston, who¡¯d made the long trip once already this morning to come and meet them. No doubt Malleston, who¡¯d arrived in the valley sweat-drenched on the back of a piebald horse, would have preferred to take a few minutes to rest before starting back. Bradshaw didn¡¯t give him that option.


    It was left to David to martial the soldiers Bradshaw had ignored. They were a motley selection of spotty-faced newbies and lazy slackers, the sort who would ignore the gift of an easy assignment to complain about the length of the walk. Their junior officer was Sergeant Coburn, a bulky woman with a thick mop of titian hair that was only barely contained beneath her hat. Unlike the rest of them, she was diligent. Her uniform was immaculate¡ªeven her fingernails were tripped and shaped in accordance with regulations so obscure not even generals enforced them. Her front teeth caught on her bottom lip whenever she closed her mouth, leaving it open a shade and making her look permanently as though she was about to say something. In actual fact she was very quiet.


    ¡°What was it brought you all the way to Essegena?¡± David asked her, a short way into their journey. It would be rude not to try to make conversation.


    But try as he might, Sergeant Coburn seemed uninterested in continuing it. ¡°Same as everyone else,¡± she grunted. ¡°It¡¯s something to do.¡± That was the last time she spoke until Plateau Watch came into view on the crest of a hill.


    Immediately in front of the fort, the ground was a narrow sward of grass, flecked with wildflowers and declining into a gentle slope after some yards. A stake had been driven into the ground here. Attached to it, a crudely painted sign bore the fort¡¯s name, in shaky hand. ¡°I¡¯ll have to send a man with some stencils,¡± Bradshaw quipped, as he passed it. ¡°Nobody benefits from an unreadable sign.¡±


    At the edge of the grassland, the woods were thin. Many tree stumps dotted the landscape, outnumbering the standing trees in places. Lieutenant Bennett¡¯s men were fighting a war to claim the land from the Gods. These were the corpses left behind by their battles. Trickles of red sap had run along these trunks, staining like blood as they dried.


    There was no mystery as to the whereabouts of those trees¡¯ trunks. Soldiers in cotton vests carried them two to a trunk, glistening with sweat, and laid them in stacked pyramids in a shady yard beside the fort. David did a quick count by eye. There must have been hundreds of logs, if not thousands. Most had been stripped of their bark, sawn into quarters, dried by the sun. Lieutenant Bennett stood in the centre of the yard. Even in such an oppressive heat as this, she¡¯d not eschewed even a single piece of her uniform. Where others, the ones doing the heavy lifting, looked close to boiling point in only vests, Bennett had everything, right down to the heavy serge surcoat and the stifling kepi. She stood barefoot despite this. Apparently her feet were not beholden to the same uniform requirements as the rest of her.


    ¡°Lieutenant,¡± called Sergeant Malleston, stepping into the yard. ¡°General Bradshaw¡¯s here.¡±


    She turned, startled. ¡°General. Welcome to Plateau Watch.¡± She held her arms out wide in a sweeping gesture, reaching her fingertips to the edge of the yard. ¡°The pride of Essegena.¡±


    General Bradshaw suppressed a laugh. Poorly. ¡°Captain Clifford did warn me that you had the ego for command.¡±


    ¡°But no boots,¡± David observed. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me: you needed all the leather to build your pride?¡±


    Lieutenant Bennett flushed. ¡°I don¡¯t deal well with heat. Fresh air on my feet helps me to keep cool.¡±


    So would taking off one of your layers, David thought, but he suspected he wouldn¡¯t be the first to suggest that Lieutenant Bennett take off her overcoat at the least. It was truly a spectacular heat today. Sergeant Coburn had made them stop halfway to the Watch, so the men could refill their empty flasks from the big lake up atop the bluff. Half of those flasks were already empty now, David¡¯s included. He was desperately thirsty.


    General Bradshaw seemed to be of a similar mindset. ¡°My men have had a long walk, Lieutenant, and the day is stifling. I hope your hospitality is as grand as your walls.¡±


    Lieutenant Bennett nodded. ¡°Let me take you to the dining room,¡± she said. ¡°I had Mam Howarth lay on a spread for your arrival. There¡¯s plenty to drink, and plenty to discuss. This way.¡±


    They followed Lieutenant Bennett back out of the yard, into the full sun again. David hadn¡¯t realised what a gift the shade of the trees surrounding the lumber yard had been until the burning blaze was once again searing his skin. Bennett led them past a low, long hut of white adobe, to the wooden front of the fort itself. Here, two soldiers leaned against the timber, talking away. Neither seemed to notice Lieutenant Bennett and her procession approaching.


    ¡°Cutler. Rice. Focus. This is a fort, not a holiday.¡± Both soldiers stood with straightened backs when Lieutenant Bennett scolded them, with faces that were passing contrite. As soon as she¡¯d walked past them, both scowled at her. It was fortunate for them General Bradshaw didn¡¯t notice. His temper alone wouldn¡¯t have allowed him to suffer mockery of the officer class.


    The dining room was at the southernmost point of the fort, a right turn and a long walk down a dimly lit corridor from the front gate. It had an odd splendour to it. One wall, a long hemisphere protruding outwards to the valley, had tall boards of polished pine between its dark timber beams, each board verged with ornate decal. ¡°Our honour board,¡± said Lieutenant Bennett proudly. ¡°Whenever a Plateau Watch soldier distinguishes themselves, their name will be etched in the wood forever.¡±


    ¡°Very good,¡± said General Bradshaw. ¡°Now all you need is some names to go on there.¡±


    Bennett soured. ¡°It will take time, General,¡± she said. ¡°Essegena has all its history still to be written. Plenty of time to get names on the board.¡±


    ¡°And in the meantime your soldiers get to eat three meals a day sat before a reminder of their collective failure,¡± said Bradshaw.


    Bennett didn¡¯t seem to hold any interest in talking about the honour board any longer. She gestured to a long table running down the middle of the dining room, already laid on with huge crystal jugs filled with water. ¡°Sit,¡± she said. ¡°And I¡¯ll see where Mam Howarth¡¯s got to.¡±


    She disappeared through a small wooden door. David turned to Sergeant Malleston as he sat. ¡°Is she usually this nervous?¡±


    Sergeant Malleston¡¯s lip twitched. ¡°I was always told to say nothing if I had nothing good to say.¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll treat this in complete confidence,¡± said David, leaning closer to Malleston and quietening his voice to a whisper. ¡°But remember I¡¯m Lieutenant Bennett¡¯s superior¡ªand yours, too. So I can definitely force you to answer, if I so choose.¡±


    Malleston hemmed and hawed and eventually sat down next to David. ¡°She¡¯s all about appearances, truth be told,¡± he said. ¡°Not that she¡¯s particularly dropping the ball, but image is everything. You¡¯d see a different picture if you¡¯d come unheralded.¡±


    David frowned. ¡°How so?¡±


    ¡°The lumber yard. Most days there¡¯s only a handful on lumber duty, half a dozen tops, and normally she delegates to Corporal Leymore. Honestly, I¡¯ve not seen her in the yard before today. And the only reason she¡¯s brought everyone straight to the dining room is because it¡¯s finished. The north wing¡¯s just a frame with a roof stuck on top, not even painted yet. Not that the Lieutenant will mention that.¡±


    ¡°Nobody¡¯s expecting the place to be finished,¡± said David. ¡°I think the General was expecting to find a couple of sodhouses, so she¡¯s already exceeded his expectations massively.¡± It pained him to admit it. Part of him had hoped Lieutenant Bennett would fail hard. He wasn¡¯t sure exactly what she¡¯d done to draw his hatred, apart from being annoying in her persistence. Sometimes that was all it took.


    Sergeant Malleston smiled. ¡°Thank-you, sir.¡±


    Ah. So this was Sergeant Malleston¡¯s triumph, at least in part. Still, it hadn¡¯t fallen down. It hadn¡¯t caught fire with the loss of four-score lives. Nobody had been murdered and interred in the walls¡ªor at least there was no evidence to suggest it. Even if Plateau Watch was in exactly the same state of completion as when Lieutenant Bennett had arrived a few weeks earlier to claim her command, she was far from being the worst Lieutenant in the Unity¡¯s history. On David¡¯s first command as a Lieutenant, he¡¯d been out in the sticks, on a Malindei outpost far from any significant settlement. It was a two-week journey to Huilteir and back if anything needed repairing. Eager to make an impression, and far from eager to subject his new squad to cold showers for a fortnight, he¡¯d undertaken the repair of a faulty water pipeline by himself. The outpost had flooded. The water damage was measured in six figures, and David had nearly been demoted on the spot.


    Lieutenant Bennett emerged looking chipper. ¡°I promised food, and it¡¯ll come soon. There was a slight hiccup involving dropped glassware.¡± She¡¯d put a pair of boots on, David noticed, and she was walking with a bit of a hobble. ¡°We¡¯re well on our way to being self-sufficient. All our water is drawn from three wells in the ground around the fort, and we¡¯ve begun to sow the land south-east.¡± She pointed as if to indicate the crops she¡¯d had planted, seemingly forgetting that they were inside and thus there was a wall in the way. ¡°If we can get a good yield, a third of our food needs will be met by our own farmsteads by the first harvest.¡±


    ¡°What about the other two thirds?¡± asked General Bradshaw. ¡°The route here¡¯s not a kind one for wheeled carts. Are you planning on carrying large quantities of food all the way here from the valley by hand?¡±


    ¡°With respect, General, the connections between Plateau Watch and the valley aren¡¯t my remit.¡± Bennett had a point there. On paper, the area of her command extended very slightly beyond the walls of the fort. In practice the reach was a little larger¡ªthere was nobody within two hours of here by foot, so she was the local authority¡ªbut there were plenty of self-important men who¡¯d feel very aggrieved if she started paving a road from the valley.


    ¡°Have you had any luck locating your missing soldiers?¡± asked David.


    Bennett shook her head. ¡°No more than you have, Captain.¡±


    Sergeant Coburn spoke up. ¡°Lieutenant, I wonder if it might be possible to see your stables?¡±


    Bennett grunted. ¡°Speak to Speke.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s her response whenever somebody mentions the stables,¡± Sergeant Malleston explained, for only the ears of David and Sergeant Coburn either side of him. ¡°I can¡¯t work out if it¡¯s because she doesn¡¯t care a jot for the horses or if she just thinks the pun¡¯s funny.¡±


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°Puns are never funny,¡± Sergeant Coburn muttered, standing. ¡°Where will I find this Speke?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s usually in the stables,¡± said Sergeant Malleston. ¡°There or his cottage. Here, I¡¯ll take you.¡± Malleston rose and led Coburn out of the dining room. Bennett watched them go with piggy eyes.


    They¡¯d returned before the food Bennett had talked about. She was talking in great detail about the methods she¡¯d used to build the wall surrounding the fort¡¯s rear yard¡ªmethods, no doubt, that somebody else had suggested and implemented¡ªwhen they came in.


    ¡°Sergeant Malleston says you¡¯ve got a ghost,¡± said Coburn. ¡°I think a ghost story could do us all good.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d better not be about to tell me this place is haunted,¡± said General Bradshaw, his eyes darting around the room.


    Bennett shot Malleston a pleading look, then smiled at Bradshaw. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say that, no,¡± she said. ¡°What Sergeant Malleston means is that some of the soldiers are a bit on the superstitious side. They make up stories, over their nightly ale, and then pass them around as fact.¡±


    Bradshaw nodded. ¡°Soldiers do make up stories, that¡¯s true.¡±


    ¡°What stories?¡± asked David.


    ¡°Nothing especially imaginative,¡± said Lieutenant Bennett. ¡°There¡¯s some say they¡¯ve heard screams, from the hills over to the east. Some swear blind that they¡¯ve seen odd lights dancing in the woods. I¡¯ve had to double up the night watches because too many wouldn¡¯t sit up in the tower alone.¡±


    Bradshaw looked at David. ¡°Normally scary stories extend as far as the odd quip. If it¡¯s got to the point that your soldiers are refusing to carry out their duties¡­ well, that¡¯s unusual, to say the least. Are you sure there¡¯s no truth to what they¡¯re saying?¡±


    ¡°How can there be?¡± Bennett laughed. ¡°Lights in the dark, bodiless screams¡ªit¡¯s an adolescent fantasy of a nightmare, not the sort of thing that has any basis in reality. It¡¯ll be witch-shades and shadow people next.¡±


    ¡°But are you sure?¡± said Bradshaw, pressing.


    Bennett folded her arms. ¡°I¡¯m a rational woman, with a head full of science. You¡¯re the same, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a rational woman, no,¡± said Bradshaw, ¡°though I do take your meaning. That doesn¡¯t mean being so confident in what you know. Essegena isn¡¯t the world back home, Lieutenant, you should remember that. Similar, maybe. We don¡¯t know yet exactly how things work here. Just because something¡¯s a baseless fantasy elsewhere doesn¡¯t mean it¡¯s not very real here. And we need to know what we¡¯re dealing with.¡±


    Bennett rolled her eyes, which served only to harden Bradshaw¡¯s face. ¡°I¡¯ve sent a few squads up onto the hills to look around. They¡¯ve never seen a thing. They come back after an hour or so saying they¡¯re too scared to stay there any longer, because they can¡¯t stand the idea of doing real work. It¡¯s tall tales, General. Tall tales and laziness.¡±


    They were interrupted then by the arrival, at last, of the food Lieutenant Bennett had promised, laid on in wooden platters carried by cooks in white aprons. Despite the Lieutenant¡¯s words it was a humble spread. Four loaves of bread to be shared between all of them, along with a single stick of butter and a heaped plate of assorted vegetables. The platters were verged with slices of salted beef, straight out of a rations tin. They hadn¡¯t even been heated up. A couple of slices of gold-brown honeycake promised a rare treat¡ªbut these turned out to be stale.


    Still, David was in no mood to complain. Hungry people seldom are, when food is laid out before them. He ate with great gusto, and helped himself to more than his fair share.


    By the time General Bradshaw was finished with Lieutenant Bennett, the day had acquired a cooler hue. David had long since grown bored of their conversation. Ghost stories had given way to specific methods of constructing buildings, and he took Lieutenant Bennett¡¯s enthusiastic recommendation of a particular type of joist as his cue to check out of that conversation.


    There was only so much twiddling his thumbs that he could do, though, and for as long as he was sat directly across the table he was expected to contribute some to the conversation. He got by on platitudes and empty responses that didn¡¯t address the topic at hand¡ªor anything else, for that matter. His mind wandered to home, his comfortable bed alone in his chambers, where neither Lieutenant Bennett nor anybody else could come between him and his books. Reading was no substitute for the lived experience of human contact, true¡ªbut the people who resided in those books spoke at David¡¯s pace. They were silent on command.


    ¡°Captain Clifford?¡± Sergeant Coburn was leaning across to talk to him. ¡°Captain, would you like to explore the fort with me?¡±


    It was the kind of proposition he¡¯d turn down, but Sergeant Coburn¡¯s eyes betrayed a glimmer of... fear?


    He rose.


    ¡°Don¡¯t wander too far, Captain,¡± said General Bradshaw. ¡°Else you might get lost.¡± It was one time, once in years of service, when he¡¯d heard an instruction wrong and ended up twelve miles away from his intended rendezvous, at the edge of a large cenote. One time, and he still couldn¡¯t move past it.


    But then, if it had been General Bradshaw who¡¯d gone to the wrong place, David knew he¡¯d have mentioned it at every opportunity. So who was he to complain?


    Sergeant Coburn led David wordlessly through a drab scullery, where great brass pans hung dripping, and out into a courtyard that would have been large enough to accommodate a regiment in formation, were it not for the furrows of soil that took up a good third of it. Green shoots peered out of this soil, seeking the sunlight which had now begun its descent behind the hills. The entirety of this courtyard was surrounded by a drystone wall, waist high, save for the fort itself. Beyond, David could see the stables, oaken with a slate roof above their gables. A girl with dark hair falling down her back stood on the hayloft balcony, scrubbing away at the bannister. And beyond even this, on the far side of a long declension, was Lieutenant Bennett¡¯s haunted woods. There was nothing sinister or spooky about them, on the surface. The way the hill rose sharply, after a gentle slope down from Plateau Watch, was a shade imposing perhaps. But the trees in their legions that carpeted the hill looked so beautifully peaceful. A bird flew over those trees. From the courtyard it was but a speck of black on the aquamarine canvas of the sky.


    ¡°This place is beautiful, don¡¯t you think? Everything about Essegena amazes me.¡± Sergeant Coburn spoke breathlessly.


    David couldn¡¯t help but agree. The valley had a certain beauty to it, and the Mettywood. Nothing he¡¯d seen yet was hideous or boring. What had imbued Essegena with such wonder? The worlds of the Unity could be breathtaking at their best. Galleon¡¯s Wake was a revelatory sight. The Six Sisters of Tol Manase were ancient titans rising high above their jungle home. And it was said that no man could cross over the Edge of the World and not return a changed man. But those were the highlights, and the everyday beauty was scarce. Foul metropolises blighted the landscapes of every major region, huge and polluted and full of far too many people, and surrounding them was the desolation they left behind. Essegena, by contrast, seemed to be made up of nothing but these beauties. The world was still virgin. There could be some incredible spectacle here that would put Galleon¡¯s Wake to shame, and it was just waiting to be discovered.


    Had every world been like this, once upon a time, before mankind wrought its influence? It wasn¡¯t hard to imagine. The fields of Borrowood were an oasis in a desert of beauty, the island of Ivyne still untouched by modernity, but neighboured on all sides by dry expanses quarried of all their valuables, and faceless cities that had become boundless slums. Yet once, long ago, the land where those dead quarries were had been as pure as this that David saw before him.


    Four thousand years of human progress were bound to take their toll.


    ¡°You wanted a word, Sergeant?¡± David cut to the chase. He wasn¡¯t blind. She might well have said that she just wanted to look around, but she could well have done so on her own.


    Sergeant Coburn squeaked, and looked around to make sure they weren¡¯t being followed. ¡°Mathilde,¡± she said. ¡°For the Daughter.¡±


    ¡°Okay, Mathilde. What¡¯s troubling you?¡±


    Mathilde Coburn took a few seconds to steady herself, then launched into a rapidfire babbling that David was hard-pressed to understand. ¡°The General¡¯s impressed by this place. He¡¯s going to greenlight more outposts, in other places. Captain Clifford, please send me to one of them. Strip me of my rank if you don¡¯t want to give me command, but you have to let me go. Send me out of the valley. I need to get away from him, before he finds out.¡±


    ¡°Whoa, hold up. Slow down.¡± David held a hand up. ¡°First things first, let¡¯s have some details. Who is it you want to get away from?¡±


    Mathilde said nothing. Her eyes, he noticed, shifted vaguely behind them, towards the dining room.


    ¡°Is it General Bradshaw?¡±


    She shuffled her feet, looked down at the floor, pulled at her hair, but didn¡¯t answer. She didn¡¯t need to. That silence answered his question as well as any words could have.


    ¡°I want to help you,¡± said David, ¡°but you need to give me something to work with. A Sergeant in command of a garrison¡ªit¡¯s not unheard of, but it¡¯s definitely unusual. There¡¯ll be six or seven people wanting to know why you got a command and they didn¡¯t. Now, I can defend the decision, but I need to know why I¡¯m defending it.¡±


    Mathilde sighed. ¡°I have a son,¡± she said. ¡°He¡¯s four years old.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not an issue,¡± David assured her. ¡°Lots of people have children here. Lieutenant Bathart, Corporal Watchorn, even General Bradshaw¡¯s got daughters, though they¡¯re adults so it¡¯s slightly different.¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°He¡¯s not on my declaration. There¡¯s a woman¡ªMeridel. She¡¯s listed as a washerwoman, in the registry, though she doesn¡¯t work. I send her a stipend out of my pay, and she looks after my son. The files say she is his mother.¡±


    ¡°Why would you do that?¡± Every prospective colonist had signed a declaration before leaving for Essegena, no matter their rank or their status. Family status, next of kin, that sort of thing. The Unity took such documents seriously. The best she could hope for, if they ever found out she¡¯d lied, was a one-way trip back home at the first opportunity. She¡¯d be looking at long-term imprisonment, maybe a life in bondage.


    ¡°The Council can see my records,¡± she said. ¡°I was never married. I was an idiot, and I didn¡¯t take the right precautions, and the next thing I knew I was pregnant. Well, how could I not see it through? I could have ended the pregnancy, sure, but that would have been the easy way out.¡±


    ¡°So what that you never married. It¡¯s not an obligation.¡±


    Mathilde Coburn shuddered bodily. ¡°His father¡¯s on the Council. If he learned about my boy... I dare not visit Meridel while I¡¯m in the valley, in case I¡¯m seen. I have a sister¡ªshe knows me, knows the boy is mine. She¡¯d give me away. Let me go elsewhere. So I can see my boy, and be his mother.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t the response he¡¯d been expecting. For a good many seconds after she¡¯d finished speaking, the only sound was Mathilde¡¯s breathing, heavy and fast. David watched her for a second, looked at her closely. She couldn¡¯t have been much more than a teenager when her son was born. It would be an embarrassment to Bradshaw to learn about his bastard boy, and he¡¯d be exactly the sort to put out a hit. Oh, he wouldn¡¯t go himself. He¡¯d never dare to get his hands dirty. But he¡¯d say the right word to the right ally, and Mathilde Coburn¡¯s son would not wake up one morning.


    ¡°I¡¯ll do what I can,¡± said David. ¡°You have my word on that.¡±


    ¡°Thank-you, Captain Clifford.¡± Mathilde kissed his cheek, leaving it wet and grimy. He tried to figure out how to wipe it dry without offending her.


    ¡°Call me David in future,¡± he told her. ¡°It¡¯s only fair. I have your name, so you should have mine.¡±


    A few short minutes later, they were interrupted by the arrival of Sergeant Malleston. ¡°Pardon me, sir,¡± he said, ¡°but General Bradshaw is looking for you. He wants to start back. The day is getting on, after all, and it¡¯s a good few hours back down to the valley.¡±


    Sergeant Malleston wasn¡¯t wrong. By the time they¡¯d made it back as far as the big lake, they were in the throes of the evening. A wicked sunset streaked across the lake¡¯s waters, painting them in toasty shades of orange and red. Far from toasty, on the other hand, was the weather. Once the sun had beaten its final retreat, a frigid wind had moved in. It was only gentle, more a breeze than a gale, but it was icy.


    David reached into the pocket of his jacket, which he was suddenly glad he¡¯d brought with him. It had been too hot to wear earlier, so he¡¯d tied it around his waist. Now, when it was cold, everybody else had come to regret going without. Mathilde started shivering before the lake came into view. General Bradshaw had started waving his arms back and forth, making strange noises with his tongue, in an attempt to disguise his cold with bravado and machismo. David didn¡¯t need to pretend to be doing exercises. He had a coat. It was warm and woollen and had a pair of thick gloves in the pockets that would keep his hands from going numb.


    But instead of soft gloves, he touched something cold and firm. Glass. Rounded. There was no weight to it as he removed it from his pocket, and holding it to the light he saw it was the bottle Chris had given him. He must have pocketed it in order to move it from place to place, and then forgotten about it. It wasn¡¯t very exciting. The only mystery was the bottle¡¯s contents, and judging from how light it felt it was probably empty. That was the sort of joke Chris would make. He was probably waiting for David to turn up at his office door, red-faced and raging, having opened the bottle to find there was nothing inside.


    Well, Chris would never get that satisfaction. If he wanted to make a joke, he could take a joke as well.


    They walked between trees here, woodlands that while sparse were dark enough in the daylight. In the evening they were positively black. The glowing lake smiled at him through gaps in the trees, and a dense brush of green ferns tickled at his legs to remind him that they were still there. All David could see were the shadows of the others. He had to keep close enough, or he might lose them. If he lost them, he mightn¡¯t find them again. It would be a fine way for him to end his days, wandering aimlessly in thin woods no more than a mile or two from his bed.


    He dared to take his eyes off the man in front for only a second. That was all he needed. He drew his arm back, glanced into the thickest part of the woods, and released. The bottle flew through the air and then it was gone, swallowed by the night. He wouldn¡¯t have been able to follow its flight even if he¡¯d wanted to. But he¡¯d kept walking, not even looking, and he¡¯d already forgotten the spot he¡¯d thrown from.


    ¡°What was that?¡± said Mathilde, behind him.


    ¡°What was what?¡±


    ¡°You threw something. I saw it.¡±


    David fixed his eyes forward. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. It was nothing.¡±

 25. The Lord Constables Tower

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Ian ~


    ¡°What do you think?¡± Chris led the way with a broad smile on his face. ¡°Isn¡¯t it splendid?¡±


    They were there to see the tower of the Lord Constable, newly completed. This was four stories of bespoke architecture, stone-and-wood walls with ornate balustrades and winding windows, roofed with oaken slates and thatching. Master Holden had called it his proudest work yet, and with good reason. It was better by leaps and bounds than the generic tenements surrounding it. Behind it, a huge willow tree stood tall at the heart of a grove of thick vegetation. Further on were the valley¡¯s slopes.


    The Lord Constable was there with them. He was pleasant enough, though his face was ratty and his eyes shrewd. A day¡¯s grey stubble coated his chin. By rights, his proper address was still ¡®Captain Mannam¡¯. The Lord Constable was just a ceremonial alternative. He walked flanked by two soldiers in the Constabulary¡¯s green and yellow.


    Ian had brought only Sergeant Pratley for escort, while Chris had a handful of grimy tough-bods. The Hookbill, also there, had chosen to come unaccompanied. He¡¯d overdone it on the perfume today. Everywhere he went, he left behind an imprint of lavender in the air.


    At the base of the tower was a set of shallow marble steps. The steps widened as they reached the top; where the lower few were wide enough for no more than four people to walk abreast, at least a dozen men could be squeezed together at the top. Gleaming metal handrails reflected the sunlight and threatened to burn the hands of any who dared touch them. Ian learned that the hard way.


    ¡°Is this really a priority?¡± The Hookbill sounded less than impressed.


    Captain Mannam hurried to the defence of his new position. ¡°The Constabulary is a vital part of a functioning society. How else can we maintain law and order?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t need a tower for that.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s also a gaol,¡± said Chris. ¡°You¡¯ll notice how we had to climb to the foot of the tower. There are cells beneath our feet¡ªI¡¯m told they are a relative luxury, as cells go.¡±


    ¡°Not to mention secure,¡± said Captain Mannam. ¡°The gaol¡¯s been carved into the very earth we¡¯re walking on. These cells can keep in anybody.¡±


    Chris nodded. ¡°You¡¯ll be thankful for them when there¡¯s war on. And have no illusions, war will come. ¡°


    He sounded so sinister when he said that that Ian yelped involuntarily. ¡°War?¡±


    ¡°This is a colony built to last. Mankind will be here for centuries, millennia. I¡¯m sure there¡¯ll be a war one day, Ian¡ªit¡¯s human nature. Our children¡¯s children will thank us for such a fortress then.¡±


    The Hookbill shook his head. ¡°What good will a fortress do? Have you been in war, Governor? A real war, not slaughter as Tol Manase was. Do you know the difference between a fight in the field and a fight on the tower? When you lose in the field, you can run away. I¡¯ve seen what happens in a fallen fortress. The screams. The cries. The rape of the womenfolk. I wish it on nobody.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be sure to send the women out first,¡± Mannam laughed. ¡°I would like to see this great enemy you fear rape a woman who¡¯s already dead.¡±


    ¡°There must be some confusion,¡± said the Hookbill coldly. ¡°I was under the impression I was talking to the Lord Constable. Evidently I was wrong. A man of such stature wouldn¡¯t make tasteless jokes.¡±


    Mannam¡¯s lip twitched. For a second he looked like retorting, but¡ªno doubt thinking better of it¡ªbit his tongue and turned away.


    Ian dropped off the pace a little, allowing the others to go on a few steps ahead of him. He was suddenly given over to wondering. What war had Prendergast fought in? The atrocities on Tol Manase were the only thing resembling a war to have struck the Unity in near fifty years. And while Ian had missed the fighting, he knew well the stories. No fortress had ever fallen at Tol Manase. Not on the Unity side, at least.


    The look he got from Sergeant Pratley¡ªaccompanying him because he had ¡®nothing better to do¡¯¡ªsuggested he wasn¡¯t the only one confused.


    ¡°Forgive me, Governor, but what about bedchambers?¡± This was one of Captain Mannam¡¯s soldiers speaking, the broken-nosed woman who¡¯d guarded Edmote Wenderwind¡¯s body. She looked lost in an oversized uniform. ¡°The Lord Constable suggested that there would be accommodation on site.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll be limited, I¡¯m afraid,¡± said Chris. ¡°Not that you¡¯d really want to be confined to a single tower for the rest of your working life, day and night¡ªyou¡¯re not a princess, after all.¡±


    ¡°I could be,¡± pouted the soldier. Chris didn¡¯t acknowledge her failure to address him properly. Instead he continued to speak as though she hadn¡¯t interrupted him.


    ¡°As for when the bunks will be fit for habitation, one of the Lord Constable¡¯s officers will have to take up the matter with Master Holden. The particulars of the construction are his area.¡±


    The soldier nodded, seemingly satisfied.


    ¡°How many people will this place accommodate? Ten? Twenty? Half a dozen?¡± Captain Mannam asked, but before Chris could answer there was a raucous scuffle from a little way behind them. Ian spun on his heel in time to see a nearby tree shaking violently, and a humiliated figure on the ground beneath it. It was that woman, rubbing her head as she sat in the dust.


    Sergeant Pratley was on her in a few seconds. He hoisted her to her feet and frogmarched her to Ian. She almost took a tumble when her legs got tangled beneath her, such was the pace that Pratley made her keep. ¡°Right,¡± said Ian, as Pratley held the woman before him, ¡°it¡¯s time you did some explaining.¡±


    He was aiming to be severe, but for some bizarre reason she started to giggle, like she was only a child. She wouldn¡¯t meet his gaze. He glanced at Sergeant Pratley, who shrugged.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± When she didn¡¯t look at him, he shook her by the collar. That stopped the giggling. She looked afraid.


    ¡°Emily. Emily Farmer. People call me Millie. I¡¯m a seamstress.¡±


    ¡°Well, Millie, you should know that I don¡¯t appreciate being followed around.¡±


    ¡°No, of course not, Master Fitzhenry.¡±


    ¡°How do you know my name?¡±


    She froze. ¡°You just told me, sir.¡±


    Sergeant Pratley pushed her in the back. ¡°No he didn¡¯t. Start being truthful.¡±


    Millie Farmer blushed then. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s embarrassing. You¡¯re something of an idol of mine, Master Fitzhenry¡ªcan I call you Ian?¡±


    His face was firm. ¡°What do you think?¡±


    ¡°Sorry, Master Fitzhenry, it¡¯s just... Oh, I wanted to meet you, desperately, but I didn¡¯t know what to say. So I thought if I just followed you around... perhaps if I saw you up close, that would be enough to... to satisfy me.¡±


    Ian had never expected anybody to call him an idol. ¡°How do you know who I am?¡±


    ¡°I saw you at the theatre,¡± she said. ¡°¡®The Tragedy of Tembenel¡¯, at the Dangellar showhouse.¡±


    He did remember seeing Tembenel. It was a favourite of his wife¡¯s, so they always went along when it came to town. But it didn¡¯t come to town very often, and the last tour had passed them by completely because the showhouse was being refurbished. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen Tembenel in¡ª¡±


    ¡°Four years. I know. I was there with my boyfriend. I tripped coming out of the toilets and fell into you¡ªyou nearly fell over, Master Fitzhenry¡ªand then I said ¡®sorry¡¯ and you said ¡®that¡¯s quite alright¡¯, and I just died right then. An actual officer of the Unity fleet, and he¡¯d spoken to me. So I left my boyfriend at the showhouse and I went and joined up the next day, and then they sent me here and I found out you were here, and oh I¡¯ve been watching you ever since.¡± The more she spoke, the more flustered she seemed to get, and the more flustered she got, the faster she spoke. By the end of her story she was babbling, and it was an effort for him to understand what she was saying.


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°Slow down, take your time.¡±


    Millie Farmer took a few deep breaths, then started to speak again. ¡°I¡¯ve fucked it, haven¡¯t I? You¡¯re going to tell me to keep away.¡± Incredibly, she began to sob. ¡°I just really wanted to be worth something to you. I wanted to be your girl.¡±


    He reached forward to pat her shoulder. It felt like a patronising gesture, but she seemed to calm. Chris was still behind him, he knew, and Captain Mannam. They must have heard her. ¡°I have a wife,¡± he said, loudly, so they¡¯d definitely hear.


    ¡°I¡¯d do whatever you liked,¡± she said, between the weeping. ¡°I¡¯d be quiet. Nobody would ever know I came to you. Not your wife, not nobody.¡±


    She was right about that much. Elise would never know anything he did. And he hadn¡¯t left her in the dead of night just so he could still be beholden to the words he¡¯d said to her when she was still young and pretty. He let Millie Farmer sob into his shoulder, softly rubbing her back. She was young enough. ¡°My man will find you later, and arrange a meeting,¡± he whispered. ¡°We can talk then. Don¡¯t follow me again, or the arrangement¡¯s off.¡± Sergeant Pratley marched her away. She went without protest.


    When they were gone, a pin could have been heard a mile away. ¡°You have a stalker, Master Fitzhenry,¡± said Captain Mannam, the first to speak. ¡°I¡¯ll have a man look into it for you.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think that needful, Captain. She¡¯s just an infatuated girl.¡±


    ¡°Master Fitzhenry, I really think¡ª¡±


    ¡°No.¡± He was firm. Mannam was a Bradshaw stooge at heart. Ian had Sergeant Pratley, and that was all he needed. Even if Millie Farmer turned out to be a threat.


    And that hardly seemed likely.


    For an hour or two that night, Ian played the role of the barfly. He sat at the Tavern nursing a single flagon of cider, as well as a constant supply of juice in a similar colour, provided surreptitiously by the little blonde piece who worked behind the bar. This was a battle of two opposing goals. He wanted to belong, to blend in¡ªit would be awkward to be the one bloke sitting alone and teetotal in a booze den¡ªbut he didn¡¯t want to get drunk.


    Chris was due to meet him here, at some point in the afternoon. His wife would be with him. Ian could not be drunk while Caroline was about. He¡¯d tell her things he wished he didn¡¯t have to tell. No doubt he¡¯d be kind enough to fill her in on everything that had happened with Dani at the lake, recount every lust-filled night he¡¯d spent in his adolescent shame, dreaming of that feather-light flame falling on his pillow.


    She was with Chris, and happy about it. It was what she¡¯d always wanted. He¡¯d done a lot to give it to her.


    Too much.


    That face crept back into his thoughts. He¡¯d already banished her once today, as he banished her every day. Dani, you¡¯re not welcome. I won¡¯t face your ghost today.


    Sergeant Pratley had waved at him when he entered the Tavern. Pratley was well into his own tankard, drinking with Harry Gorman and a couple of soldiers Ian didn¡¯t know. All wore their uniforms, and proudly so. Even the one with the beer stain down his front seemed oblivious to the fact that his clothes weren¡¯t pristine.


    The soldiers had all left a long time ago. Still neither Chris nor Caroline had made an appearance. Where were they?


    ¡°Another?¡± ¨¢ine the waitress was there, brandishing a big bottle full of the amber vilsa juice. He shook his head. No, thank-you. She put the bottle down, and gestured towards the wooden cask at the back of the bar, sweet droplets of cider dripping from its tap.


    ¡°I¡¯m alright,¡± said Ian, waving her away. She nodded and moved off to find somebody else to serve. He tipped back his head, thinking to finish what little he had left and then make his exit. As he did, he saw a shadow fall over him, and caught a glimpse of flaming orange. ¡°Caroline.¡± Hers was a face he¡¯d always known well; the skin might have been stretched a little more thinly over those smiling emerald eyes and that dimpled jaw, but it was the same skin. She was the same woman. It was her he¡¯d searched for in the crowd, as he stood on the altar beside his new bride. He¡¯d not seen her then, nor for a long time since¡ªnot until she came with Chris to Ian¡¯s doorstep, to talk of business and the Essegena colony.


    It was even longer since they¡¯d been friends.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Chris?¡±


    Caroline shook her head, and he saw something tighten behind her eyes. ¡°He isn¡¯t coming,¡± she said. ¡°He just can¡¯t spare the time.¡±


    Ian wondered if that was true. Had Caroline even seen her husband today? He¡¯d been spending a lot of time engrossed in his work of late, staying in his room in the council chambers until the small hours. Sergeant Marris was always stood guard outside the door, or another soldier in the same russet kepi with the gold-ring-and-dagger marque that denoted Chris¡¯ personal security. According to Sergeant Pratley, some nights the guards never left.


    Caroline, at least, had come. Of course she would. She¡¯d said she¡¯d be here, and Caroline¡¯s word was gold.


    ¡°Are you getting me a drink?¡± she said, a smirk on her face. ¡°Or do I have to buy my own?¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ve just told the girl I was done. I can¡¯t go looking indecisive.¡±


    Caroline pulled a face and took a seat beside Ian, leaning across the bar to try and woo the waitress over here.


    Why had he wanted to come here today? Why had he sat here waiting for Caroline to show up¡ªand late as well? He should have taken the excuse granted him and gone. This was wrong, all of it. There was a spectre here with him, casting its shadow on Caroline¡¯s cheerful form. It was the spectre of Death, and she was a woman.


    ¡°I picked these for Chris. Lily-of-the-valley. They¡¯ve such a darling smell¡ªgo on, sniff it!¡± He could hear every crippling word as though it was being said for the first time, dancing off a light tongue with some sweet melody of innocence. And they did smell delightful. Somehow that ambrosial scent always heralded her arrival.


    ¡°We haven¡¯t spoken in a long while.¡± Caroline brought him back to reality. She had a deep green concoction in her glass, something that looked sickly. It matched her eyes.


    Ian kept his own eyes focused on the bar. The wooden countertop was polished, with sticky patches already from unwiped spillages. He forced himself to stay rapt on one such mark. He¡¯d have to look up otherwise. ¡°I looked for you, you know. The day I got married. I wanted to see you.¡±


    ¡°I had other engagements. I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d mind¡ªwe were never close.¡± Caroline clutched tight to her drink.


    ¡°We used to be.¡±


    She looked at him. ¡°Why is that? You left Borrowood, and it¡¯s like you forgot about me.¡±


    Ian gritted his teeth. ¡°We weren¡¯t children anymore. None of us were. We were drifting apart even before...¡±


    ¡°Dani.¡± Caroline whispered her name with a quiet reverence. ¡°That didn¡¯t mean you had to sever ties. Everyone went away, Ian. I was all on my own.¡±


    He hadn¡¯t come here to talk about Dani. ¡°It wasn¡¯t about you, Caroline. That whole town was rotten, you must have seen it. The best of us were taking flight, and anybody who stayed behind was being sucked down.¡± The shadows filling Borrowood had lengthened when Freya Warlin died, and they¡¯d twisted after Dani. Every little corner, every funny quirk of the architecture, was a mocking testament to the better men who had built this village so far removed from anybody¡¯s dreams. The gargoyles in the churchyard knew his sins, just like they knew everybody else¡¯s. They began to wander at night. Oh, everybody swore it was impossible. Nobody else would ever admit to seeing them. Ian knew they came for him. He could hear them laughing at him outside his window. ¡°If I¡¯d stayed any longer, the place would have killed me.¡±


    ¡°I survived,¡± said Caroline.


    Yes, you did. You, who was so innocent, so na?ve, so pure. The shadows couldn¡¯t touch you. Caroline brought colour to the town. She gathered bouquets of flowers for all the graves of all the long-dead. Every week, she¡¯d have a fresh batch. If she¡¯d stuck to the churchyard, the picture of the world might have been a different one. But she hadn¡¯t. She¡¯d picked some flowers to take to Chris, to profess her love for him, and those same flowers had been left behind in Ian¡¯s bedroom after he¡¯d comforted the broken-hearted girl. They wilted in time, just as Caroline had wilted when the man of her dreams turned her down.


    ¡°And what about Elise?¡± Caroline¡¯s hands had migrated to her hips. ¡°If it was so hard for you to face Borrowood again, how did you end up marrying her?¡±


    How had he ended up marrying Elise? He remembered little of their year of courtship. It was a broken leg and a failed love-affair with a feisty redhead from Albentore that had brought Ian back home, discharged from Unity service until the leg had healed. Elise had been a friendly face. Most of all, she¡¯d been there. That was all there was to it, really. They¡¯d fallen into marriage, and the love had come afterward. No wonder they hadn¡¯t lasted. They¡¯d been running on fumes since the start.


    ¡°It was different demons that took me to her,¡± he said.


    They sat together a while without saying anything. Caroline drank from her drink, and Ian clutched his empty cup and pretended he was drinking too. What was there to say?


    ¡°You said Chris still loves me,¡± said Caroline, suddenly. ¡°How can you be sure?¡±


    ¡°He says it. And I believe him. I don¡¯t think he knows that he upsets you sometimes. He¡¯d act differently if he realised.¡± Chris had to love Caroline. Theirs had to be the perfect marriage, forever and ever. Nothing else would go far enough in justifying the things Ian did. He refused to accept that he might have burdened his soul for a short-lived flame.


    Caroline was looking at Ian. Really looking at him, like she was trying to bore into his spirit.


    ¡°What?¡±


    She placed a knowing hand on his shoulder. ¡°Elise doesn¡¯t know, does she?¡±


    ¡°I beg your pardon?¡±


    ¡°You ran.¡± He opened his mouth to deny it, but Caro shook her head. ¡°You don¡¯t have to justify it to me, Ian. You don¡¯t have to justify anything. We¡¯re friends. We were friends, anyway. That has to count for something, I think.¡±


    Her hand was still on his shoulder, electrifying his whole body. This close, hers was an intoxicating perfume, and it was making him drowsy. He could feel the baser parts of him coming to rise, pressing against their housing. If he closed his eyes... It would only take a second. Chris need never know.


    Caroline backed away. ¡°I¡¯ve thought about running, sometimes. When Chris has really got me down.¡±


    ¡°So why haven¡¯t you?¡±


    She drank from her cup. ¡°Where would I run to? My whole life¡¯s on Chris. Without him I¡¯m no-one, with nothing.¡±


    Ian leaned forward. ¡°You could run to me. If you felt you had to get away, I¡¯d be there for you. I¡¯d be the friend you could turn to.¡±


    Caroline laughed, though it was a sad, hollow laugh. ¡°We¡¯re not friends anymore. I wish we were, but we¡¯re not. All we have to talk about is our tragedies.¡± He screwed tight his eyes, because Caroline was speaking the truth and he didn¡¯t want to hear it. He wouldn¡¯t believe it. ¡°That¡¯s not a friendship, Ian. That¡¯s not anything.¡±


    ¡°How do we get back to where we were?¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t think we do.¡±

 26. The Thrill of the Hunt

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Tasha ~


    Tash sat on the front steps, stewing despite the day. What did it matter how nice the weather was? She¡¯d embarrassed herself. The Ladies wouldn¡¯t talk to her. They wouldn¡¯t even give her the time of day. ¡°They think they¡¯re better than me,¡± she said to Sesi. The umber-haired ladiesmaid was sat beside her, holding a miniature parasol to keep the sun at bay. ¡°Their families have always been rich. And somehow that gives them the right to look down at me.¡±


    ¡°They don¡¯t know you, Lady,¡± Sesi purred.


    ¡°And how do they ever expect to? I saw the way they looked at me. Like I was dirt, the same as every other pauper here. I heard how they were whispering about me as I walked away. They might as well have called me Goodwife¡ªat least then I¡¯d know where I stood.¡±


    Sesi shook her head. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t think these things, Lady. It will only make you upset.¡±


    Why shouldn¡¯t she be upset? Sesi couldn¡¯t possibly understand. She wasn¡¯t rich. She was just a ladiesmaid. Tash was the wife of one of the Foundational Council. She was the lady of a reeve¡¯s household. It was her child that was going to be the first born on this world. Frankly, she deserved better than to be looked down on by insipid whores whose parents had money, and who¡¯d prostituted themselves before wealthy men so they could keep up their lifestyles of luxury. They were nothing compared to her.


    And yet they¡¯d dragged her down, those wantons, the one with the big nose and the one with the mole on her cheek and the rest of their vile harem. It hadn¡¯t even taken words. They just looked silently at one another and chuckled as they turned away from her and walked off arm in arm. And now she was sat outside the front of her house with only a maid for company, and they¡¯d probably forgotten she even existed. She¡¯d let them win.


    Next time, she would be the one who won.


    The Peulion bitch was the worst of the lot. To think Tash had thought she might have found a friend. Somebody wouldn¡¯t be getting any favours when Tash was on top.


    ¡°Lady, perhaps a drink would make you feel better. This heat, it¡¯s not good for the mind. I could fetch Mam Argent.¡±


    Tasha nodded absently. ¡°Yes, yes, that¡¯ll be good.¡± And she regretted it as soon as Sesi stood up. Without the parasol there, the sun was shining directly in her eyes. She thought it was quite rude of the sun. Couldn¡¯t it see that she was trying to be upset?


    And for that matter, what possessed Sesi to think she could just up and leave? Her job was to keep Tash company, to hold the parasol. Mam Argent was quite capable of coming out the front herself to see if Tash wanted anything. Or she could send one of her servants. But no, Sesi had taken it upon herself to fetch the cook. And left Tash alone in the process. She hadn¡¯t even thought to yell for Emmy or Eva. One of them was usually in earshot, and more than eager enough to come running to help.


    Still, she thought, she wasn¡¯t entirely alone. The captain of the household guard, Lieutenant Sharp, was stood on guard at the gate. She could see nothing but the back of his head, but she guessed he was as bored as she was. He¡¯d been stood there for a few hours now.


    There were a few loose pebbles on the ground around the house. She pulled one from the dirt¡¯s weak grip, turned it in her hand a few times, then threw it across the yard. It came to a grinding halt a few metres short of the fence. She grabbed another. As she held it, she could see the faces of those ladies in her mind¡¯s eye. How sweet it would be to knock that mole right off its perch. She launched the stone, imagining that it might somehow find the big nose. And break it.


    It hit the fence post with a loud crash, and the spell in her mind was broken. Ahead of her, Sharp turned around in response to the sound of the stone. He stepped to one side. ¡°Sorry, my Lady,¡± he said, smiling. ¡°I believe I¡¯m in your way.¡±


    She felt she should probably apologise for hurling stones his way. But it would be an embarrassment to her, to admit fault. She smiled back at him and tried to nod in a dignified manner. No doubt her actual gesture was far from dignified.


    Why was she so shit at being proper?


    The day had begun with high spirits. Mam Argent had prepared an excellent breakfast, four sorts of egg toasted brown and served with a helping of salt sausage, which she¡¯d eaten outside in the sunlight while reading a story to her son. He didn¡¯t have ears yet, but she did, and he was still a part of her, so she figured he¡¯d heard it by the transitive property.


    Later on, with the taste of that breakfast still filling her mouth, she¡¯d wandered to the grove where Felicity Peulion said she should go, across the Clearwater and south past the Eia. No sooner had she crossed the river than the wafting aroma of stewed apples caught her, and led her to the place. One of the ladies had brought her cook, and as a result a great barrel of these apples sat ready to be eaten from. The smell was inescapable.


    The wealthy ladies were all there, just as Peulion had said they would be, taking shade amongst the trees and talking about nothing in particular. Each had an elaborate brocade caul on her head. This should perhaps have been Tasha¡¯s first warning. Peulion hadn¡¯t mentioned a caul. Tash had turned up with her hair fancily done and uncovered. A few of them had stared at her when she¡¯d arrived, but they all seemed happy to tolerate her.


    And then she¡¯d had to speak.


    It was Cassandra Fiouhart who¡¯d asked the question. Fiouhart was a siren in a dark samite gown, with the cheekbones of a goddess and a sultry voice. Hers was a caul with a bush of ripe plums sewn into it, concealing hair like black velvet, so thick it threatened to spill out of its confines. ¡°I must know, Mistress Wrack,¡± she¡¯d said¡ªand hearing that from one of the faces of high society made her whole body tingle¡ª¡±what is it that your father did for money?¡±


    Honesty, that was what Peulion had counselled. ¡°He struggled,¡± she said, to lighten the tone. Fiouhart remained stony-faced. ¡°He used to hew coal, down in Galford pit, two days weekly. The rest of the time he was a clerk for the Unity.¡±


    Fiouhart raised her painted eyebrows. ¡°Coal? I had no idea that was still a point of concern.¡±


    ¡°Is that not awfully dirty work?¡± The first time Peulion had piped up was a warning, in hindsight.


    Tash had shrugged. ¡°He¡¯d come home covered in soot, but it was nothing a good bath couldn¡¯t solve.¡±


    The way Peulion had gone on about Cassandra Fiouhart, Tash had been expecting her to be singularly unimpressed. She was the alpha amongst the alphas, after all¡ªthe ultimate arbiter of who was in and who was out. Yet Fiouhart had seemed invested in the story, nodding gently, and... was that a smile creasing the corners of her mouth?


    ¡°Where did your money come from, then?¡± There was Peulion with her second unwelcome interruption. ¡°Are you saying you married your husband for his money?¡±


    She¡¯d tried to explain that no, that wasn¡¯t true at all. Oliver wasn¡¯t rich, or in any case he hadn¡¯t been when she fell in love with him. And even if he was, her family had history, pedigree. The annals of history were flecked with the Caerlin name. But she couldn¡¯t find the words to say this without talking Oliver down. Nor could she honestly say she¡¯d been born rich. The family fortune had been gone for centuries before she came along. In the end, she¡¯d nodded a mute agreement. Perhaps she¡¯d hoped they¡¯d drop the subject then, and move on to something else. She¡¯d have been a fool if she had.


    It hadn¡¯t taken long after that for Peulion to turn them all. If any had been happy to welcome Tash before, they¡¯d changed their minds. The picture Peulion had painted of her was one of the greedy, unreasonable pauper sticking her grubby paws where they didn¡¯t belong.


    And Fiouhart had confirmed that was the case. ¡°This is a haven for the noble ladies of society, Mistress Wrack. It would be best if you left us.¡± Fiouhart, at least, had sounded vaguely sympathetic.


    Tash hadn¡¯t even had the guts to stand her ground.


    They¡¯d all whispered as she walked away, snide comments that rang just a little too true. Pereneth Aster and her daughter took up the mutters as though they were in a position to judge, with that sea-green hair of theirs that they insisted was a natural pigment. Taya Morningay laughed out loud, then shoved a hand to her face. The further she walked, the less they bothered with whispering. Before she¡¯d left the grove they were talking openly about her. What a giggle they were having. What a fucking giggle.


    It wasn¡¯t even like they were all so perfectly pure themselves. None of them held it against Pereneth Aster that her eldest daughter had sold her body on the streets of Dichian like a common whore. Eleonore Roberwood¡¯s son was a bastard born out of wedlock¡ªand indeed, the boy¡¯s father was known to nobody. It didn¡¯t prevent Roberwood being welcomed amongst the ladies. Even Peulion herself, married to a second cousin who just happened to be the High Commissioner¡¯s son, was sallied by her past. Yet it was Tasha who¡¯d been given shit, for no other reason than that Peulion had decided she didn¡¯t belong with them.


    ¡°Tasha. You¡¯re upset.¡± That could only be Oliver¡¯s voice. She hadn¡¯t noticed him coming. He wasn¡¯t due back until the late evening. He had work to do. But he was here. There was no mistaking him.


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing.¡±


    He sat down on the step beside her. ¡°It¡¯s never nothing. Tell me what¡¯s wrong.¡±


    For one second, she was going to spin a story. But then she realised that this was Oliver she was talking to. He¡¯d listen. He¡¯d care. She collapsed into his shoulder and told him the tale of the day. He smelled like her father often did, of sweat and mud and the musk of scented shaving balm. She used to cry into her father¡¯s shoulder as a little girl, cry her little heart out. Father never cared. He sent her to her mother, or scolded her for being a pathetic child. And that was unfair, because she was a child.


    Oliver cared, though. She could tell he did. He sat still while she relayed her story, with a consoling hand on her back. And when she was done, he looked into her eyes and kissed her long and hard. ¡°As far as I¡¯m concerned, you¡¯re more a Lady than all of them put together,¡± he said. ¡°Now, how can we make you happy again?¡±


    ¡°You could have Peulion killed. Or arrested, I don¡¯t mind.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no need to be silly, Tash,¡± said Oliver. ¡°The High Commissioner would want to know exactly why his daughter-by-marriage was behind bars. I¡¯ve never taken him for the type to be satisfied with ¡®she was a little rude to my wife¡¯.¡±


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    ¡°She was more than a little rude,¡± Tash fumed. ¡°She set me up for failure.¡±


    ¡°Not a crime, I¡¯m afraid, sweetling,¡± said Oliver. ¡°Now, why don¡¯t you go with Sesala and change into some more sensible clothes? I know just the thing to cheer you up.¡±


    She¡¯d dressed up in her finest to meet with the Ladies, in an elaborate layered gown with a tulle skirt and a flared bodice. It was one of her favourite pieces, so why should she have to take it off?


    Oliver didn¡¯t press the matter. A quick hour later, Tasha found herself crossing the bridge over the Clearwater for the second time that day. The smell of apples was a lot fainter now, but distinct nonetheless. She pulled a face and held her breath. But Oliver wasn¡¯t leading her towards the grove. Instead, they carried on west, right to the edge of the valley. The trees grew thick here, and in their midst moss-coated rocks upon which little chestnut animals scampered. There was barely even a path here, and Oliver made a point of stepping away from what little of a trail did exist. Into the undergrowth he led her, until she could see nothing but the bush.


    ¡°You have a funny way of trying to cheer me up.¡± Tash rolled up the hem of her skirt to pull a thorn from her leg. That was the third.


    ¡°I told you to change,¡± said Oliver. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t hear of it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a Lady. I shouldn¡¯t have to change.¡±


    ¡°You should to go hunting,¡± said Oliver.


    They were a party of five. Lieutenant Sharp was leading the way, navigating the winding undergrowth like he¡¯d grown up in it. Another one of the guards Oliver hired, Millington, brought up the rear. Millington was young, barely an adult to look at him, with a boyish face that reminded Tash of Oliver in his younger days. And then there was Sesi, pliantly carrying all of Tasha¡¯s essentials in a little canvas bag. Sesi had changed into a long jacket, purple with a cream frontage.


    To be honest, she wasn¡¯t especially thrilled with the idea of hunting. It was a dirty thing, the preserve of grubby men with rhotic accents. Her grandfather, on her mother¡¯s side, had dabbled in it, but that was when he couldn¡¯t afford to feed his family. Survival and sport were different things.


    But Oliver insisted. He was good at insisting. It was perhaps that his tone was agreeable. Things that she didn¡¯t understand at all seemed suddenly to make sense when they were laid out in his voice. It was really quite uncanny. And anyway, Sesi had agreed with him. ¡°It¡¯ll do you good, Lady,¡± she¡¯d said. ¡°It¡¯ll distract you.¡±


    Distract her from what? No animal was going to die at her hand. Not unless it came at her first.


    ¡°Where exactly are we going? My feet are hurting.¡±


    Oliver shook his head. ¡°That¡¯s on you for wearing heeled shoes. I told you not to.¡±


    ¡°I have to wear heels,¡± she said. ¡°If I don¡¯t, I¡¯m a dwarf.¡±


    ¡°The beasts we¡¯re hunting today are far smaller than you, my Lady,¡± said Lieutenant Sharp, falling in with them. ¡°Heels or no, they will see a giant.¡±


    ¡°The poor things must be terrified.¡± She tried not to imagine their perspective. Run away, she thought, willing her latent animal-telepathy powers to emerge¡ªnow, please. Hide, and stay hidden until this is all over. She wondered if, somewhere in space, there were behemoths who saw humankind as game. Would such creatures have any qualms about killing men for their own amusement? She felt a bit queasy. ¡°I think I want to turn back.¡±


    ¡°Tasha, sweetling, you must at least let me try to cheer you up,¡± said Oliver.


    ¡°Going back would cheer me up. I don¡¯t want to kill anything.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve compromised for you,¡± said Oliver. He was almost pleading with her. ¡°So often you¡¯ve wanted to do something, and even though I hated it I did it with you. Because I love you. And it made you happy. Please, just do this one thing for me. And if it doesn¡¯t make you happy, I¡¯ll admit that I have terrible taste in recreation. I¡¯ll never force anything on you again.¡±


    She sighed. ¡°Fine. But you¡¯re going to be the one shooting.¡± It wouldn¡¯t be on her conscience if she was only a bystander, would it?


    Sesi smiled at her. ¡°Magnanimous as always, Lady. You could be a diplomat.¡±


    ¡°That sounds like hard work, Sesi.¡±


    They walked on for some time, climbing slowly until they were no longer in the valley, and continuing interminably on. There was no end to the trees, nor to the bushes and ferns that carpeted the ground. The chirping of birds got louder as they went further. Some of these noises sounded unlike anything she¡¯d heard before.


    At last, when it felt like her feet were going to give way at any second, they came upon a clearing. It wasn¡¯t large¡ªmaybe a dozen square feet, lit by a splinter of bright sun pouring through the tiniest gap in the canopy. A gentle brook gurgled along the edge of the clearing. Moss grew fat on the water¡¯s rocky lip. Lieutenant Sharp raised a hand high in the air. The signal to stop.


    ¡°A good spot, Lieutenant,¡± said Oliver, while Sesi busied herself unpacking Tasha¡¯s bag. Millington stepped in to help her put up the chair, but before Tash could sit in it Oliver pulled it away.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t a picnic,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯ll need to be on your toes if you¡¯re going to kill anything.¡±


    She kissed him on the ear, the way he liked it. ¡°Oliver, you¡¯re the one doing the shooting. Remember?¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t seem like an arrangement I¡¯d make,¡± he said. ¡°What would be the point in me bringing you along to sit and watch?¡±


    ¡°What would be the point in making me shoot something?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a life skill.¡± He held her hands tight. ¡°It¡¯s the sort of thing you need to know. What will you do if you have to fend for yourself?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll be there to fend for me.¡±


    ¡°Not all the time. I can¡¯t promise to protect you no matter what. But what I can do is teach you enough that you don¡¯t need me to protect you.¡±


    ¡°I like needing you.¡±


    He handed her the gun, a polished weapon with a long stock. She took it, reluctantly. It was heavier than she was expecting it to be¡ªbut not too heavy to carry. In fact, once she¡¯d adjusted it to a better grip, it was quite a good weight. Comfortable. ¡°It¡¯s all loaded up,¡± Oliver whispered. ¡°You just need to turn off the safety catch.¡±


    ¡°Makes sense.¡± He put his hand on hers, and guided it to the right place. They froze touching the catch. In that instant, she was lost in his eyes, and all that mattered in the world was the two of them. And the rifle. A clicking of metal told her that the catch was off.


    ¡°Keep it pointed away from people,¡± said Lieutenant Sharp. ¡°Even if it doesn¡¯t kill, a bullet can maim. I knew a young lad when I was starting out¡ªsmart boy, he knew all the history. He was going to change the world. Become Unity High Commissioner and all of that. One day he thought it would be fun to play around with a gun from the armoury.¡±


    ¡°Did he die?¡±


    ¡°No. He didn¡¯t die. But tell me, have you ever heard of a High Commissioner with no arms?¡±


    She shook her head.


    ¡°He lives on the kindness of his brother. He can¡¯t support himself, can¡¯t earn a wage. Because he got in the way of a gun. Only point that thing at what you mean to kill.¡±


    Millington yelled out. ¡°There¡¯s one. By the water.¡±


    A little brown marsupial was there, at the very shoreline. Timorous and tentative, it dipped a minute toe into the water, then jerked it out again. It must have been cold. Tash knew the feeling of paddling in unexpectedly chilly waters well. That could have been her, had she been born a... ¡°What is it?¡± she asked.


    ¡°They don¡¯t have a proper name,¡± said Oliver. ¡°Folks have taken to calling them mettysnatchers.¡±


    ¡°At this stage, the name¡¯s just about caught on,¡± said Lieutenant Sharp.


    Tasha watched the mettysnatcher. It had a huge nut between its paws, enough to last it all winter. It would probably feed a whole family of them, in truth. She could see it clearly as she swung the rifle round to point at it. Its little eyes were black beads, and the whiskers on its lilliput face were twitching up and down. It kept dipping the nut into the brook, moistening it, then lifting it out and shaking it dry.


    How could she shoot something like that?


    She wouldn¡¯t do it. The mettysnatcher probably had a little mettysnatcher wife hiding away in a nest somewhere, in the branches of a tree or burrowed under dead leaves and topsoil, and loads of mettysnatcher children. What would they do for food if she killed their breadwinner?


    ¡°Go on, Tash. One shot.¡± Oliver stood close behind her. She could feel his breath.


    Hurry, little creature. Run away. It looked at her, eyes quizzical behind its nut. There was no understanding there. Not of her, not of the situation. It was just an innocent.


    Oliver still egged her on. ¡°You can do it, Tash.¡±


    ¡°Quickly now,¡± Sharp cautioned. ¡°Or it¡¯ll run off.¡±


    Let it. She swung the rifle away from the little critter, and fired a shot straight into a tree trunk across on the far side of the clearing. The wood splintered, and the animal scarpered.


    Sharp beat his fist on his thigh. ¡°Darkness take it!¡±


    ¡°Not to matter,¡± said Oliver. ¡°Plenty more about.¡± He handed her a bullet. ¡°Have another go.¡± Once again, his hand guided hers, as together they unhinged the breechblock and the butt. She placed the bullet into the chamber, and clicked shut the weapon. ¡°Let¡¯s aim for something a little larger this time,¡± he said.


    That meant waiting for something a little larger to show up. At Oliver¡¯s instruction, Tash reengaged the safety catch, though Sharp still insisted that she keep the gun pointed away from them all. Sesi, the lifesaver that she was, had found room in the bag for a box full of cakes and biscuits, all fresh that morning from the ovens of Mam Argent. Tash had twice her share. But then, she was eating for two. She was allowed to have an extra helping.


    The weather held for the most part. Once or twice it threatened to rain. It was never heavy, and the roof of the woods did its job to keep what fell on them to a minimum. Only the odd drop or two made it as far as Tasha. If she was anything like the others, her hair was probably glistening now from all the tiny droplets that had come to rest there. She ran a hand through her hair, and it came out moist.


    In time, the cakes ran out, and Sesi began diligently packing everything away. There was still no sign of anything else. The shot had done its job, scaring away the wildlife. Tash looked to Oliver, hoping he¡¯d be ready to call it for the day and head back home. She might be upset, but she¡¯d be dry, and there¡¯d be something for her to read. But Oliver seemed in no hurry to leave. He was stood with Lieutenant Sharp, the two of them having a fine old conversation about something not for Tasha¡¯s ears. Millington was a little way ahead, keeping a studious eye on the pool.


    Tash inched close to Sesi. ¡°There¡¯s no more food, I¡¯m sorry, Lady. I didn¡¯t pack enough.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want food,¡± said Tash. ¡°I think I¡¯ve eaten my fill for the week.¡±


    Sesi looked at her. ¡°Then what?¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s talk. I want to know about you. Your past.¡±


    Sesi shook her head. ¡°No, you don¡¯t.¡±


    Tash was insistent. ¡°Your life can¡¯t have been more boring than this,¡± she said.


    ¡°Another time,¡± said Sesi. ¡°Not now.¡±


    ¡°Fine.¡± Tasha sighed and settled in for an indefinite wait. Indefinitely long, but definitely boring. She took to beating out a tune on a nearby tree trunk with her fingers. Even this lost its appeal before anything happened. Oliver was still happily engaged in his conversation with Lieutenant Sharp. Tasha didn¡¯t interrupt him to beg to go back. She didn¡¯t want to feel like a spoiled child.


    Eventually, Millington spotted something moving. ¡°It¡¯s two feet tall at least,¡± he said. ¡°Looks a bit like cattle. Only smaller, obviously.¡± But whether it would come close enough to the clearing to be shot at was another question. Tash prayed that it didn¡¯t.


    It did, of course. It wandered right through. The stupid beast even looked at them, and it didn¡¯t run away. Did it not know how dangerous people were?


    Oliver reminded her to turn off the safety, which she did, and then she took her aim. This wasn¡¯t cute like the marsupial. This one was an ugly fucker. It had horrible yellowed horns and the face of a brute. And it wasn¡¯t doing anything adorable either. It was like it didn¡¯t want to save itself.


    Run. Run, now.


    It stayed put. Five more seconds, she thought. Five seconds, and then I¡¯ll shoot.


    Oliver crouched down beside her. Five.


    ¡°Whenever you¡¯re ready,¡± he whispered. ¡°Take your time.¡± Four.


    The cow turned its head towards the cover of the trees. All it had to do was return to the undergrowth and it would be safe. Three.


    She couldn¡¯t dawdle much more. Oliver would be upset. Two.


    Her finger squeezed on the trigger, oh so gently. It fought back. One. She pressed it.


    The bang was the only thing. She heard nothing else, saw nothing, felt nothing. Her senses were overwhelmed. Her heart wasn¡¯t even beating.


    And then the creature fell. She knew from the moment she saw it land that it was dead. Its torso was stained red, and its eyes didn¡¯t see. It was dead. She killed it. She hadn¡¯t even needed to touch it. She¡¯d been on the opposite side of the stream, hidden from it, and with the simplest push of a trigger she¡¯d ended its life. Just like that.


    That sort of power should have been reserved for the Gods.


    And it was hers.

 27. Chemical Reactions

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Caroline ~


    She¡¯d expected Doctor Staniforth to be furious. She hadn¡¯t expected him to storm into her office, not ten minutes after he arrived for the morning.


    ¡°I know what you did,¡± he said, his face boiling red. ¡°Do you think that¡¯s acceptable? The Chief Doctor sets an example for the rest.¡±


    Caro gave him a sweet smile, and took care to bat her eyelids. She hadn¡¯t done that for years. It definitely made her look stupid. But she¡¯d committed to it, so she had to pretend she didn¡¯t look foolish. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about, Rupert.¡± She put on the simpering voice she¡¯d perfected as a youngster, working a placement filled with grouchy old fogies who had spent decades slowly losing their memories and compensating with ever-shorter tempers.


    Staniforth grunted. ¡°You¡¯ve been in my office. Don¡¯t deny it, I saw what you wrote.¡±


    In an instant the sweet smile was gone. She hoped the stare she was giving him instead was clear enough in saying that she wasn¡¯t going to be cowed. ¡°I was retrieving a file, Rupert. I¡¯d not have needed to bother if you hadn¡¯t taken it from my office.¡±


    ¡°I did no such thing,¡± Staniforth bristled. ¡°I requested Corporal Rawlinson¡¯s file from one of the nurses, who provided it for me. It¡¯s not my job to police where she got it from.¡± Interesting. She¡¯d not said which file she¡¯d taken. Staniforth was halfway to a confession.


    If she turned the screw, she might get the rest of the confession. ¡°Which nurse?¡±


    ¡°I beg your pardon.¡±


    Caro¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°Which nurse? It¡¯s a simple question.¡±


    Staniforth blustered. ¡°Well, it¡¯s hard to tell. It was a while ago, and there are so many of them. I can¡¯t say I ever learned their names.¡± And this man thought he was a better pick for Chief Doctor?


    ¡°Describe her,¡± said Caroline. ¡°I might be able to help you.¡±


    ¡°She was big,¡± said Staniforth, quickly. ¡°Yes, big. Tall, but not too stocky. Dark hair. Black, no brown, all the way down to the small of her back. And she wore a funny hat.¡± He glanced behind him, where through the frosted glass Caro could see Viola Watling approaching. ¡°Just like that one,¡± said Staniforth. ¡°Yes, that¡¯s her, there.¡±


    Viola stopped for long enough to poke her head through the door. ¡°Doctor Staniforth?¡±


    Caro leaned over her desk. ¡°Viola, sweet, be a doll and step inside for a second. Push the door shut behind you.¡± Viola did as she was bid, looking nervously towards Caroline.


    ¡°Are you sure this is her?¡± Caro addressed Staniforth, but she was sure to look Viola in the eye. She hoped the look would reassure Viola that she wasn¡¯t the one on trial. It didn¡¯t work. Viola shuffled nervously, clutching at the grey cloche she wore today.


    Staniforth looked at Viola for a second, then nodded. ¡°That¡¯s definitely her.¡±


    ¡°So if I checked the video feed, I¡¯d see Viola breaking into my office?¡±


    ¡°No, I never,¡± Viola stammered, her eyes wide.


    Staniforth, too, had wide eyes. ¡°You don¡¯t have a camera in here,¡± he stammered.


    Caro grinned. ¡°I¡¯ll just have a looksee. The footage won¡¯t lie, after all.¡± She headed across to the little computer gathering dust on her desk, and began to poke away at the keyboard. The machine wasn¡¯t on. Not that Staniforth needed to know that.


    ¡°Actually, now that I think about it, I think I might have retrieved the file myself,¡± he said.


    Caro frowned, turning away from the dormant computer. ¡°So you broke in?¡±


    Staniforth shook his head. ¡°The door was open,¡± he said. ¡°The magnetic locks must have failed. Yes, that¡¯s it. I think Doctor Maynard mentioned something similar happening to her.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t use the magnetic locks,¡± said Caroline. ¡°I¡¯ve never set them up. I lock the door with a key¡ªa key which is always on my person. You¡¯d have had to force entry in order to come into my office uninvited. And I never invited you.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve done the same,¡± said Staniforth.


    ¡°No.¡± Caro shook her head. ¡°I entered an unlocked room within the bounds of my own hospital. Scour the regulations, Rupert, you¡¯ll see it¡¯s there in black ink. Or would multi-coloured better suit you? Maybe something with little pictures. I can have a variant prepared...¡±


    Staniforth hissed. ¡°You¡¯re a little bitch, you know that? They always give the good jobs to the bitches.¡±


    ¡°Are we done here?¡± She made her voice as firm as she could. ¡°Or should I send for the Lord Constable?¡±


    Staniforth skulked off, tail between his legs, muttering nastiness under his breath.


    Viola, the poor thing, was still stood to one side, looking utterly confused. Caro replaced the warm smile she liked to wear on her face. ¡°Sorry to frighten you, sweet. I know you had nothing to do with it. Now, was there something you wanted?¡± The admin block was a fair step out of the way.


    Viola nodded slowly. ¡°I talked with Phina,¡± she said. ¡°I told her that it was a drunken mistake, that I didn¡¯t fancy her or anything.¡±


    ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°She said she knew. It was just a bit of fun, nothing to worry about.¡±


    Caro felt an unnoticed tension in her shoulders ease. ¡°Well, that¡¯s good to hear. A load off your mind, I expect.¡±


    ¡°It is,¡± Viola agreed. ¡°Phina and I are okay now, Doctor Ballard. You don¡¯t need to keep us apart anymore.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad to hear that,¡± Caro said. ¡°Now, what say you wait there a minute while I finish up here, and then we¡¯ll work the shift together? I wouldn¡¯t want Doctor Staniforth thinking he could try and bully you.¡±


    Viola relaxed visibly at that. Staniforth clearly had her frightened. ¡°That would be good, Doctor Ballard. Thank-you.¡±


    ¡°My friends call me Caroline.¡±


    The shift passed without any further sign of Doctor Staniforth, who seemed to have locked himself in his office to stew. Caro followed her usual post-shift shower by changing into a casual sundress of flowing violet fabric. It seemed appropriate for the bright sunny weather of the day. Taking time to make sure her hair was brushed neatly, the way her husband liked it, she headed for the spot by the Clearwater where she had arranged to meet Chris. There, she waited.


    The baby bird had been perched on the edge of its nest for a quarter of an hour already. Caroline had watched it the whole time. Its brothers had taken flight, but they were bigger. This one was the smallest; its down feathers, streaked blue and yellow, were damp where its mother had pushed it twice. ¡°It must be about to leave the nest for the first time,¡± she said, when Chris approached. ¡°Is there anything so wonderful to see?¡±


    ¡°Food,¡± he grunted. ¡°Gold. Bed, after a hard day of work.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t take the fun out of things. You¡¯re late.¡±


    He¡¯d promised her the day, but it was nearly half gone and he¡¯d only just shown up. ¡°The meeting overran,¡± he said, by way of apology. ¡°Bradshaw¡¯s tenacious. He lets nothing go. I swear he writes down everything I ever say so he can regurgitate it over and over.¡±


    She flicked his nose. ¡°Have you tried getting things finished? He¡¯d have nothing to regurgitate then.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have a politician¡¯s brain, do you? It¡¯s not as simple as that. Things take time.¡±


    ¡°Easy, I¡¯m only being droll.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, that¡¯s all well and good, but perhaps it would be more helpful if you came to one of these meetings. It might open your eyes to the realities of life. You are on the Council, after all. I damn near had to suck Coningsby¡¯s dick to get you there.¡±


    She felt her fists clench into balls. ¡°I didn¡¯t ask you to. Remember that. I¡¯m a doctor, Chris, not a ruler. That job comes first.¡±


    Then came the hammer blow. He spoke whisper-soft, without emotion, and his words crushed her. ¡°I should have left you behind.¡± He¡¯d done so many times before, when he was still making his name. There were more than a few occasions where she¡¯d gone to an assignment without him. But all that was temporary. It only took a few months to go from, say, Belaboras to Opteris. A few months was nothing.


    This was forever.


    ¡°You don¡¯t mean that.¡± Perhaps if she said it with enough conviction, it would become true. What did his eyes say? It wouldn¡¯t be the first time he¡¯d said a hurtful lie for effect. Those lies had tells, subtle but easy to see if you knew what you were looking for. Sometimes his nostrils flared, sometimes his pupils dilated. If he was nervous, he¡¯d usually restate the same point in successive sentences, using different words. She couldn¡¯t see any of those tells. He still loved her. Ian had assured her of that. She was just beginning to wonder if Ian had got it wrong. It had been a long time since Chris had shown any of that love.


    ¡°Come. We agreed to go for a walk today. That¡¯s what we¡¯ll do.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t unheard of for them to argue, usually about something petty that didn¡¯t really matter to either of them. They¡¯d gone through the same charade a hundred times or more. Chris just needed to blow off steam. He¡¯d picked an argument with her because he knew it wouldn¡¯t escalate¡ªhe¡¯d apologised after the last time, taken it on the chin when she¡¯d made him sleep out in the living area for a few nights, and vowed not to go too far again. She wasn¡¯t about to inflame the situation by aiming a low blow. They¡¯d shout at each other a bit, make a few cheap snipes, then she¡¯d let him marinate in his miasma of fury for a little while and he¡¯d be chipper again. The first few times it had happened, she¡¯d been hurt. Why did she have to be the one to suffer, because somebody else had done something to piss Chris off?


    Then it had been her turn to be cross. For what reason, she couldn¡¯t remember. She¡¯d forgotten why she was upset before she¡¯d stopped shouting, it was that important to her. Once she¡¯d unloaded on Chris for leaving too many crumbs the last time he ate some toast, she felt much better. It was therapeutic. And what sort of hypocrite would she be to stop her husband from doing something which she knew worked?


    They began the walk in a stewing silence. Chris led the way, and his eyes never left the ground. Twice, he nearly bumped into people, and Caro had to apologise for him. Their route meandered, but it spent little time within the boundaries of the town; instead, it snaked up the foothills at the side of the valley, where traffic was far lighter. Master Dombric at least stopped to say hello as he passed them on the crest of the slope, which seemed to provoke Chris into speaking at last. ¡°Do you remember the day we went to the South Gate?¡±


    She was still a teenager when they¡¯d been to the South Gate. An old archway of yellowed stone, in the middle of a scarcely relevant market town somewhere on Belaboras, visiting it was something of a rite of passage. The history was bloody, but it was just that¡ªhistory. In the modern age, the South Gate was wholly unimpressive. That was all she remembered of her visit¡ªjust how disappointing it all was. She put on a smiling face and nodded.


    ¡°I promised you¡¯d be a queen,¡± Chris continued.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°I thought you were joking.¡± Thought, or hoped.


    His face darkened. ¡°That¡¯s not something I¡¯d joke about. You were born to be a queen.¡±


    ¡°I was born to shit in nappies. The rest is experience.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± He shook his head. ¡°You have a royal family. Royal blood.¡±


    ¡°I had an ancestor who worked for old King Lawrence,¡± she said.


    ¡°And who married his daughter.¡±


    She laughed. ¡°No, King Lawrence¡¯s daughter was the Little Princess Eleanor. She died when she was three. My however-many-greats-grandfather married King Lionel¡¯s daughter. And his eighth daughter at that, we¡¯re about as far from royalty as it gets.¡±


    ¡°All these kings have confusing names,¡± Chris muttered.


    The ground here was soft, almost spongy underfoot. Clumps of heather sprouted infrequently, and flowers grew in pretty rows of yellows and pinks and blues. ¡°Look at them all,¡± she said, pointing them out to Chris. There were similar plants in the meadows around her home, where her grandmother used to take her walking on summer¡¯s days. They liked to see how many they could find. It was always a competition, between Caro and Tessa, and Armand until he grew older and stopped being interested in such womanly distractions as flowers. Nana Raine sent someone to count as many pink peonies as they could see, and somebody else the lemon-yellow bellflowers. Whoever had misbehaved the most would be sent off to find umbels of starfire.


    Starfire was a favourite of Nana Raine. There was always a vase of them on the mantle of her study. The flowers were a fiery orange, so sweetly smelling that nothing else could be smelled for hours afterwards, and when they started to wither the leaves would be crushed up and stirred in with that night¡¯s soup. Those were the nights Caro missed the most. But starfire didn¡¯t exist on the meadows. Nana Raine had it shipped in from warmer climes. The person tasked with finding starfire umbels was destined to lose.


    Armand reckoned he found one once, growing in the shade of a dovetree. There was only his word for it, of course; they were strictly forbidden from picking the flowers. ¡°They¡¯re the souls of the rested dead, waiting for their next body to be born,¡± Nana Raine said, whenever Caro asked, ¡°and to pick them is to deny them life. That is unforgiveable.¡± The rule only applied to the flowers in the meadow, of course, and not the ones Nana Raine brought in. They were the souls of foreign dead, so it didn¡¯t matter if they were never born again.


    She wondered who could have died to leave their souls in these flowers.


    ¡°We¡¯re a long way up, here,¡± said Chris, who had at some point pulled ahead. He was stood at the edge of a cliff, his hair buffeted by a kindly wind. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t want to fall from up here. It would kill a man.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll try not to fall, then,¡± she said, with a smile. He could be so morbid at times, but never when he was angry. Their argument had been forgotten.


    It was surprising just how far up they were. The climb was so gentle, and the surroundings so captivating, that she hadn¡¯t noticed. In fact, it hadn¡¯t really felt like they were climbing at all. And yet they had. It had to be at least a few hundred metres down to the valley. If she¡¯d realised, she wouldn¡¯t have come so close to the edge to see for herself. She shuddered bodily.


    ¡°Let¡¯s move away from the edge, shall we?¡± She¡¯d grabbed a hold of Chris¡¯ arm without noticing; his skin was an unnatural white where her hands were. She let go.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡±


    She nodded. ¡°A bit uneasy. That¡¯s all.¡± Nothing more needed saying. Chris looked over at the cliff-edge, and back to her again, then pushed her gently away. Why couldn¡¯t she handle a bit of height? Chris swore he didn¡¯t think less of her¡ªthat it was perfectly normal, especially given her past, for her to be uncomfortable. But nobody else got upset. Only her. Father would have told her to get over herself, and he would have been right¡ªshe was a grown woman, not a little girl, and she was much too old to be letting things from thirty years ago get in the way of her life.


    If Father had been a bit more cautious, this wouldn¡¯t be an issue.


    Chris kissed her lightly on the cheek. ¡°Come on,¡± he said, taking her hand in his as he started to walk. ¡°We¡¯ve got a lot still to see.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t flat land here. Even the grassy plateaus had waving hills, and humps of bleached rock. Chris was leading them towards just such a hump, with narrow trees growing on either side. Beyond, she could see only the sun, and vaguely, far away, the shadowy aspect of a mountain. The shape was faded, far further than they could walk today. Good. Chris could walk there with somebody else.


    ¡°Do you think you¡¯d change anything? If you could go back in time, start again?¡±


    Chris turned to her. ¡°And lose you?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to go back that far. A few years, perhaps.¡±


    He stopped walking, perching on the white rock. She sat beside him. ¡°What could I possibly want to change? I have you, and I have this planet. I¡¯d say my life is perfect.¡±


    She grimaced. ¡°When I was a girl, I figured I¡¯d have had some children by now.¡±


    ¡°And when you were a teenager, you swore you never wanted children. I was there, Caro, it was pretty much your motto.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t want children,¡± she agreed, repeating the lie she¡¯d learned to believe in. ¡°But I still assumed I¡¯d have them. I thought when I got to twenty-five or twenty-six it would just happen, and then when that didn¡¯t happen I thought it would be thirty-five instead. Now here I am, looking at the world from north of thirty-five, and zip. I¡¯m wondering if I shouldn¡¯t have made something happen earlier.¡± It nearly had. Once, when Chris was away on one of his missions, she¡¯d been taken by brooding. Every day she checked, until one day the test told her she was pregnant. She¡¯d been so excited to tell Chris when he came back. She¡¯d taken up sewing, started to weave nice gifts for the little baby girl. Half a menagerie awaited the child, by the time Chris arrived. But the baby had never lived. That was the worst day of her life. Since then she¡¯d been loath to get her hopes up. She¡¯d not become pregnant since, no matter how much she tried.


    Chris shook his head. ¡°Think what you¡¯d have had to give up. Things would be different. It¡¯s not like we¡¯d be having the same conversation in the same place, with progeny running at our feet.¡±


    ¡°Must you use the word ¡®progeny¡¯?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d have made sacrifices over the years. You¡¯d have missed out on so much.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have known it, though. I can¡¯t miss something I¡¯ve never known.¡±


    Chris sighed. ¡°It¡¯s not too late, Caro.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it? How do you know? What if there was only one moment in the whole history of the universe where we could make a child together, and I was too busy working to be there.¡±


    He laughed. ¡°If there was only moment in the whole history of the universe, then frankly I don¡¯t think the odds were ever in our favour. It¡¯s a long history. Things don¡¯t follow some sort of ordained destiny, Caro. Just chemical reactions.¡±


    ¡°Chemical reactions?¡± She raised an eyebrow. ¡°Is that all our love is to you?¡±


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t knock chemical reactions,¡± said Chris. ¡°Look, Oliver Wrack¡¯s wife is pregnant. I¡¯ll invite the two of them to our chambers one night. If you¡¯ve got babies on the brain, perhaps that¡¯ll help.¡±


    I can¡¯t see why it would. She smiled demurely. Since Essegena had become a real place they could really stand upon, rather than a distant hypothetical, nice moments with Chris had been unfairly sparse. He was trying today. She needn¡¯t provoke him needlessly.


    ¡°Now, would you look at that,¡± said Chris. ¡°That¡¯s a lake and a half.¡±


    She turned to follow his gaze. Previously hidden from them by the rock they were now using as a bench, the lake stretched for miles. Looking distantly, to the north, it seemed as if it went right to the very base of the glowing uplands with their rows upon rows of stock-straight trees. Even nearby, the grassy opposite bank was barely visible. The glint of sunlight off the water dazzled her. She squinted, and raised a hand to shield her eyes. ¡°It¡¯s beautiful,¡± she murmured.


    ¡°Fit for a queen,¡± Chris said, nodding. ¡°How far do you reckon it goes? I can¡¯t see the other side.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps it never ends.¡±


    He nudged her in the ribs. ¡°Look at that there,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s a wonder this place is here.¡± He was pointing at the lake¡¯s southern shore, the side closest to the valley. A strip of grass and grey-brown rock ran between the water and the precipice. From here, it didn¡¯t look any more than five feet or so wide.


    ¡°It must just be the perspective,¡± she offered. ¡°It¡¯ll be that much wider up close, you¡¯ll see.¡±


    ¡°I hope so,¡± said Chris. ¡°If the rock here¡¯s soft enough, it¡¯ll erode all that pretty quickly.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps we should find somewhere else to build. Somewhere safer.¡±


    ¡°That won¡¯t be needful,¡± said Chris. ¡°I¡¯ll send Master Holden up with a team, maybe Master Peulion too. If it¡¯s weak, let them build it stronger. Really, it¡¯s just a huge dam.¡±


    Caro was uncertain. Sure, a good dam would keep the water up here even if the rocky strip wore away, but that didn¡¯t mean it was a good idea to build directly beneath it. What if something went wrong? But Chris knew best. He always did, it seemed.


    She slipped off her shoes, standing them against the rock, and padded barefoot towards the water¡¯s edge. The grass ran almost all the way down to the shoreline, the soil getting drier and sandier as it neared the water. At the very edge, a small beach of dark, sodden sand had formed. Caro squeezed her toes here, enjoying the feeling of the sand between them. It had been too long. She¡¯d forgotten what it was like.


    ¡°You watch there¡¯s nothing sharp,¡± Chris called. He was still on the grass, tracing a path parallel to the water. ¡°I can¡¯t carry you back if you cut your feet.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not six years old, Chris,¡± she shouted. But she did cast a cautious look at the ground in front of her, just to confirm there was nothing there. She kept it to herself. Chris didn¡¯t need to know that she was an idiot.


    The water was icy cold. A jolt of shock coursed through her, and involuntarily she gasped. It was clear, though, almost like a sheet of glass. This water is pure, she thought¡ªthe taint of industry hasn¡¯t touched it. She felt almost guilty to be the first. She took a few more steps, rolling up the legs of her trousers to keep them dry, and stood for a time with the water covering her ankles. Somewhere, deep in her mind, came the illusion of her screams, Tessa¡¯s screams, sisters caught in a bitter fight to splash the other one more. That was what summers were for.


    She moved a foot, and it caught on something hard. Glancing down, she saw there was something buried in the sand, barely poking up. It didn¡¯t look like a pebble. She reached down to it. Her clothes were soaked, but she ignored it. The thing, whatever it was, fit perfectly in her hand; she pulled at it, but it refused to give way. She was suddenly excited. What if Bessily¡¯s figure wasn¡¯t the only one beneath the water?


    ¡°Chris! Give me a hand with this!¡± While she waited for him to arrive, she set to work digging at the sand surrounding the object. It was loose when Chris got to her.


    ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°Dig this sand away.¡± He scraped it off, and she returned to pulling at the thing beneath the water. Hard at first, it became easier the more she worked at it. Suddenly, it came free, lifting up plenty of silt. It slid out easy then.


    ¡°It¡¯s just wood,¡± said Chris. He sounded let down.


    But Caro shook her head. There were markings on it, carvings, blunted to illegibility by years of submersion. And if she squinted, she could almost make out the shape of a man. If she turned it the right way... yes, and if that was the head, then those were definitely eyes, two small notches. ¡°I think it¡¯s some sort of figurine,¡± she said. ¡°An old idol perhaps.¡± Bessily had found the Willow Queen. Who could this fellow be? She looked for something distinctive, something she could pin on a character from the stories. The figure could be any of a million ancient heroes. Perhaps there was a Lysander the Pug-Ugly.


    She turned to Chris. ¡°How can this be here? I thought we were the first people here¡ªbleeding stranger aside.¡±


    Chris grimaced. ¡°In a technical sense, no,¡± he said. ¡°But this place should definitely be empty.¡±


    ¡°In a technical sense?¡± Caro put her hands on her hips, the way her mother always used to when she was cross.


    He stood straight. A single drop of water snaked down his face, holding on his chin. ¡°There was another mission. Long time ago, centuries. They never reported their arrival, so the Unity assumed they hadn¡¯t made it.¡±


    ¡°And you never thought to mention that?¡±


    ¡°It was classified information,¡± he protested. ¡°High Commissioner Peulion told me in confidence. Besides, it never seemed relevant.¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°Never relevant? Chris, do you not remember when three people completely disappeared? I had a man in the hospital who wasn¡¯t on the ship. I¡¯ve been taking shit from Doctor Staniforth for months because of him. Where do you think he came from?¡±


    His eyes were bulging as he scrambled for words. ¡°I assumed it wasn¡¯t linked.¡±


    ¡°Why would you assume that? Chris, that¡¯s the only thing that makes sense. He had to come from somewhere, unless you think he just sprang into being like magic.¡± She turned to start back, still holding onto the figurine. ¡°You have to hold a meeting. The Council needs to know. About this, and about anything else you¡¯ve been keeping secret. And you¡¯d best find somewhere to sleep tonight, because there¡¯s no way you¡¯re sleeping with me.¡±


    She left without waiting for him, stopping only long enough to scoop up her shoes and jam them on her feet. Her mind was reeling. How much had she been willing to give him the benefit of the doubt for? Ian had sworn that Chris still loved her. Either Ian was lying, or Ian didn¡¯t know his friend as well as he thought he did. If Chris really loved her, he¡¯d not have found it so easy to forsake the most important part of their relationship. The truth was the only thing she asked of him.


    What else had he lied about? Was there another woman, perhaps? No, she would not think about that. If there was another woman, she didn¡¯t want to know. Chris had lied to her, he¡¯d hidden this fact from her, but that was all he¡¯d done. It had to be.


    Halfway down the slope, she caught sight of a soldier, trudging towards her with eyes half closed. They opened fully when he noticed her. She couldn¡¯t help but that notice that the man was focused on her chest. Of course she¡¯d worn clothes that turned transparent when wet¡ªwhat could be more appropriate attire for a trip to a lake? ¡°You.¡± She snapped her fingers, and he looked at her face. He had the good graces at least to look bashful.


    ¡°Mistress Ballard,¡± he said. ¡°Can I help you?¡±


    ¡°Doctor Ballard. There¡¯s more to me than being married to the Governor. Where are you going?¡±


    He looked at her. ¡°Plateau Watch,¡± he said. ¡°What¡¯s it to you?¡±


    Plateau Watch. Was that the name Bessily had mentioned? Sod it. ¡°I need you to take a message there, if you¡¯d be so kind. For Mistress Bessily Edwards. Have you got some paper?¡±


    The soldier nodded, and retrieved a small scrap from the pack on his back. She leaned against the trunk of a nearby tree and scribbled a hasty message. Then, she wrapped the paper around the damp figurine, and handed it to the soldier. ¡°Give her this.¡±


    ¡°How will I know who she is?¡±


    ¡°Ask. Somebody there will point her out to you. Oh, and make sure she gets the message, not anybody else.¡±


    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡± The soldier nodded and continued on his way, moving southwards along the trail half-formed in dead and trampled grass.


    Caro carried on towards the town, conscious of her wet clothes clinging to her with every step she took, and dreaming of the warm bath she¡¯d take when she was safely back in her quarters, with the door locked tightly behind her.

 28. A Visitor

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Ian ~


    Ian spent the afternoon in the solitude of his chambers, his mind drifting constantly towards the Testimony of Eia, still sat mockingly on his shelf. Read me, it seemed to shout. Let the old stories in. But he would not.


    Sergeant Pratley had caught up to Millie Farmer, on Ian¡¯s behalf, and made arrangements for a midnight rendezvous. That would be fun. Millie was young and attractive, and no doubt would be some pliable flesh. Still, Ian couldn¡¯t think about Millie Farmer. There was only one woman he¡¯d allow himself to dwell on.


    So he thought of her, those vibrant eyes and that little laugh and the way she used to throw her hair back as she ran, and it took him back to the happier days of his youth. To be young and invincible again... It was in this remembrance that the afternoon faded into evening. Dusk had descended, by the looks of the fresco on the wall¡ªthe one with the gaudy scene of a sun passing across a marbled sky¡ªwhen there came a knocking at his door.


    ¡°What is it?¡± he yelled, not getting up from the bed he¡¯d spent the last three hours sat on.


    Sergeant Pratley¡¯s muffled voice came through the door. ¡°A visitor, sir.¡±


    ¡°Tell him to bugger off.¡± It would be Chris, it was always Chris. Whatever Chris wanted, Ian couldn¡¯t be arsed to deal with it. Chris would talk for hours. Ian might miss his rendezvous with Miss Farmer. He couldn¡¯t very well explain to Chris that he was planning on screwing some young thing while across the stars his wife cried.


    To his annoyance, the door opened. ¡°He won¡¯t listen to the Sergeant, so you can tell him to his face.¡± Caroline popped her head around the door, a pout on her face. ¡°I need to talk to you, Ian.¡±


    He felt his face go bright red. ¡°Of course,¡± he said, flustered. ¡°Whatever you want. If anyone else comes, Sergeant, I¡¯m not in.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re getting all the action today, sir,¡± Sergeant Pratley shouted from outside. ¡°I¡¯m proud of you.¡±


    ¡°Cheeky bastard.¡±


    He got up and shut the door himself, taking time to be sure the lock had caught. Caroline had made straight for his bookshelf. She was a picture, he mused, in a gown of coral silk that hugged her curves generously. Her hair fell effortlessly down her back in a fiery cascade. She always managed to make it look like she¡¯d given it no attention at all. That hadn¡¯t gone away with Chris¡¯ efforts to proper her up, and Ian was glad of it.


    She¡¯d found the Testimony and was leafing through it idly. ¡°This is a well-read copy,¡± she noted. ¡°Ian, have you been hiding something?¡± She turned to fix him with an amused smirk.


    He shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s a loan. I¡¯ve barely touched it, if truth be told.¡± Of course, truth not be told. He¡¯d read it for hours the other day, and since then he was forever drawn back to it, but he wasn¡¯t about to get into all that. Back in Borrowood, he¡¯d been the first to laugh at jokes about the death of the faith. Caroline would gloat if she thought he¡¯d gone religious after all. He didn¡¯t need that from her.


    ¡°The man didn¡¯t want to ease you in, obviously. This is a depressing book, Ian. I hated it every time I read through it.¡±


    ¡°How many times did you read through it?¡±


    ¡°Too many,¡± said Caroline. ¡°There was a period when I couldn¡¯t stop.¡±


    ¡°Even though you didn¡¯t enjoy it?¡±


    She nodded. ¡°Even though I didn¡¯t enjoy it.¡±


    Ian frowned. ¡°So why did you keep reading it?¡±


    Caroline hesitated for a second. He could see her lip twitch as she made to speak, then thought better of it. ¡°It spoke to me. Bits of it. In ways I¡¯ve never felt since. The eulogy for Matheld cuts me up. And Emonie the huntress always made me tingle a bit inside.¡±


    He hadn¡¯t got to that part. ¡°Fill me in. Emonie the huntress?¡±


    ¡°The one who got sick,¡± said Caroline. ¡°She got sick, and then the tide came in and she couldn¡¯t swim away, so she drowned. But of course it turned out she wasn¡¯t dead after all. She died with her brother and her sister. Their funeral¡­ I don¡¯t know, I guess it made me think of Armand and Tessa¡ªwhat it would be like if the three of us died. It was too easy to imagine Nana Raine sat on her little chair by the window, rocking herself quietly to sleep because she¡¯s all alone. It felt so real a part of me still won¡¯t accept that it wasn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°How can it have been real? You¡¯re not dead, and neither¡¯s Armand. Tessa wasn¡¯t either, last I saw her¡ªthough that was some years ago now, I confess.¡±


    Caroline smiled. ¡°Tessa¡¯s fine,¡± she said.


    ¡°And how are you? I¡¯m not used to having visitors.¡±


    She looked at him, for a long while she looked, and then suddenly she lurched forward towards him. He put his arms out to catch her as she fell forward, collapsing into him amid a wave of sobs. ¡°I can¡¯t do it anymore,¡± she said, her voice muted by the woollen sleeve she was speaking into. ¡°Chris and me. I can¡¯t cope.¡±


    Ian felt suddenly awkward. He pivoted around, turning her so she was next to his bed and then pushing her lightly onto it. She gave the springs a test as she landed, and Ian quickly took a step back, before she felt the urge to come to him again. He couldn¡¯t be too close to her. It wouldn¡¯t be right.


    ¡°Can¡¯t cope? What¡¯s happened?¡±


    ¡°We had a row,¡± she said. ¡°Stupid thing. Just a normal row like we always do, and I told him to find somewhere else to sleep. That was a few days ago now. I haven¡¯t seen him since. He¡¯s not been to the suite, Sergeant Marris won¡¯t tell me where he¡¯s going. It would be different if I could trust him, but I can¡¯t. How do I know he¡¯s not with some other woman?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not,¡± said Ian, though he didn¡¯t know for sure. For Dani¡¯s memory, Chris had to be honest. Nothing else would make it all be worth it. And it had to be worth it.


    ¡°I found something,¡± said Caroline. ¡°I don¡¯t think Chris really understood what it was. I think he found it funny.¡±


    ¡°Well, is it funny?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Caroline. ¡°Look, I hate that I¡¯m putting this on you, but I have to tell somebody. My poor heart will burst if I keep this to myself, and then I¡¯ll die.¡±


    He¡¯d never seen her looking so earnest. ¡°What is it?¡± he said, biting back a spell of nervous laughter.


    ¡°A figurine. A man, carved in wood and then discarded like it¡¯s nothing.¡±


    ¡°A figurine? In the lake?¡±


    She nodded.


    ¡°Well, where is it? Can I see?¡±


    Caroline shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t have it with me. I daren¡¯t. Ian, somebody¡¯s after me. A while back, there was a man... I don¡¯t know how, but he knew who I was, and he wasn¡¯t friendly about it.¡±


    Ian turned towards the door, thinking to call for Sergeant Pratley. ¡°Have my security. I don¡¯t need it, I can handle myself.¡± And it would make it easier to hide his meetings with Millie Farmer.


    ¡°It¡¯s not my safety I¡¯m worried about,¡± said Caroline. ¡°Look, Ian, it¡¯s with a girl up north at Plateau Watch. She doesn¡¯t need anything, she¡¯s keeping it safe, just... Her name¡¯s Bessily. Bessily Edwards. If you hear the name, if someone so much as whispers it, find me.¡±


    He gratefully shepherded Caroline out, asking Sergeant Pratley to escort her home. That was a masterstroke as far as he was concerned; with the Sergeant walking with Caroline, there¡¯d be nobody to see as he headed to the northern fortress.


    The air was brisk but clear, and the wind around him was actually comforting as he made the long walk, but two hours was longer than it had sounded in his head, and by the time the walls of Plateau Watch came into view his bollocks were beginning to chafe.


    ¡°Master Fitzhenry,¡± said a woman stood beside the main door, suddenly straightening. ¡°What brings you here?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m looking for somebody,¡± he told her. ¡°Bessily Edwards. Do you know her?¡±


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    The woman nodded. ¡°I know Bessily. Let me take you to her.¡±


    She led Ian through the fort, past several soldiers sat at breakfast, and all the way out the other side. It opened out into a yard, planted with infant crops and furnished with one incredible view of the hills and declensions all around it. Bessily Edwards, it turned out, wasn¡¯t in the fort at all. She was instead to be found in the stables which had been built next to it. The soldier brought Ian to where a dark-haired woman was stood with an older gentleman, a tough bugger with a thick white moustache and leathery hands. Both looked curiously at Ian as he approached.


    ¡°Look lively, girl,¡± said the man. ¡°That¡¯s the Corrack.¡±


    ¡°Mister Fitzhenry wants to speak with Bess,¡± said the soldier.


    The man looked at Ian, then turned to the dark-haired woman¡ªBessily, presumably. ¡°You been getting up to mischief?¡±


    ¡°No, Master Speke,¡± she said, shaking her head.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Bessily hasn¡¯t done anything wrong,¡± said Ian. ¡°I¡¯d just like a word, if possible.¡±


    The man grunted. ¡°I can spare her for five minutes. I can spare her for the whole day, if you want to take her. She¡¯d get just as much work done.¡±


    Ian thanked him and beckoned Bessily to follow him, walking until they were well out of earshot¡ªand out from under the stable roof, too, in case there was a troublesome echo.


    ¡°I understand you¡¯re acquainted with Doctor Ballard,¡± he said.


    Bessily¡¯s eyes widened¡ªthey were the same bright green as Caroline¡¯s, he noted. ¡°She told you¡ª¡±


    Ian shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t know or care how you came to know her¡ªI hope I don¡¯t offend you in saying that. Caroline gave you something the other day, for safekeeping.¡±


    Bessily nodded along.


    Good. She knew what he was on about. He smiled. ¡°I¡¯d like to see it, if that¡¯s not too much trouble.¡±


    Bessily was hemming and hawing, dragging her boots in the dirt. ¡°I¡¯m not sure Doctor Ballard would like that.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m a good friend of Caroline¡¯s. In another life we might even have been married.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not, though,¡± said Bessily. ¡°Married, I mean.¡±


    He shook his head. ¡°No, I¡¯m not. But that doesn¡¯t mean I don¡¯t need your help, Bessily. I¡¯ve seen a similar figurine myself. I just want to know if the one Caroline found is similar.¡± It was a lie, but it was a justifiable one. Bessily wouldn¡¯t show him anything otherwise. Caroline had done a good job instilling some distrust in the girl.


    She thought for a second, then nodded. ¡°Come with me,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s in my bedroom.¡±


    It had been not long after noon when Caroline had paid her visit, but it was nearly evening when Ian finally made it back to his quarters¡ªgiving him just long enough to prepare for his rendezvous with Millie. It wasn¡¯t even like Bessily Edwards had bestowed great hospitality upon him. She¡¯d shown him the idol, ugly as it was, and then ushered him away. The poor thing had stopped to glance twice at every shadow that so much as danced. Ian had been glad to get away.


    The way to the lake was hard to find even in twilight, when there was still a hint of the former day¡¯s sun. The Northern Road, the road to Plateau Watch, would take him close, but it was too visible. It required a cut through the plaza, and there was no saying who might spy him there. So he was to take an alternative route. Much of the valley was bordered by steep cliffs; the more gentle slopes were filled with row on row of trees, dark silhouettes lurking and looming. These wooden sentinels were the repose of malignant spirits, so the stories claimed. Ian always liked ghost stories. He¡¯d devoured them since he was old enough to read, learned all the hallmarks.


    This was the period of his life when he came to regret reading so many of them. Here, alone in the near-darkness, wandering a strange land on the way to an illicit rendezvous, his imagination was king. Every shadow was a watcher. Every firefly a wisp-light. The distant shrieks of nocturnal birds were the wails of the dead. There wasn¡¯t even a moon to give him light; the both of them had conspired to shroud his way with darkness. His heart was racing. Blood rushed to every extremity.


    Now is not the time for an erection.


    Caroline¡¯s idol lingered in the crook of his mind. It had a sly grin, a devilish malevolence to its face. His head transposed sinister shadows over the top of the memory, and in that new light the figure attained a distinct hue of evil. He could well imagine some lumbering creature¡ªnot a man, but something in that ilk¡ªhiding in the cover of the trees and their darkness. The idol had to have been based on something. Why was it safe to assume that it was just a crappy carving of a man? Was it not just as possible that it was an excellent representation of something unknown that wanted to eat his blood?


    You¡¯re being silly, Ian. You can¡¯t eat blood.


    He wondered why he¡¯d arranged this. Not meeting Millie. She¡¯d warm his bed for as long as she wanted to, and then probably disappear to her own life. He gave it a month, tops, before she got bored of him. Much longer and he¡¯d end up getting bored of her. So the hookup wasn¡¯t an issue. But he could have had her come to his chambers, or suggested anywhere else. He¡¯d never even been to the lake. Caro had described it to him, in terse words. Up the western face of the valley, between the trees, then north a bit, then east. The sort of specific directions that were invaluable.


    Still, he had plenty of time. How far off course could he go?


    I bet those soldiers thought the same thing. Poor buggers.


    Months without a trace. Surely by now they¡¯d at least have found some bones or something.


    He was thankful he¡¯d brought a coat. The still air was perfectly temperate, but there was an icy breeze that blew every now and then, and it bit. Every gust whistled wildly amidst the ranks of faceless trees. It was as if they had grown in those specific spots to funnel frigid air directly at Ian. He could see in his mind¡¯s eye the savage smiles of the arboreal spirits who had spread those seeds long ago.


    If there were Gods, they were dicks. A kind god would quell the wind and light his way to the lake, maybe fill his pockets with freshly-minted bushels as well. He held his hands up to the sky, challenging Lightness Skerrett¡¯s beloved Gods to prove their benevolence.


    It started to rain.


    ¡°Fuck you,¡± Ian shouted, pulling the collar on his coat up as far as it would reach. He pressed on. Lost.


    And then, just as thoughts of giving in and going back home started to linger in his mind, he found it. The lake. Well, a lake, in any case, and a huge one. He could scarcely see the far shore. Darkness and rain had done a number on visibility, and in the light of day it was probably impossible to miss the other side, but there was nothing to say that it wasn¡¯t an endless lake. Nothing but a few floating lights. If he really squinted, perhaps that was the shadow of a person he could see passing in front of one of the lights? But then again, perhaps it was something different altogether. In a lot of old stories, there were strange floating lights¡ªghost lights, they were called. Harbingers of some ominous future. Perhaps that was what he could see. Who would be camping up here on a night like this?


    But then, he¡¯d come up here for a cheap fuck. Who was he to judge the motives of anybody else?


    Millie Farmer had beaten him here. She was sat on a patch of sandy grass, a dozen feet from the waterline. Nobody had filled her in on the weather situation; her arms and her legs were bare and goosepimpled, and she was shivering gently. She brightened when Ian sat beside her. ¡°I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d come,¡± she said. ¡°I figured you¡¯d think I was crazy and stay away. Or bring a load of armed guards to arrest me.¡± She shot a look behind her. ¡°You didn¡¯t bring armed guards, did you?¡±


    ¡°If I wanted you arrested, it would have been when you made a scene at the Lord Constable¡¯s tower. Don¡¯t forget that my sergeant had you in custody then.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    A violent shiver took her. Ian sighed inwardly, then removed his coat and draped it around her. Typical that he had to be the one who was cold. ¡°Here¡¯s how this is going to work,¡± he said. ¡°You don¡¯t know me. I will initiate contact, or else Sergeant Pratley will on my behalf. He¡¯s the man who caught you this morning. This is only sex¡ªany lovey shit and I will have you arrested.¡±


    ¡°Arrested for lovey shit?¡±


    ¡°Okay, not arrested.¡± The cold had got to Millie¡¯s face, he noticed. Her cheeks were blushing. Dani Carrigan had been a blusher. This Millie had better not go too close to the water. He found himself leaning closer towards her, breathing in the aura of honeysuckle and angel¡¯s breath. ¡°You know what, the lovey shit¡¯s fine.¡±


    A nightbird hooted. Ian could see the glow of its eyes. How long had it been watching them? They were both sweaty and exhausted, in states of partial undress. The rain, thankfully, had stopped, but the lake water had only made the wind stronger. He reached for his coat. It wasn¡¯t where he¡¯d left it. Millie was wearing only the dress he¡¯d found her in.


    The coat had been cast off at some point. He couldn¡¯t remember whether it was him or Millie who had thrown it, but they¡¯d done so carelessly. ¡°No, no, no.¡± He dashed forward to retrieve the coat, and too late. It had landed in the water, and begun to slowly sink. By the time he grabbed it, it was half-sunk and quite waterlogged.


    So they¡¯d both be shivering on the way back home.


    The rain¡¯s end meant that Ian could see across the water. There were lights, a dozen of them. He squinted to see what was around them. By now, night had fallen completely. He could just about make out the odd silhouette passing in front of one of the lights. Very little else.


    The faint sound of voices, maybe?


    ¡°Was that to your liking, Master Fitzhenry?¡±


    ¡°Ssh.¡± He strained his ears. It was definitely voices he could hear. Men talking. They were too far away for him to make out their words.


    Somewhere behind him, a dead leaf crunched. He snapped his head round. There was someone moving just beyond the treeline. If they caught him with a woman who wasn¡¯t his wife...


    ¡°We need to move,¡± he whispered, pulling Millie to her feet.


    ¡°I need to dress myself,¡± she moaned. ¡°I can¡¯t go to Mistress Snyder half-naked, she¡¯ll have my hide.¡±


    ¡°Now.¡±


    He picked up everything he could see abandoned on the ground, and made a diagonal north-east. His intention was to get in the cover of the trees as soon as possible without running directly into the approaching figure, and he hoped he¡¯d picked the right direction.


    He was running too fast. He¡¯d forgotten that he was dragging Millie along by her arm, and she couldn¡¯t keep up. Halfway to the trees she stumbled and fell, and that was it. He went down too. His knees took the full force of the landing. They¡¯d be bleeding, undoubtedly, but there was no time to check.


    Floorbound, he made a quick mental calculation. The woods were too far away still, and they wouldn¡¯t be thick enough immediately to keep them out of sight. None of the trees¡¯ trunks were wide enough to hide behind. Just a short way to his right, though, was a large rock, sticking out of the ground. They could crawl that far.


    Millie made a noise of complaint as he tugged on her arm, but he ignored her. He ducked behind the rock, and made sure Millie was behind it too. ¡°Keep down,¡± he hissed.


    Then he poked his head round the side of the rock, tentatively. They¡¯d made it just in time. The walker was already emerging into the open. His boots were heavy as he trudged along the ground.


    The mint moon was full tonight. Moonlight caught his face at just the right angle, and for a moment the man was brightly lit. It made his identity unmistakeable.


    The question, therefore, was why Oliver Wrack had come to the lake at night.

 29. The Messenger in the Night

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ David ~


    The messenger woke him in the dead of night. It had been an uneasy sleep on the stiff mattress he¡¯d still not got around to replacing, but that didn¡¯t mean David wanted to throw it all away. Still, he could do only so much to resist the messenger¡¯s insistence, and three minutes of being shaken while a piping voice hissed his name over and over was the limit. So he opened his eyes¡ªto this pimply messenger standing over him.


    ¡°The Lieutenant sent me,¡± he said, breathless, while David was still bleary-eyed and chasing pointless trains of thought. His face was red and drenched in sweat, and dark patches stained the front of his sodden uniform. He¡¯d run a fair stretch.


    He was only a boy, an academy youngster with a fresh face who had somehow wound up at the edge of the universe. His hair, overlong and in need of a cut, hung in blond curls to frame his face. It was a long face, but slender and refined rather than horsy and gaunt. He had a perfectly dimpled chin. No doubt he¡¯d enjoy success with the ladies, once he¡¯d grown into his face. Or the men. But he was too pretty to make a good soldier, David thought.


    Yet he¡¯d survived thus far, and the recruiters were cruel masters to pretty boys. Clearly there was something more to this messenger than a boyish charm.


    David sat up, blinking rapidly. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness a dozen questions came to mind. He asked most of them, sending them pouring forth in a single breath. ¡°Who are you? What do you want? How did you get in here? What Lieutenant?¡±


    ¡°Lieutenant Baxendale, sir,¡± said the boy, helpfully choosing to answer only the least important of the questions. David didn¡¯t know who Lieutenant Baxendale was, though he had heard the name somewhere. He¡¯d always made an effort to know everyone in his command. And Lieutenants in particular were a memorable breed. Nobody could spend even a week in charge of Anna Bennett or Kenneth Chalmers and not have them burned into his memory by the end of it.


    Which meant Lieutenant Baxendale probably wasn¡¯t all that important. Certainly not as important as David¡¯s dignity. David wasn¡¯t even sure why he was the one to receive a messenger. Surely Lieutenant Baxendale had a commanding officer of his own, and Mannam and Munro were both less likely to be pissed off about being woken in the night. Munro in particular must have been used to the General slithering through her door for some release. If the gossip was half true, her sleep cycle would have gone to pot long ago, owing to General Bradshaw¡¯s need to come calling at all hours.


    Angie Munro¡¯s sex life aside, the fact remained that Lieutenant Baxendale had sought out David. Which meant he had to get up. ¡°Wait outside while I dress,¡± he said, pointing at the door which the messenger had left open. ¡°Whatever Lieutenant Baxendale wants, it¡¯ll keep.¡±


    ¡°But sir¡ª¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll keep. Wait outside. I won¡¯t ask you again.¡±


    The messenger opened his mouth to protest, but clearly thought better of it, and scuttled out.


    When the boy had gone, David stretched out his tired muscles. There was no need to hurry. He¡¯d been a messenger himself, when his career was nascent, running errands for old Captain Ivingden. It was a skive. Passing on a message was far easier than getting down to a hundred push-ups with the other cadets. The boy would stand there all night if need be.


    In the end the warmth of his duvet pressed him into action. He wanted to nestle back under, and he could, once he¡¯d taken the message. So with a sigh he got himself up. The still air of his chambers was cold in contrast. David shuddered, stretched his toes before he stood. He threw on yesterday¡¯s clothes, still crumpled on the floor, and went out to the messenger.


    The corridor was otherwise deserted. It always was. Even during the flight, nobody wandered here at night. There were only the senior officers¡¯ chambers in this part of the ship. Few had a reason to venture this way. As people had left the Eia for the valley¡¯s greener pastures, the already faint trickle had hardened to nothing. Maybe there¡¯d be Angie Munro coming back from conjugating with General Bradshaw, naked and dripping beneath her nightgown, but she always took great care not to be seen.


    The messenger boy was leaning against a wall. ¡°There¡¯s been an accident,¡± he said, rising to stand straight, when David stepped out. ¡°Captain Mannam¡¯s hurt.¡± That was when David remembered Lieutenant Baxendale. How could he have forgotten Jessica Baxendale, darling to women¡¯s advocates the Unity wide? She¡¯d caused a stir in the Unity some years back. Her promotion to sergeant had come from some sleazy officer who wanted to hold it over her in exchange for sexual favours, when she was just turned sixteen and scarcely the legal age. She refused him, reported him, sued him. As a prize, she got a hefty pay-out and a transfer to Captain Mannam¡¯s team. Clearly she was as good at her job as her rank suggested; Mannam had kept her close for a decade, through half a dozen postings. She¡¯d made Lieutenant by twenty, and thereafter Mannam had nurtured her as his prot¨¦g¨¦.


    Mannam must have been hurt bad if she¡¯d felt the need to alert David. He wasn¡¯t medical, and Baxendale was in an entirely parallel command pillar. He wanted to kick himself. What an arse. Why had he been so quick to assume it could wait? Things that could wait didn¡¯t warrant messengers in the night¡ªespecially not coming from soldiers who wouldn¡¯t usually be reporting to him. ¡°Take me there,¡± he yelled, all thoughts of going back to sleep forgotten.


    It was bracing out tonight; David hadn¡¯t been prepared for the plummeting temperatures, after the lazy heat of the afternoon. He shivered as he left the ship, giving himself over to the mercy of the weather. It was at least dry. The exercise of a walk across the valley got the blood rushing, warmed him through. The shivering had stopped by the time they reached the other side of town.


    He could see why this particular messenger had been sent. The boy was wicked fast and seemed to have committed the town¡¯s layout to memory already, even before half of it was built. Twice he moved so fast, and ducked down obscure side-paths, that David lost sight of him and had to call out. On both occasions the boy had appeared a few seconds later, looking thoroughly bemused that David had needed him to wait.


    Their route took them all the way out of the town, heading northward, onto the green fields of the surrounding valley, the rock-strewn plains that had scarcely seen civilisation. Cliffs loomed ever closer, great monoliths reaching easily more than a hundred feet into the sky. Near the western corner, the Clearwater tumbled in a raging cascade from high above. From the Eia, even from the plaza, these cliffs didn¡¯t seem that big. He¡¯d assumed they were around the same height as the slopes on the southern and eastern edges of the valley, where the mettysnatchers roamed. The reality was that they were a lot further away.


    North of the town, they hewed close to the Clearwater, moving adjacent to the water and close enough to the bank that a misstep would easily lead to a wet tumble. As the river cut across from east to west, so did they. At one point the stench of shit became overpowering. David held his breath as he ran after the messenger, but when he dared a sniff again he found the smell hadn¡¯t dissipated. It followed him all the way, strong as ever. He must have stepped in it. That was the sort of risk that came with running the wilds in the black of night.


    The ground was wet, he noticed. It must have rained while he slept. The grass upon which they tracked was slick with water. In places it had pooled into puddles wide enough to submerge his boots up to the ankle. This had its blessings¡ªit was great for washing the shit off his boots. But the downside was moist socks, clinging heavy to his feet and making him acutely aware of every step. The shit would probably have been more fun.


    It had been wet like this on Tol Manase. Interminable. The outlaws¡ªdefenders, as they¡¯d have it¡ªwere tenacious to a fault. The more ground they lost, the harder they fought for the miles they still had. One group had made its stand at Garrenton, an old town along the River Vithe. For four months, David had served in a dug-in encampment outside Garrenton. Outside was nothing but a festering wetland. Tebby Niles had come on with a nasty case of trench foot. The foot could not be saved. David had been witness to the amputation. Since then, wet feet always made him shudder just a little.


    For whatever reason, the boy was leading him all the way to the foot of the cliff. It didn¡¯t make sense to begin with¡ªwhy would Captain Mannam be there? As they approached, he began to fill in some of the missing pieces. Two foldout panel lights had been set up, shining on the rocks at the base, and about twenty people were huddled around them. One diminutive woman was crouched down, a tie of yellow in her hair, facing away from the cliffs and retching violently into the tall grass. She wasn¡¯t the only one. A man sat beside a pile of upchuck, gasping for breath, red rims around his eyes.


    David turned away. This wasn¡¯t something pleasant to see.


    Lieutenant Baxendale turned to them as they approached. David had met her just the once, at a dusty parade ground five years earlier, when happenstance had brought his squad and Mannam¡¯s together. She looked like she¡¯d had a growth spurt since then. Her face had thinned, making her cheekbones more pronounced. She seemed gaunt, but that might have been a trick of the light. Short though it was, somehow her hair was still sticking up untidily.


    ¡°Captain,¡± she said, with a curt nod, dismissing the messenger with a flick of her wrist.


    ¡°I ran as fast as I could.¡±


    She sniffed the air around him and grimaced. ¡°Smells like it.¡±


    ¡°Your boy said Captain Mannam¡¯s hurt. How is he?¡± he asked. There didn¡¯t seem to be any medics here.


    Lieutenant Baxendale looked to the floor. ¡°He¡¯s dead. Fell.¡± She glanced up towards the cliffs, and David followed her gaze. She needed say no more. Up this close, they seemed to reach impossible heights. It wasn¡¯t difficult to imagine the Gods themselves living there, looking down on their mortal peons. That sort of fall was a guaranteed death sentence; they¡¯d be lucky if there was enough of him left in one piece to give him a proper funeral. What was he doing so close to the edge?


    ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°How the fuck should I know?¡± Lieutenant Baxendale shook her head. ¡°No, that was rude of me. I don¡¯t know how it happened, I¡¯m afraid. There¡¯s cloud blocking the moons¡ªhas been all night. It¡¯s as dark as ever, and it¡¯s been pissing it down since sunset. Everything¡¯s sodden. You can have the best will in the world and still slip on the grass. The Captain was unlucky, I suppose.¡±


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    David became aware of somebody stood beside him. He turned to see the retching man, orange stains around his mouth and drips of vomit spangling what would have otherwise been a majestic beard. ¡°Uh, Lieutenant? Might I be excused?¡±


    She nodded. ¡°Take tomorrow if you need it, just to get your head together.¡± The man¡¯s face dropped, and Lieutenant Baxendale¡¯s mouth fell open. She covered it with a hand. ¡°Shit. Sorry, Sergeant. That was a horrible choice of words.¡±


    He said nothing. His mouth was a strained smile, the lips wafer thin with barely a hint of curvature. He walked off into the darkness, towards the town. David watched him go for a few seconds, and then he was suddenly out of sight.


    ¡°Sergeant Poulton,¡± said Lieutenant Baxendale, by way of explanation. ¡°He¡¯s lost a good friend tonight. Best man at each other¡¯s weddings, friends since before they could walk. Anderson, his name. Catastrophically unlucky. He had the misfortune to be in exactly the wrong place. It seems when the Captain fell, some of the cliff broke off with him. Landed right on top of Anderson.¡±


    ¡°Godsouls...¡±


    ¡°He couldn¡¯t have known anything about it. Head turned to paste. His wife¡¯s in the valley somewhere, I think. I¡¯ll have to tell her come tomorrow.¡± She pulled a face. ¡°It¡¯s the worst part of the job. The way they scream...¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll do it.¡± He wasn¡¯t sure why he¡¯d spoken, but there was no taking it back. ¡°I¡¯ll tell Anderson¡¯s wife. You focus on your soldiers, Lieutenant. Sergeant Poulton in particular.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll need it,¡± she agreed, smiling despite pained eyes. ¡°Poulton was the one who found them¡ªhim and Onslow.¡± She pointed at the vomiting woman. ¡°They¡¯re cut up pretty bad.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s get her to water,¡± said David, ¡°before her night gets even worse.¡± Poor Onslow had managed to get puke stuck in her hair. It was like a foul glue, sticking strands of blonde fast to her face. She hadn¡¯t yet noticed, which could only be a blessing. The others around her turned away, kept their distance. None seemed to want to let her know why. David followed the Lieutenant over to Onslow. ¡°I¡¯ll have to see the bodies, too.¡±


    Lieutenant Baxendale shook her head. ¡°Trust me. You don¡¯t.¡±


    She was probably right, from the view of his mental wellbeing. But he had a job to do, horrible as it was, and he¡¯d be lacking in his duties if he didn¡¯t see to Captain Mannam one last time. ¡°I¡¯ll find the site on my own, if you don¡¯t want to subject your soldiers to the Captain again¡ªbut it does have to be done.¡±


    Onslow, apparently, had gone into a catatonic state. She barely acknowledged Lieutenant Baxendale shepherding her to the Clearwater, sitting her down on the bank, dipping her head underwater until her face was clean. She only murmured something. ¡°Let her rest,¡± said David, ¡°and send her to Doctor Paysen in the morning.¡±


    Baxendale nodded. ¡°The bodies are this way,¡± she said, once a man had been dispatched to escort Onslow home. ¡°Right at the base.¡±


    Getting to the base of the cliffs required crossing the Clearwater, which suddenly veered due west. Handily, the water surrounding this sudden corner was shallow enough that the current wasn¡¯t an issue. Several boulders poked above the surface, coyly breaking the water to serve as stepping stones, and Lieutenant Baxendale led David across them. A short walk the other side and they were there.


    The site was tightly hemmed in by the craggy face of the cliffs on one side, and thick dark trees on two more. The terrain was uneven. Grass covered much of it, save for where mossy rocks stood tall above it. In parts the grass acceded to dirt, dusty sand, and it was on one such place that Captain Mannam lay. It was unmistakeably him. Broken as the body was, his head remained intact. Etched on his face was the fleeting surge of terror that falling such a height would have brought.


    Anderson was a few yards away, and a sorrier sight by far. David didn¡¯t know Anderson, but even if they¡¯d been firm friends he¡¯d have been hard pushed to recognise the man. His head was a bloody pulp. A large portion of his scalp had been cleaved away, and as Lieutenant Baxendale shone her torch over the body David saw that the ground was red with blood. The whole area had the smell of meat just starting to turn.


    David looked away. He¡¯d seen enough¡ªmore than enough.


    ¡°Cover them,¡± he said, to Baxendale. ¡°And wait for the mortician.¡±


    The dead were buried two days later beside a quiet rill, on the southern slopes of the valley where man¡¯s hand had not yet come. Mistress Anderson had flooded the valley with her tears; she¡¯d wept before an intimate congregation, hand in hand with a son scarcely old enough to walk. Hers was a silent eulogy.


    Captain Mannam was married to the job. That was the epithet his subordinate used, in the passing rites. Lieutenant Baxendale had no end of words to say about his character, about the debt she owed him. But when it came to his personal life, she said only that he was a man content with his lot. It was just about the only thing that could be said. Mannam was a man of few words. Duty was his first priority, and his last, and the three decades of his adult life were marked by his leal, unchanging service. Even his rise to captaincy had been a consequence of his longevity rather than a reward for any specific instance of excellency.


    A shabby priest with a pockmarked face had come down from the church on the north-western side, at the behest of Ian Fitzhenry. Drab and droning, he¡¯d venerated the dead in token words. ¡°They will find the Lightness,¡± he said, half a dozen times. ¡°They will walk through the endless Shadow and beyond it find paradise born anew.¡± It was all bullshit, the same unfeeling message regurgitated by every priest at every funeral since the Era of Kings. If any mourners had ever listened, they were long since dead themselves. The priest had other crap to spew, too. ¡°Even the darkest night will end,¡± he said, as though the mourners wanted optimism. Mistress Anderson would no doubt trade a bright future for her husband restored to life.


    The priest didn¡¯t seem to get that. He moved on from sappy aphorisms to tone-deaf fragments. ¡°Cold is the grave, and lonely, and regrets are the soil around it, and it is through these regrets that we all must pass when our time comes, that we might hope to touch the bright.¡± Mistress Anderson wailed when he said that, and her son squeezed her hand in an appeal borne of his confusion.


    He did, at least, hold aloft the death masks. That was all the priest was supposed to do, all they wanted from him, and it only took half an hour of sermon for him to get to it. He anointed them with wax from a gilded amphora, and recited more old religious words. Mistress Anderson wept anew when her husband¡¯s mask was presented. It would never be worn. His head had been obliterated. Instead the mask would be interred beside the body.


    Only a dozen were there to witness it. Even Mannam¡¯s own Constabulary hadn¡¯t braved the mild chill, save for a handful. Those same soldiers would be demanding the opportunity to drink themselves into a stupor tonight, in remembrance of their lost captain. Funny that.


    David lingered after the ceremony finished. It felt coarse to leave straight away, and neither Mannam nor Anderson deserved that. He watched Mistress Anderson, her arms shaking as she held her little boy close. Perhaps he should go over to her, give her a few words of comfort. Perhaps. But that would require him to know which words to say. He doubted he could manage that.


    Instead, he waited until her tears were run dry, and the wind numbed her feelings as much as it numbed her fingers. She scooped up her son and shepherded him back down the hill. Two church acolytes stepped forward as she left. They began to sprinkle dirt atop the mournful crates that held these dead¡ªa handful here, a handful there.


    ¡°Use a shovel,¡± someone shouted. ¡°It¡¯ll be quicker.¡± Mark Bradshaw was there. David hadn¡¯t noticed him at the funeral. Possibly he¡¯d just missed him. He caught General Bradshaw¡¯s eye and tried to look away. Too late. Bradshaw beckoned him over.


    ¡°How can I help, General?¡±


    ¡°You came to pay your respects.¡± Bradshaw smiled.


    David nodded. ¡°I expected there to be more people. I thought Captain Mannam was well-liked.¡±


    ¡°He was,¡± Bradshaw nodded, ¡°and the man Anderson as well. But they¡¯re being buried all the way at the south end of the valley. That¡¯s a long way to walk. It won¡¯t take long for them to be forgotten.¡±


    ¡°Anderson¡¯s wife won¡¯t forget. Nor will Lieutenant Baxendale.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Bradshaw pointed towards the graves, which were being filled still at a painfully slow rate. ¡°Everyone else will. History won¡¯t record them, sad as it is. Not as more than a footnote. There wasn¡¯t a day went by that I didn¡¯t go to my wife¡¯s grave, to read poetry she liked or to tell her about my day. Even now I keep her close.¡± He fingered a metal locket around his neck. David had never noticed it before. ¡°I¡¯ll think of Romilly until my dying day. The young woman she was will die with me. Through my daughters, she¡¯ll linger as a mother for a few decades more. After them she¡¯ll be forgotten, and nobody again will come to remember her. It¡¯s the fate of us all. They say two hundred billion people have walked this universe. Two hundred billion. I can¡¯t fathom such a number. How many of them are remembered?¡±


    ¡°Point taken.¡±


    ¡°Still, it was good of you to come. Mistress Anderson would have been happy to see your face.¡±


    David frowned. ¡°Does she know me? Sorry, I didn¡¯t recognise her¡ª¡±


    ¡°You and she have met,¡± said Bradshaw. ¡°Perhaps only once. She didn¡¯t elaborate. Walk with me, Captain Clifford. I¡¯d like to speak with you.¡± He turned on his heel and started down the hill, towards the town. His pace was brisk; David had to jog to catch up to him. ¡°Captain Mannam¡¯s role was an integral one. Without a Constabulary, it¡¯s hard to keep the law. Anarchy descends.¡± General Bradshaw paused. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m over-explaining. My dear Molly tells me it¡¯s something I need to work on.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± David shrugged. He was only half-listening anyway¡ªwhat did it matter how much he half-listened to?


    ¡°They¡¯re wilful, my girls,¡± Bradshaw continued. ¡°I know you¡¯ve not had luck with children. Believe me, this is the hardest time. They respect me well enough, but that doesn¡¯t mean they¡¯ll listen to a word I say. Sorry, I¡¯m still doing it. I know you¡¯re the worst person on this planet to talk to about women. Have you ever met one?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve met plenty,¡± said David, shortly. ¡°Some were even pleasant.¡± He knew where Bradshaw was going. He¡¯d had it all before. He always used to swear that he would get married one day, he just hadn¡¯t met the right girl. Over thirty years, he¡¯d come to understand that no girl was the right girl. Bradshaw knew it well enough. David didn¡¯t care to make a secret out of it. It was just fodder for the General to be a nuisance.


    David refused to rise to it.


    All of a sudden, Bradshaw clapped his hands together. ¡°Forgive me, Captain Clifford, I¡¯ve been rude. Worst of all, I¡¯ve been sidetracked. With Captain Mannam committed to the dirt, a vacancy has emerged. The Constabulary needs a leader, and a leader turns up to his peers¡¯ funerals. It¡¯s an admirable trait, and one we both share. Captain Clifford, I want you to take Mannam¡¯s place.¡±


    That took him by surprise. He¡¯d assumed Angie Munro was a cinch for the job. She usually got whatever boon Bradshaw was granting¡ªand whatever bone as well, though that was being coarse. ¡°I¡¯m not sure, General. It¡¯s a very different skillset to what I¡¯m used to.¡±


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t disagree more, Captain. You still get to boss soldiers about just as much as you do anyway, but in addition you get to beat up drunkards who won¡¯t move out of your way. Haven¡¯t you ever wished you could beat up those drunkards?¡±


    ¡°Not particularly, no.¡± He chose not to get drunk himself, but that didn¡¯t mean he harboured some hatred for drunk people. He¡¯d prefer to beat up generals who kept themselves busy winding him up because of his choice of bedfellow.


    Still, there might be some perks to the job. Those annoying subalterns who always wanted a word about something inane might have to find somebody else to bother. He couldn¡¯t lie and say he¡¯d be sad to see the back of Anna Bennett, for instance.


    And if they insisted on bothering him, he could stick them in a cell for a few days. They¡¯d quickly get the picture.


    Then there was the case of the missing trio. Someone had to orchestrate their search. David had been trying, but it was hard. He didn¡¯t have the advantage of a position where he could expend men and money on their search, not freely, and General Bradshaw had been nothing if not stubborn in his refusal to allow Captain Mannam to share the fruits of his investigation with David. Being the Lord Constable would grant him access to all of Mannam¡¯s files, and the resources he¡¯d need to carry out a proper search.


    Even if the three soldiers turned up dead, they deserved to be found.


    And Chris would be pleased. It surely served his plans to have the Constabulary on side.


    He grinned. ¡°General, I¡¯d be more than happy to take over from Captain Mannam.¡±


    ¡°Excellent,¡± said Bradshaw. ¡°That¡¯s great to hear. Lord Constable.¡±

 30. Vati茅

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Macel ~


    The scullery was thick with the odour of carbolic soap. The smell had hung there for an hour or more, as Adela Rice scrubbed away at the dinner things. Delie still had half of the forks to wash when Macel left her. The candles were burnt half away, casting a dim glow of flickering yellow around the room. A large metal pot, soaking on the counter, reflected each glint of candlelight right back at Delie.


    She¡¯d made a joke earlier, at Lieutenant Bennett¡¯s expense and in Lieutenant Bennett¡¯s hearing. This was her prize: all the dishes in Plateau Watch. Sam had pissed himself laughing when he heard, and Issy Cutler suddenly thought of places she had to be this evening. Macel alone had been sympathetic to her. He¡¯d offered to keep her company for a bit while she worked, perhaps even lend some elbow grease. Not that he had the least intention of staying for the long haul. He was only here to while away the twilight.


    Almost every night, he¡¯d gone to the farriers¡¯ cottage beside the stables. Bess would have him talking half the night, and he endured it just so he could hear her voice, and see the way the corner of her lip twitched when she got excited about something. Last night, they¡¯d talked until the light of dawn was peeking over the distant horizon.


    Apparently they talked too loud. Liz Hamish had returned from an errand at the stables with a note, written in the neat, looping hand that Bess swore she¡¯d developed just for the fun of it. Speke the stablemaster was suspicious, it seemed¡ªsuspicious of the voices that filled the hallways of the farriers¡¯ cottage until the small hours of the morning, and suspicious of the increasing lethargy of her work. He didn¡¯t want her entertaining any visitors in the cottage for the time being. The maid had been charged with watching and letting him know.


    So the new plan was to meet in the stables. Speke¡¯s maid was proud of how tidy she kept her uniform, and had to wear gloves just to dust the light fixtures. She would never dare venture anywhere that horses shat. ¡°I don¡¯t dare go there until an hour after sundown,¡± Bess had written, ¡°so I can be sure Speke¡¯s gone to sleep.¡±


    Sundown was almost an hour ago now.


    Macel announced his departure with a mocking comment, and Delie flicked the waterlogged remnants of a piece of creamed potato at him off the fork she was currently scouring.


    ¡°Snack for the road?¡± he asked.


    She launched another lump at him.


    Outside, Plateau Watch was coated almost entirely by night¡¯s shroud. Atop the perimeter wall, Craig Armitage sat yawning in a pool of light. He nodded at Macel, and stifled another yawn. The only other light Macel could see was a faint glow from the stables.


    It had rained on and off throughout the day. Large portions of the courtyard had been turned to sticky mud, and the duckboard bridge had been painted brown by bootmarks. He took his torch from his pocket to shine on the floor here; when it rained heavy, the stream that ran that channel rose, and the mud became a quagmire. Wilding had misstepped the other day, and got his boot stuck fast as reward for his efforts. His foot had come free. By the time he¡¯d pulled the boot out, his sock was sodden and fit for throwing out. They¡¯d all laughed at Wilding over cider in the kindling shed, and nobody had chanced the bog again.


    Once over the bridge, Macel felt safe in turning off his torch. At once he stepped in a muddle. On Speke¡¯s stone floor, the water hadn¡¯t soaked into the ground but had settled on the surface. Now it rushed into his shoes, drenched his socks. He swore loudly. Behind him, Craig Armitage was having a merry time laughing at his misfortune. By morning everyone would know.


    There were no lights on at all in the farriers¡¯ cottage. It was really the wrong name for it entirely. The building was less a cottage and more a wooden shack with some faint hint of brickwork. And it was home to very few farriers (though in fairness, there was at least one¡ªa stocky bloke with a beard of black silk whose name was something along the lines of ¡®Gevvn¡¯). From the cottage door, he could see the stable light very clearly, and he could see Bess illuminated in silhouette as she sat there.


    She looked like she¡¯d just finished her day¡¯s work. Her trousers and the brown leather boots she wore to care for the horses were offset with a russet pullover, and she played with the messy ponytail her hair was held in.


    ¡°I hope I haven¡¯t kept you waiting,¡± he called, as he reached the stables. ¡°You did say an hour after dark.¡±


    Her face was suddenly glowing. ¡°Macel,¡± she said, beaming. ¡°I hoped you¡¯d got my note. I don¡¯t think much of that woman I gave it to.¡±


    ¡°Liz?¡±


    ¡°Is that her name? She didn¡¯t seem to want to help. Kept on scowling.¡±


    Macel nodded. ¡°Liz isn¡¯t easy to please. You could give her all the gold on Opteris, and she¡¯d still find fault.¡±


    ¡°Still, you¡¯re here.¡±


    ¡°You think I wouldn¡¯t come? There¡¯s no way I¡¯m missing one of our chats. It¡¯s quality conversation.¡±


    They said nothing for a few seconds. Bess shuffled in her perch, a stile separating a darkened corner of the stables. Macel coughed and examined his fingernails. They were rimmed with black dirt from the day¡¯s work.


    Bess shifted to the edge of the stile and patted the wood next to her. ¡°Sit down,¡± she said. As soon as he did so, she gripped his hand and squeezed tightly. He looked at her in surprise. All of a sudden, her face had the aspect of a frit child. ¡°Stay with me,¡± she said, ¡°All night if you have to. Say you will.¡±


    ¡°Of course I will.¡± Her eyes were wide, and her grip ever tighter. He wrestled it free and put his arm around her. ¡°You¡¯re upset. What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s nothing. Just stay here, that¡¯s all I need.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not nothing. Tell me what¡¯s wrong. Tell me and I can fix it.¡±


    ¡°No. You¡¯ll hate me. You¡¯ll leave and I¡¯ll never see you again.¡±


    He frowned. ¡°Why would I do that?¡±


    ¡°Everybody does. They tell me I¡¯m a demon and then they disappear.¡± Her whole body had stiffened. She turned to him, and he noticed her eyes were damp. ¡°I don¡¯t need you to fix anything. I just need you to be with me. I can¡¯t bear to be alone.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe in demons,¡± he said. Bess looked at him with a curious, almost hopeful expression.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°Demons. They aren¡¯t real. Scary stories, folklore, nothing more. Why would I call you a demon? Whatever you might have done in the past, whatever you might do in the future, there¡¯s no denying the fact that you¡¯re real. Every time you breathe I can feel it on my forearm. I could pinch your cheek if I wanted to, and I wouldn¡¯t just end up grasping at air.¡±


    She recoiled. ¡°Don¡¯t do that. Why would you do that?¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t. But I could, if I needed to prove you were real.¡±


    She reached for him again. Her fingers fumbled against his wrist, then closed around a finger. Her head turned to his, and there her eyes caught the glint of the stable light. He squinted, dazzled by the sudden reflection.


    ¡°You do look like a demon, now. The way the light catches.¡±


    ¡°Why do you come every night?¡± Her question threw him.


    ¡°I come for you,¡± he said. ¡°I want to spend time with you.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but why? You could talk to anybody. What makes you want to talk to me?¡±


    There was a sincerity on her face. He could see the furrowed brow, the head tilted so slightly back, the faint quiver of a painted lip. There was only one golden rule with women, his father had told him¡ªtell them what they want to hear.


    He wasn¡¯t really sure what answer she was looking for. Perhaps the truth. Dad had also told him he should always answer truly. ¡°I like you, Bess. You¡¯re a good friend.¡±


    ¡°Just a friend?¡± She spoke with all the gusto of a deflated balloon, sagging as it breathes its last. Her head fell. ¡°That¡¯s all I¡¯ll ever be, isn¡¯t it? I thought perhaps I could be normal here, be no less a woman than anybody else. You¡¯re the only person who ever seeks my company, Macel. The only person who wants to talk to me. If I¡¯m just a friend to you, I¡¯ll never be more than that for anybody.¡±


    ¡°Bess...¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s okay. I understand. I¡¯m na?ve, I¡¯m broken, I¡¯m too damn needy. I¡¯m working on it. It¡¯s hard to fix something that¡¯s used to being broken.¡±


    ¡°Who says you¡¯re broken?¡±


    ¡°Everyone.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± said Macel, straightening his back. ¡°I¡¯ll have to have words with ¡®everyone¡¯. You¡¯re too beautiful to be broken.¡±


    Bess said nothing. She leaned against him, her hair a dark pillow on his shoulder, and hummed an old children¡¯s song. Hers was the smell of roses, intoxicating, and he breathed it in.


    ¡°Can we stay like this?¡± she said suddenly, breaking off her tune in the middle of a verse. ¡°You and me, in this stable, under these stars.¡±


    He laughed. ¡°I can¡¯t stop the stars from changing. I¡¯m not a god.¡±


    ¡°No, you don¡¯t look like a god,¡± she said, squinting. ¡°A god would have a better jawline.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing wrong with my jaw. I can chew my food as well as any man.¡±


    For half an hour or so, they talked about nothing in particular. Macel would joke, and with each joke he told, Bess threw her head back laughing. Each time, her eyes lingered a little longer on him before she composed herself and resumed the conversation.


    And then they were outside, behind the stables. Here the tight hills pressing to north and south, restricting the fort¡¯s sprawl, had relinquished their hold, breaking away to yield to wider plains. Trees prevailed upon the grounds here in places, and off to the east a narrow river expanded briefly into a pool before contracting again in the wake of an imposing tor. The Easterwood. What had once been a name of convenience had been scratched into the maps, in black ink.


    The Easterwood was the boundary of man. Beyond it, past the apex of that clambering hill, it was all virgin land. Untouched, unravished. In every way it was a mystery.


    Bess was singing. Her voice was feather-light, cracking in places as she felt for her range. The sound was sweet.


    ¡°On frost-kissed glade today I walked,


    And there the maid so sweet I saw,


    Where running stream so softly talks,


    And gently gleams, and laps ashore.¡±


    It was an old song, a tragedy from the time long since when kings ruled. Macel had heard it once or twice before, usually sung in a major key to keep the spirits up. Bess sang it dirge-like. Her voice quavered on the high notes, and faded to a whisper on the low.


    ¡°She told me of her troubled life,


    And every love that stole her heart,


    For never had she been a wife,


    And so was glad, and sad in part.


    Abandoned by her mother and


    Each night to lie¡ª See that?¡± Bess stopped mid-song, lightly charging Macel¡¯s shoulder with her own. Her arm was outstretched to point at the far Easterwood, at the tall leafy sentinels stood row on row in that darkness.


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    Only the darkness wasn¡¯t total.


    Nobody had been to the Easterwood for a couple of weeks now. Once, there¡¯d been complaints of strange noises, strange lights. Lieutenant Bennett had sent a couple of parties out to investigate. They¡¯d all come back with nothing to report, nothing but a vague feeling of unease. The Easterwood should have been abandoned. Yet there was a light there. The glow was faint and indistinct, but it was unmistakeable, moving through the legion of trees queuing up to take their turn blocking it out. ¡°What do you reckon that is?¡±


    He fumbled for an answer. ¡°It¡¯s a light.¡±


    That earned him a playful punch on the shoulder. ¡°I know it¡¯s a light, numpty. What sort of light?¡±


    ¡°Could be somebody wandering,¡± he shrugged, though what a place to go wandering, and with the mud so sticky underfoot.


    ¡°Could be,¡± Bess murmured.


    ¡°Should we go and have a look?¡±


    His question was answered by the sudden ringing out of an awful wailing noise, a warbling caterwaul, oscillating, cutting down to the marrow of his bones. It sounded animalistic, but he¡¯d never come across an animal that sounded anything like it. The cackling of a thousand laughing lions would have been a fraction of it.


    The distant light stopped moving, and around it the trees shuddered. Wind whipped him. Across the way, the selfsame wind was locked in a war against the trees, and the trees were scarcely able to stand their ground. The trunks bowed to the gale, threatened to burst. The woodland creaked in agony, as if the captured souls in the hearts of those trees meant to break free of their earthly prison. Birds took flight. They sang the shrieks of the damned, caught on the wind. And all the while that light continued to shine.


    Bess was staring at it, transfixed. The light reflected like a beacon in her eyes. She whispered, a single word: ¡°vati¨¦¡±. It was one Macel didn¡¯t know.


    ¡°Say that again?¡±


    ¡°Vati¨¦. Ghost light.¡± Bess broke away from the Easterwood, turned to face Macel. ¡°It¡¯s an old word. I... don¡¯t know why I said it. It felt right.¡±


    He looked at the floating light, narrowing his eyes to better see it. ¡°A ghost light indeed,¡± he said. His nose was assaulted by the wafting of copper, cold and metallic. The light grew hazier, spread wider.


    And suddenly it was gone. He didn¡¯t see the moment the light was extinguished, didn¡¯t notice it going out. He did notice the totality of the darkness that came after it. The surging wind grew louder and more ragged... and that too shut out.


    He stood in the sudden still, breathless.


    Bess whispered again. ¡°Macel! The stars!¡±


    This time he knew what she was talking about. The sky was black, where seconds ago it had been ablaze with stars. Where had they gone?


    They stood there for an age, or perhaps just a second¡ªMacel couldn¡¯t say which. He could feel the darkness washing over him deep inside, slick black waves filling every vein. At last, he heard footsteps, and with that sound so the light and colour returned to his world. The stars were back in their places.


    ¡°What are you doing up?¡± He recognised Sam Preston¡¯s voice, and turned to scowl at his friend.


    ¡°I was talking,¡± he said. ¡°You know Bess.¡±


    Sam raised an eyebrow. ¡°It¡¯s late.¡±


    Beside Sam, Eric Scobie stood, with a smirk printed on his pink face. ¡°Did you hear that noise?¡±


    ¡°Hard to miss it,¡± said Macel.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to check it out,¡± said Sam.


    ¡°Did Bennett send you?¡±


    ¡°To the Darkness with Bennett,¡± Scobie scoffed. ¡°What can she do?¡±


    Macel shrugged. ¡°She can have you arrested.¡±


    ¡°Food and board and no need to work? Sounds like a better deal than the one I¡¯ve got, to be honest.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Bess spoke from behind Macel, where she¡¯d positioned herself. Her voice was imperious in a way Macel had not heard before. ¡°It¡¯s not worth your time. It¡¯s just an animal.¡±


    The two soldiers looked at her. ¡°Strange bloody animal,¡± said Sam.


    ¡°Strange bloody planet,¡± said Bess. ¡°It¡¯s only an animal. I promise. There¡¯s really no point in going out of your way.¡±


    Scobie jostled forward. ¡°Hey, what do you know? Why are you making promises?¡±


    ¡°Why should we believe you?¡± asked Sam.


    ¡°Yeah, and even if we do, what if I want to see what sort of animal makes a noise like that?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t.¡± Bess spoke with finality. The stable light on her face revealed something in her eyes. Her face was set with determination, but the eyes bathed in pools of fear. What does she know? Macel was suddenly afraid of her.


    Sam and Scobie exchanged glances. ¡°What about you, Macel? What do you think?¡± Sam looked expectantly at Macel, waiting for support.


    As he looked her way, he saw Bess¡¯s lip quiver. ¡°She¡¯s right,¡± he said. ¡°Just an animal.¡±


    That seemed to satisfy Sam. He shrugged his shoulders and turned towards the bunkhouse, and Scobie followed on behind him. As soon as they were across the duckboard bridge and out of earshot, Macel looked back at Bess. She was out of breath, panting and shuddering. ¡°It wasn¡¯t just an animal, was it?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°What was it?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t say.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± He looked her up and down. There she was, in the flesh, a mystery girl. He knew barely a thing about her. How many hours had he spent talking to her, keeping her company? And apparently she had a sixth sense she¡¯d kept from him. Had he wasted his time? He needed to be alone for a little while. ¡°I have to go, Bess,¡± he said, moving towards the planet. ¡°Sam has a point. It¡¯s late.¡±


    He got as far as the stable door before Bess called him back. ¡°Wait, Macel. Look, I need to be honest with you. You¡¯ll hear me out, right?¡±


    When he turned she was watching him, clutching at her ponytail. Her feet shuffled awkwardly on the dirt. ¡°Of course I will.¡± He went back to her, reached to touch her cheek. A tear had crystallised there. He scraped it aside with his fingertip.


    Bess threw herself into his arms and sobbed.


    An eternity seemed to pass before she could speak, an eternity of ragged breathing and stifled tears. He stood holding her to his bosom all the while. His hand, resting on her back, was tickled by the tips of her hair with every slight motion of her head. When she was ready, she pulled herself away from him. ¡°I have dreams,¡± she said. ¡°Real dreams. Things that happen, or will happen¡ªthings I can¡¯t know. I used to think it was coincidence. Doctor Ballard told me about it. It¡¯s called Foresleeping. It¡¯s supposed to be rare.¡±


    Macel smiled at her. ¡°I knew there was something special about you.¡±


    ¡°I wish there wasn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°You say you have dreams. Does that mean you can see the future? Is that it?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°Not really. Well, sort of. It¡¯s more a feeling¡ª¡¯this is the right thing to do¡¯ or ¡®this is bad¡¯. Like I¡¯m being guided by my subconscious. Sometimes there¡¯s a woman in my dreams. Pale, like death. She¡¯s floating in the sky with a candle in her hand. I just want to jump up and blow the candle out, like that¡¯ll make her go away, but part of me is scared to. What if I do that and I don¡¯t wake up again?¡±


    ¡°This woman. Is she¡ª?¡±


    ¡°The Moonlight Woman.¡± Bess nodded. ¡°She showed me the lake.¡±


    ¡°Did you have a dream about the light on the Easterwood¡ªvati¨¦, was it?¡±


    ¡°Not a proper dream, no. Just the word. And the feeling that it¡¯s something bad. That¡¯s why I wanted to talk to you tonight. Oh, I woke last night and it frightened me something awful, and there was nobody I could talk to about it. I¡¯m too old to have nightmares. When I heard that screaming, it all came rushing back to me. We should stay away from there, Macel.¡±


    He looked over at the blanket of forest. Now, in the silent grip of night, the Easterwood seemed so peaceful. How could there possibly be anything bad over there? Yet he had seen it, whatever it was, and he¡¯d heard it too. And Corporal Bartley went that way, and Cailie and Warner too, and none of them have come back.


    ¡°Come on,¡± he said, wrapping his arm around her. ¡°It¡¯s late. Time to sleep.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to be alone. Not tonight. Will you stay with me?¡±


    He looked at her. ¡°I don¡¯t think Master Speke would appreciate that.¡±


    ¡°Speke¡¯s not my father,¡± she said. ¡°And I¡¯m a grown woman. If I want someone to sit at my bedside while I sleep, that¡¯s my choice. Not Speke¡¯s.¡±


    The farriers¡¯ cottage was silent and still as a quiet grave, mourning another dead day. Not a soul stirred. Even Connor Paddock, the farrier with jowls like a bulldog who sat snoring in a soft chair facing the cottage doorway, was not woken.


    Bess had the furthest bedroom. It was sparsely furnished. A tiny bed with a shabby blanket rested on a bare wooden floor. Half a dozen books lay on an old shelf stained with varnish in the corner of the room, next to a narrow window with open panes. Macel wandered over to them, and as Bess undressed he flicked through one. The title, in flaking gold leaf, identified it as a copy of the B¨¦asin, with a publication date two hundred years earlier. The pages were yellowed and brittle.


    ¡°That¡¯s my favourite,¡± said Bess. She¡¯d changed into a silk nightdress that hugged her figure snugly.


    ¡°It¡¯s an antique,¡± said Macel. ¡°You could make more than a few bushels from this. Get you enough to buy a shiny new copy, and keep you comfortable for the next decade or so.¡±


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t sell it,¡± she said, a weak smile. ¡°It was a present from Nana. She left me the whole set, when she died. There was no way I could take them with me when I left home, so I didn¡¯t. But I had to have this one.¡±


    ¡°Why this one?¡± The Books of Lightness were full of bloodshed and war, the stories that got the heart racing. When it came time to reenact a scene for school festivities, every child wanted something from the Four Fiefs, or the Tolleiac. The B¨¦asin was just talking.


    ¡°It sounds silly,¡± said Bess, ¡°but I connected with it. The poor Mother... It always made me cry. Imagine loving somebody so much that you¡¯d walk a whole world to find them. Elly always had to be tucked in to something from the Tolleiac, and she¡¯d throw a tantrum if she didn¡¯t get her way, so that was all I got to hear. But when Nana was around, she¡¯d wait until Elly had fallen asleep and then she¡¯d come back and read me a passage from this.¡±


    ¡°She sounds like a wonderful woman,¡± said Macel.


    Bess nodded. ¡°She was the best. It¡¯s a shame her daughter turned out so rotten. When Elly disappeared, I started crying myself to sleep. It took me ten years to kick the habit. One day, my mother heard me crying, and she came in to me. You¡¯d think she¡¯d say something kind, try to comfort me even if she couldn¡¯t make things better. Not my mother. She told me it was my fault Elly was gone, and if I didn¡¯t get my act together I¡¯d be out as well. She said she was ashamed to have given birth to me.¡±


    ¡°How old were you?¡±


    ¡°Does that matter?¡± Tears were snaking down Bess¡¯s cheek now. ¡°She was my mother. All I wanted from her was kindness. There¡¯s no age limit on kindness.¡±


    ¡°I know that,¡± Macel nodded. ¡°I just wanted some context.¡±


    ¡°I was nine. Nine years old and I found out my mother didn¡¯t love me.¡± Bess stood beside her bed, letting the tears flow. She made no attempt to wipe them away. ¡°You don¡¯t have to stay, if you don¡¯t want to.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± said Macel.


    There was a wood-hewn chair by the window, a rickety thing with spindly little legs. Macel pulled it up beside Bess¡¯s bed, where she lay, her eyes closed. He watched her for a while, the book in his lap. When he thought she might be asleep, he picked it up, flicked through the pages until an illustration caught his eye. It showed a woman with emerald eyes just like Bess, looking out over an ocean that spanned the rest of the page. The words were written atop the blue of the water:


    ¡°¡®Then for four weeks the Maid of Narv¨©m walked, across a great desert where only ghosts looked at her; her shelter was the bare hollows of the rock, and the water made her sick. Still she walked, until one morning a woman in rags appeared before her. And the woman was thin, and gaunt, and on her hands were a hundred calluses.¡¯¡±


    ¡°A thousand,¡± Bess murmured, eyes still shut.


    Macel peered over the pages of the book. ¡°I beg your pardon?¡±


    ¡°The woman had a thousand calluses. It¡¯s spelled wrong in my copy, that¡¯s how I remember.¡±


    He looked again. Sure enough, Bess was right. ¡®And on her hands were a thoosand calluses,¡¯ the text read. ¡°Should I stop reading?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Bess. ¡°Carry on.¡±


    And he did. He read the whole story aloud¡ªthe bit where the old woman begged for some food, and the Maid of Narv¨©m gave away the last of her bread. And then when the old woman revealed herself to be Fr¨¦reves, the God-Mother, and showed the Maid of Narv¨©m how to get out of the desert. The story ended when the Maid came to a town on the coast, begging for any word of her long-lost sister. When she sat beside the sea, Macel shut the book and laid it gently on the table beside Bess¡¯s bed. He blew out her candle, and stayed with her in the darkness¡ªjust listening to the rise and fall of her breathing. At some point in the night, he fell asleep.


    Morning came too soon. The breakfast things were being cleared away when Macel arrived in the dining room, bleary-eyed and still buttoning up his uniform. Bess waited until she was dressed to wake him up. By then, the farriers¡¯ cottage was alive, and sneaking out unseen by Speke was a considerable task. He¡¯d run to his bunk and thrown on the first uniform he could find¡ªthe one he¡¯d worn yesterday, discarded on the floor¡ªin the hopes of making it down in time to get a bite to eat.


    Lieutenant Bennett was waiting for him. ¡°Donea,¡± she said, smirking. ¡°You join us at last. Did you not feel like showing for the roll call this morning?¡±


    ¡°Sorry, Lieutenant,¡± he said. ¡°I had a late night.¡±


    ¡°No doubt. You¡¯re free to do as you wish in your downtime, Donea, it makes no odds to me, but take an alarm to your next conquest. You¡¯re not free to come and go as you please.¡±


    He nodded. ¡°I understand.¡±


    ¡°Good. As it happens, I have a job for you. Since you slept through the morning¡¯s exercises, you¡¯ll have more energy to spare than anybody else here.¡±


    He stifled a yawn. Bennett saw it and smirked.


    ¡°Captain Clifford has informed me that we¡¯re to have wiring installed in the coming days, so that we can be connected to a more reliable power supply out of the valley. That¡¯s the last impediment to getting Plateau Watch finished. I need you to run to Wallwork the glazier, and ask him to come along and take the measurements he needs.¡±


    ¡°You want me to run an errand?¡±


    Bennett nodded. ¡°I want you to run an errand. But because I¡¯m kind, I¡¯ll let you take a late breakfast first. I¡¯m not going to delay the kitchen staff in their cleaning up, and you aren¡¯t either, but you¡¯re welcome to anything you¡¯re able to grab.¡±


    There wasn¡¯t much left to grab by the time Lieutenant Bennett had left the room. Most of the trays of food had been taken away, and the few that were left were empty aside from the last unappetising remnants. He picked out an assortment of foods, none of which really belonged together. The porridge at the bottom of the bowl was stodgy, and even stirring the vilsa chunks in didn¡¯t do much to mix it all up. The whole thing tasted horrible anyway. What little milk he found at the bottom of a jug was sour.


    ¡°Just talking?¡± Sam appeared just as Macel was tucking into a damp pastry, the last in the tray. ¡°Admit it, Macel, you were shagging the horse-girl silly last night.¡±


    Delie had her arms folded. ¡°That¡¯s not the sort of thing Macel would do. He¡¯s not like you, Sam.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve had sex,¡± said Macel, a little too eagerly. ¡°Not last night, but in the past.¡±


    ¡°So what were you doing all night?¡± Sam seemed genuinely confused. ¡°How many other ways are there to spend a night in the company of a girl? I mean, there are prettier ones out there, but Bessily isn¡¯t hideous.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve not known one prettier,¡± said Macel. ¡°Present company excluded, Delie.¡±


    Delie grinned.


    Sam¡¯s eyes bulged. ¡°Then why weren¡¯t you shagging her? What was so interesting that it kept you from man¡¯s greatest natural urge?¡±


    ¡°I sat with her,¡± said Macel.


    ¡°You sat with her?¡± Delie spoke as though she¡¯d misheard him. Sam started laughing.


    ¡°I sat with her,¡± Macel nodded. ¡°She didn¡¯t want to be alone, so I sat by her bed until she was asleep.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m impressed,¡± said Delie, beaming. ¡°You followed my advice for a change.¡±


    Macel nibbled at a corner of his pastry, which was decidedly dry and flaky. He grimaced and forced it down. ¡°She needed a friend,¡± he said. ¡°What else could I do?¡±

 31. Rovers

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Caroline ~


    The stars looked beautiful from on high. The night air was cold, and somehow Caroline felt that those great balls of flame might be just as cold.


    She¡¯d still not spoken to Chris. She couldn¡¯t bear to look at him, if she was honest. Every day she¡¯d stayed a little longer at the hospital after her shift¡¯s end, just so she wouldn¡¯t have to go back home. Work was hard too. Someone had noticed that she was a little down, a little less her cheery self. Maybe it was Janna Davis? Whoever, they¡¯d made a kindly comment¡ªan offer of comfort, should Caro need it. And now everybody thought of her as damaged. Fragile. She was the woman afraid to go home. They lavished her with fake sympathies, the kind that came in the form of condescension and saccharine talk. The kind that lasted until the outer door of the hospital.


    Nobody wanted to know her in the evenings. They all hung out together, she knew that¡ªdrinking and laughing and having fun. If she waited for an invitation to join them, it would never come. When she took it upon herself to follow, they always got awkward. Made excuses. Everybody was perfectly polite, but they said the bare minimum. It was obvious that having Caro around was weighing them down. She knew why. She¡¯d been the same, in her Raconesta days. She was the boss, the out-of-touch middle-aged woman trying to seem with it by getting drunk together with her younger colleagues.


    She understood, but that didn¡¯t mean she was happy about the arrangement. It was a lonely old world, and vast as it was it seemed twice as empty now. When there was truly nothing left to do, no tasks to draw out longer than they should have taken, she¡¯d wander the valley. Anything to not have to see Chris.


    Often she thought of finding Ian, or David¡ªonce, at least, they¡¯d called her friend. But she was always the extra. They were friends of Chris first and foremost, friends of Armand, friends of Tessa. Caroline was just the annoying little girl who always followed them around. If she was their friend, it was only because they couldn¡¯t get away from her. If she poured her heart out to them, they¡¯d take Chris¡¯ side. Then she wouldn¡¯t even have a friendly face to say ¡®hi¡¯ to.


    So she sat alone. It took a half hour¡¯s brisk walking to get to the really good viewing spots, up on the south-eastern slopes of the valley. She had to cross through the woodland, up muddy slopes and between ancient trees. Her leather boots were caked in dirt that she couldn¡¯t be bothered to clean off¡ªthey¡¯d only get dirty again tomorrow. This evening, she¡¯d slipped on the muddy bank; her trousers were in need of a wash, now, and the wet fabric was cold as it pressed against her leg.


    Somewhere high in the heavens, something exploded. It could have been a star ending its long life with flame. It could have been something else altogether. From this small corner of the universe, it was just a flicker of sudden bright in the darkness. Caro gripped the grass with cold fingers and felt her ego shrink away.


    Look at the stars. Armand¡¯s words came back to her, all of a sudden. Look at the stars, and think of me. I¡¯ll be looking at them too. That was their connection. Millions of miles of darkness and emptiness, the breadth of the unfeeling void, but the stars Caroline saw were the same her brother was seeing, from his opaline balcony at the palace of Demesna.


    Some of them were the same, at least. There were simply too many stars, too far apart, to be sure that they were exactly the same stars. But she could imagine they were. It made everything a little better, somehow. Armand wasn¡¯t far away.


    Armand would take her side, no matter what.


    ¡°I wish you were here.¡± She hadn¡¯t meant to speak. The words came out in a hoarse, thin squeak, and disappeared into the thickness of the night without echo or reply. But of course they did. Armand wasn¡¯t really here. Sure, if she closed her eyes, she could pretend he was sat with her, ready to listen her troubles away. In the cold face of reality, though, she was all alone.


    Screw reality.


    ¡°You were right, Armand,¡± she said, her voice fuller this time. ¡°All the time, you were right.¡± He¡¯d always been on at her to find some friends of her own, since she was just a young teen. It¡¯s not that we don¡¯t like having you around, he¡¯d explained, but this is a small circle. It¡¯ll do you good to broaden yourself. But she¡¯d never been good at making friends, and she¡¯d never needed to¡ªshe had Armand, and Chris, and the Borrowood gang, and that was surely enough. Beyond them, the friends she¡¯d made had drifted away. Terry Watling had been a great laugh, but he failed out of Raconesta and she hadn¡¯t spoken to him since. When she was a charge nurse, she¡¯d had wonderful times with Elestren Joliet¡ªand then Elestren had taken a job on Arvila, and that had been that.


    And now she had nobody, and it was only because of herself.


    It was the phantom chill of the woodland wind that kept Caro from staying on the hill until dawn. There was some mournful whistle to way the breeze hit the trees¡ªlike the desperate whispers of the dead. What was their warning? Whatever it was, it left her ill at ease.


    She gazed up at the twin moons, racing each other to their zenith in the night sky. It must be quite late now. Chris was probably getting worried, if indeed he¡¯d actually returned to their bedchambers tonight. Perhaps that wasn¡¯t the worst thing in the world, she thought. Let him worry. Let him realise what he was letting slip away.


    The hill was deceptively steep. It had been easy enough to climb up, with the aid of full sunlight and not drunk on her own self-inflicted melancholy. Caro didn¡¯t fancy trying to go back down the way she¡¯d come. Already the shadows were heavy on that side of the hill. One wrong step and she might turn her ankle. Two and she might go tumbling. Nobody knew where she was, where to look for her. If she hurt herself she¡¯d stay hurt. Until the elements got her, at least.


    So instead she carried on up. East, the hill rose slowly, evening out onto a flat plain. Pockets of virgin¡¯s bower grew here and there, spotting the grass with gentle purple. A timorous bird, its feathers pink and blue and yellow, watched her from the branches of a solitary tree. It flew away when she waved at it.


    This higher promontory was somehow more beautiful. A pity she¡¯d missed the sunset. Now there was only the fading glimmer of what used to be twilight, and when that was gone there¡¯d be only the dark. If she hadn¡¯t found her way back to somewhere she knew by then, she¡¯d have a bitch of a time getting back to the valley. She walked on, quicker.


    She was just about to start her descent, at the eastern tip of the hill where the decline was shallowest, when she heard a voice from somewhere distant. No, two voices. A man and a woman. Perfect. If she followed them, she wouldn¡¯t get lost¡ªand if she did, she wouldn¡¯t be lost alone.


    ¡°I think we¡¯ve gone off track.¡± That was the woman speaking, her voice clearly terse even from this distance. ¡°Sixleaf didn¡¯t leave a trail.¡±


    The man¡¯s voice was just as firm. ¡°You saw the lights, Birgit. This is the way. If you¡¯re pining for your husband¡¯s cock, feel free to go back¡ªbut say that¡¯s what you want. Don¡¯t make excuses.¡±


    Caro crouched down. Something about the strangers¡¯ conversation wasn¡¯t sitting right with her. She scuttled along to a nearby thicket of gorse, and burrowed inside it. The voices were coming closer. Best not to be seen until she was sure they were friendly.


    The conversation continued. ¡°I don¡¯t think Ludlow can perform anymore,¡± laughed a third person, another man, his the deepest voice Caro had ever heard.


    ¡°If you ever want to share that twat of yours around,¡± said a fourth, ¡°I can give you the satisfaction you¡¯ve been missing.¡±


    ¡°I know why they call you Small Jack,¡± said the woman¡ªBirgit, Caro assumed. ¡°You couldn¡¯t satisfy a flea.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s got you there, Jack,¡± said the man with the deep voice.


    Through the gorse, Caro could see figures easing into view, five of them lit by the glow of two wooden torches. These were the ones who were speaking. None of them she recognised. The man at the front, squat and unshaven, thrust the end of one of the torches into the ground. It swayed gently in the breeze as he turned to face the others.


    ¡°Enough of this bickering,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯ve been at each other¡¯s throats since Alfred¡¯s Port. Two-Tom would have had your hides.¡±


    ¡°Aye, well Two-Tom isn¡¯t here,¡± said the one called Small Jack.


    The rest of their conversation flew straight past Caro. Something the squat man had said was ringing bells in her head. What was it?


    Of course! Alfred¡¯s Port. Jem had talked of it. Called it home. As he lay dying, Caro had denied its very existence. She thought she knew better. But if there had been people on Essegena before¡ªpeople who, perhaps, had carved idols¡ªthen who was to say that there weren¡¯t anymore? Perhaps these were locals. Perhaps Jem wasn¡¯t a mystery at all. Caro had just been too arrogant to accept his answers. He¡¯d died pleading for his mother, and Caro was to blame.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Without her realising, Caro had been leaning slowly further forward, shifting all her weight onto her toes as she strained to better hear the strangers. A sudden gust of vertigo drew attention to her mistake. Her balance gone, she toppled over. Her hands were stabbed by the hundreds of thorns in the gorse as she broke her fall, and...


    ¡°What was that?¡± The squat man had spoken. He¡¯d heard her.


    ¡°A grimalkin, perhaps?¡± There was a fifth person, one who hadn¡¯t yet spoken. He had scraggly red hair, receded almost all the way to his temples. The poor man sounded as though his voice hadn¡¯t broken yet, but he looked middle-aged. Terrified, too.


    Caro stood. There was no point hiding any more. These people spoke the same tongue, at least, so whoever they are she could reason with them. As she emerged from the gorse bush, she could see ten eyes widening. She must have looked a mess. Her cache-c?ur was ripped by thorns, her arms covered in little scrapes.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen a grimalkin like that,¡± said the man with the deep voice. His nose was crooked where it had once been broken, and his teeth were perfect ivory.


    She extricated herself from the bush with difficulty, and began to walk towards the strangers. All of them had the look of ragamuffins, in dirty and tattered clothes. She¡¯d fit right in, then, with her torn shirt. Before she¡¯d made it halfway to them, she had a spear pressed against her belly. The woman was holding it, a fierce look in her eyes. ¡°Not one more step.¡±


    ¡°Where¡¯s Sixleaf hiding?¡± asked the squat man.


    Caro looked over each of the strangers in turn. There was fear amongst them, uncertainty; they masked it behind bravado, but they couldn¡¯t erase it altogether. Even the woman with the spear seemed a hair¡¯s breadth from wavering. ¡°I don¡¯t believe we¡¯ve met,¡± said Caro. ¡°Caroline Heramey.¡± She hadn¡¯t gone by ¡®Heramey¡¯ in all the years she¡¯d been married. Today, it felt right.


    The woman with the spear gritted her teeth. ¡°Answer the question,¡± she snarled.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know any Sixleaf, I¡¯m afraid,¡± said Caro, with a smile. ¡°Would you mind pointing your spear somewhere else? It looks sharp.¡±


    The woman nodded. ¡°The better to cut through liars.¡±


    ¡°Now, now, Birgit, you needn¡¯t be aggressive,¡± said the man with the deep voice.


    ¡°Who are you, then?¡± said Small Jack. ¡°Where are you from?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m with the colony,¡± said Caro. ¡°Can I take it you aren¡¯t?¡±


    Birgit laughed. ¡°What colony? There¡¯s nothing this far south. This is a haunted land, full of empty fields and ruins. The Shadow¡¯s seen to that.¡±


    The squat man spoke. ¡°A colony, you say? So you¡¯re not from here? Well, it makes sense, I suppose. If our ancestors came from the stars, why shouldn¡¯t more follow? Have you been here long?¡±


    In answer, Caro looked to the gleaming spear, still pressed against her stomach. The squat man nodded. He gestured to Birgit, who spat and pulled the spear away. ¡°Half a year, maybe,¡± said Caro.


    ¡°And are there many of you?¡±


    Caro nodded. ¡°A few thousand,¡± she said. ¡°My¡ª The Governor would know the exact figures.¡±


    The squat man didn¡¯t seem interested in the exact figures. ¡°If Sixleaf¡¯s lot came this way, your people would have picked them up. You were right, Birgit¡ªthis isn¡¯t the way.¡±


    ¡°Do I get to gut this one, to make up for my wasted time?¡±


    ¡°So bloodthirsty,¡± said the man with the deep voice. ¡°You should channel that aggression into better things, Birgit.¡±


    ¡°Maybe I¡¯ll channel this spear into your arse, Joscelin,¡± snarled Birgit, but she stepped back. Joscelin and the squat man moved closer together, blocking Birgit from Caro lest she decide to point the spear again. Caro was grateful for that. Her evening plans hadn¡¯t involved spilling her guts out on a cold hillside.


    ¡°Walk with us a while,¡± said Joscelin. ¡°If you don¡¯t mind. I¡¯d like to talk to you.¡±


    Caro nodded. ¡°I can walk.¡±


    The strangers didn¡¯t seem to know the land any better than Caro did, but with their torches to light the way and each other to catch their falls, they made it down from the hill in quick time. They¡¯d descended into a little furrow in the earth. Thick rows of forest closed in from three sides, and red gerberas grew in clusters in the grassland underfoot. A gently-smouldering fire sent a narrow plume of smoke high into the sky to disappear into the black night.


    ¡°I thought I told you to put that out,¡± the squat man snapped, as Small Jack¡ªbringing up the rear¡ªreached the bottom of the hill. ¡°The whole place could have caught fire.¡±


    ¡°It didn¡¯t, though,¡± Small Jack quipped.


    The squat man¡¯s face took on an ugly expression, but he said nothing. He planted his torch into the ground beside the lingering fire and sat heavily. ¡°Sit,¡± he said, nodding at Caro as he wrestled with a tattered boot. ¡°This is hard terrain to walk in.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯ve not got the shoes for it,¡± said Birgit, crouching beside the fire. ¡°Toss us a flint, Jack.¡±


    Caro sat. Now that she thought on it, her feet were aching and sore. Still, it could be worse. The squat man had finally won the battle with his boot, and was vigorously rubbing the corn-laden toes of a rotting foot. Caro tried not to let her distaste show. ¡°Is this your camp?¡±


    The squat man shrugged. ¡°A temporary one. We¡¯ll be gone by daybreak.¡± He pulled a stick from the edge of the fire and grated his foot against it. ¡°You¡¯ve told us your name, but we haven¡¯t told you ours. Name¡¯s Kenton, and these are my Rovers.¡± He held his arms out wide.


    ¡°Some of us at least,¡± said Birgit, busy trying to rekindle the flames. ¡°The others are waiting back at Alfred¡¯s Port.¡±


    Caro saw the opportunity for some answers. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Alfred¡¯s Port? Is that far?¡±


    Kenton spat onto the ground. ¡°Not far enough.¡±


    She looked around in the hopes of an elaboration, but none of the Rovers would meet her gaze. Birgit snapped the kindling twigs she held in two and threw them onto the fire with a furious cry. Joscelin took a sudden interest in his fingernails.


    ¡°We should kill her and be done with it,¡± said the squeaky redhead. ¡°What gives her the right to come here? This is our world.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s big enough to share,¡± said Joscelin.


    The redhead didn¡¯t look as though he agreed. Despite the fire, the night had cooled. Caro¡¯s arms were riven with goose-pimples. Bare arms were a bad idea.


    She rubbed her hands together and edged closer to the fire. ¡°I take it the wooden idols are yours.¡± It was about time Caro learnt what they were for.


    The Rovers exchanged looks. ¡°What idols might these be?¡± asked Kenton.


    Caro told them about the figure Bess had found, and the ugly one she¡¯d found to go with it. She took care not to say too much, straddling the line between reserved and evasive. She was still uncertain about these Rovers, not keen to furnish them with details they didn¡¯t already have. She came undone when it came to explaining how she¡¯d come about the figures.


    ¡°You would have had to look in a very specific place to find something like that,¡± said Joscelin, ¡°and without even knowing there was something to find? I must say, it¡¯s a little curious.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not one of them dreamers, are you?¡± Caro¡¯s heart leapt as Birgit spoke. Her hands were quivering, so she stuffed them haphazardly into her pockets, lest the Rovers notice. Give nothing away. If they think you¡¯re a Foresleeper, you¡¯re dead. But Birgit didn¡¯t seem itching to kill. ¡°Maisella¡¯s always said there¡¯s others like her.¡±


    ¡°Maisella¡¯s a charlatan,¡± laughed Joscelin.


    ¡°If you¡¯d seen the things she does...¡±


    ¡°Cheap tricks,¡± Joscelin scoffed. ¡°Sleight of hand, so the Queen stays amused and the Regent keeps greasing the Minaret Witch¡¯s purse-strings.¡±


    Birgit shook her head. ¡°You don¡¯t have an imagination, Joscelin.¡±


    ¡°I do. I just know how to keep it apart from real life.¡±


    ¡°Sorry¡ªMinaret Witch?¡± Caro¡¯s head was running at a million miles an hour, trying to keep up with everything they were saying.


    ¡°She keeps a tower high up on the mount, where she can look down on the Firth,¡± Kenton explained. ¡°They say she dreams there, and the dreams tell her the future. A load of hokum, if you ask me. The Minaret¡¯s just for show. Nobody¡¯s allowed to go there apart from Maisella and her acolytes, except by special invitation.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not hokum,¡± said Birgit. ¡°You must have seen her show, down at the docks? There¡¯s power there.¡±


    Joscelin laughed. ¡°A fiction. It¡¯s the same stooges every time. They put on a different-coloured jerkin, and gullible fools lap it up. Maisella can no more see the future than I can shit copper bricks.¡±


    ¡°I have dreams,¡± said Caro, unsure of why she¡¯d suddenly decided to trust the Rovers. ¡°Not like your Witch, maybe.¡±


    Joscelin frowned, but Birgit¡¯s eyes grew wide. ¡°So you can see the future?¡± she asked.


    ¡°In a manner of speaking,¡± said Caro, nodding gently. ¡°But not explicitly. It¡¯s more like a coded message.¡±


    ¡°A metaphor?¡±


    ¡°I suppose.¡±


    Birgit turned to Joscelin. ¡°See, I told you this stuff was real. Can you tell me about these dreams of yours, Caroline? How do you know if a dream¡¯s important or not?¡±


    It was an unexpectedly tough thing to talk about. Caro had never met someone who had any real interest in the augury of the Foresleeper, not apart from those who had the dreams themselves and those who wanted the dreamers gone. She found herself fumbling through her explanations. When she strayed too close to those dreams she hated¡ªthe tower of jackdaws, the house on the hill, the wheat field poisoned by fog¡ªshe clammed up. None of the Rovers seemed to notice. The redhead aside, they all seemed fully engrossed what she said, though none half as much as Birgit. Caro¡¯s stories washed over the woman just as Nana Raine¡¯s stories had once washed over her. In Birgit¡¯s eyes she could see the reflection of a girlish delight she hadn¡¯t herself felt since she was only very small. Since she was counting flowers on the meadows.


    She spoke until she found herself yawning, heavy eyes drooping almost shut. ¡°Pardon me,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s getting late.¡±


    Small Jack looked over at the horizon. ¡°Early, rather than late. It¡¯ll be dawn before long.¡±


    Captain Kenton stood, gripping the handle of one of the torches driven in the ground. ¡°Do you need help getting back to your people?¡±


    Caro shook her head. ¡°It isn¡¯t far. I¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad we met you, Caroline,¡± said Birgit, half-asleep with her head lolling onto Small Jack¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°We¡¯ll find you again,¡± added Kenton. ¡°I would very much like to meet with your colony. There¡¯s no point our people working at cross-purposes. As for the place, could you find that same hill again?¡±


    Caro nodded. ¡°I should think so.¡±


    ¡°Then look for us there. Not on the morrow, I think, but four nights hence. Maybe five. We¡¯ll return to our camp, and bring a gift¡ªas a gesture of our good faith.¡± Kenton bowed his head slightly, taking Caro¡¯s hand and kissing her wrist. ¡°Travel safely, Caroline. Don¡¯t dwell in the shadows.¡±

 32. Glass

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Tema ~


    Emmeline Maynard had promised a clinic of her own, fully equipped¡ªjust like being in the hospital. What Tema had actually been given was a two-story terrace squeezed in between two tenement halls. It was all that could be whipped up at short notice, apparently. To cover for the paucity of supplies, Tema had begged favours from some of the friendlier nurses¡ªLily Day or Phina Janley, Lucy Jaine or Cherry Aspwell. On shifts they shared with Caroline, they¡¯d subtly liberate useful bits and pieces from storerooms that had yet to be touched, and bring them to Tema.


    She barely spent any time actually in the building. What was the point? Anybody who fell ill, or who became injured, made their way to the hospital. It would have surprised her to learn that more than a dozen people even knew of the existence of her practice. Barbara had cleared it with Caroline that her allotted hours would align with Tema¡¯s, and that she¡¯d spend them in the stuffy ground floor of that stuccoed hovel she had to call a workplace. Tema appreciated the moral support. Barbara only lasted a week before the boredom and the lack of proper air circulation got the better of her. She¡¯d been almost tearful as she apologised to Tema. ¡°I need to go back to the hospital. I hope you understand.¡±


    Tema didn¡¯t blame her. Often she felt like going there herself, calling Doctor Maynard¡¯s bluff. A big part of her was still ashamed that she¡¯d been browbeaten by the threat of Doctor Staniforth. She ought to just come out with it, tell him in front of everybody that she intended to continue to do her job, just as she is, and if that wasn¡¯t to his liking well then that was just too bad. But the trepidation always built up as she walked towards reception, and she could never hold her nerve any longer than catching a glimpse of whoever was sat on the front desk. The nurses must have thought somebody was going mad¡ªeither themselves or Tema. It wasn¡¯t ordinary behaviour for the second senior doctor to consistently walk right up to the hospital and then turn and walk away.


    But then, ordinary could fuck itself with a fishing pole. Ordinary had brought Tema years of suppression, eating her from the inside out. Ordinary had brought her the ravages of a male puberty, and a youth denied.


    Why couldn¡¯t she just have been ordinary?


    The hospital was not an option, but neither was her little cubby. The lack of ventilation was too much for her to bear. So instead she wandered the valley¡¯s streets. She had a grey peacoat she liked to wear, with an echinops of the most brilliant violet embroidered over the heart. The echinops was the healer¡¯s flower, the sign of Iscan¨¦. The coat was a gift from a friend at Raconesta with a penchant for needlework.


    As a wandering physician, work was hard for her to come by. People generally sought medical attention when they needed it, rather than carrying on about their business. It would take her an hour on an average day to make a round of the whole town¡ªemerging maybe a few centilitres of salve or a sticking plaster down from the stock she¡¯d carried in the morning. When that was done she carried herself to a quiet place to work on her treatise.


    What it was a treatise on was still up in the air. Tema had a bound leather book in her sidebag, intended for taking notes, but she¡¯d quickly learnt that it was easier to use the scrappy paper book in her breast pocket for this purpose, making up the notes nice and proper when she was next able to get into her office. One day she¡¯d sat on the grass beside the burbling Clearwater, munching on a hasty lunch of meat in pastry, and started to write. She had four full sides of her thoughts when she realised that the sun was starting to set and her lunch had gone cold. The book evolved into a collection of her worries and aspirations. There were some odd fragments of poetry, deaf to metre, illustrated by sketches of wildflowers blind to what wildflowers actually looked like. It was a hodge-podge, a mess. But it was her. The words were authentically Tema.


    Today, for a change, she¡¯d stopped by her little clinic. In the old stories there was a prison, Peseltane. It was small and silent, its air thick with death, and it was where the Margrave of Camistane sent the people he didn¡¯t know how to deal with. When the lover of the Margrave¡¯s daughter Floriel was captured making war with his father-in-law¡¯s mark, poor Floriel had begged that his life had been spared. And so he¡¯d been consigned to the doorless walls of Peseltane, to live out his days rotting in isolation.


    The clinic was Tema¡¯s Peseltane. She wasn¡¯t sure what had drawn her to go there. A feeling, perhaps. Lector Cavanauh at Rindehall often talked about those little feelings. They were usually bad, he said, but always to be listened to. There was a school of thought that they were seeds, planted by the Gods to nudge things in the right direction. The Gods couldn¡¯t bear the thought of the world going by without their influence. It was their garden, and it had to be just so.


    Peseltane was deserted, and Tema quickly ran out of busywork to do. Everything was arranged neatly, exactly how she liked it, and she¡¯d paced up and down the stairs enough to meet her weekly exercise quota. So she¡¯d slung her peacoat over her shoulder and made to leave.


    And there, standing at the door, was Viola Watling.


    Tema hadn¡¯t seen Viola since the confrontation with Maynard. She¡¯d forgotten how nice it was to see the girl¡¯s face. At first glimpse she burst into a grin, and leaned to hug Viola. ¡°What are you doing here?¡±


    ¡°I came to see how you were getting on.¡± Viola¡¯s lip quivered. ¡°You never said what had happened to you. We were all getting worried¡ªone day you just stopped turning up. I was beginning to wonder if you¡¯d died.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t die,¡± said Tema. ¡°I¡¯m just working a new post, for a little while.¡±


    Viola rolled her eyes. ¡°I can see that. Why?¡±


    ¡°Change of scenery. I was getting bored at the hospital.¡± There was no way to explain her row with Maynard, without explaining what had brought it about. And she wasn¡¯t ready to start spilling about her past to new coworkers with whom she had finally found some form of kinship. Viola didn¡¯t need to know.


    She also didn¡¯t buy Tema¡¯s story. ¡°You nearly hugged my spine into diamond. Just because I¡¯m young doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m stupid, Doctor Caerlin. You wouldn¡¯t be here if you had somewhere else to go. What¡¯s happened?¡±


    Tema looked at Viola. She could feel her eyes growing damp. It was just the hormones, they made her weepy. She wasn¡¯t upset at having to lie to Viola¡ªmost definitely not.


    ¡°Whatever it is, I won¡¯t judge you,¡± said Viola. ¡°But I can¡¯t be there for you if I don¡¯t know where ¡®there¡¯ is.¡±


    Somehow Tema knew it was time to come clean. ¡°You promise you won¡¯t judge?¡± She spoke over the shuddering of her own terrified body.


    Viola shook her head. ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± she said, softly.


    Tema took a deep breath. ¡°I should have been honest with everybody from the beginning. Doctor Maynard read my file. When I was born, I had a different name. A... a man¡¯s name. I¡¯ve been Tema for five years. Before then... well, some would have said I was a man.¡± She let the silence rush in to fill the space left by her words, and waited for some reply to wash up in the tide.


    Viola¡¯s reply came in the tsunami of a mirthful laugh. ¡°That¡¯s a strange joke, Doctor Caerlin. Forgive me, but there is no way that¡¯s true. I can¡¯t look at you and not see a woman.¡± Tema smiled at that. ¡°Why does Doctor Maynard care about what you looked like five years ago?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d rather not go into the details,¡± said Tema. ¡°But suffice to say my records say I¡¯m male.¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯re not,¡± said Viola.


    Tema shook her head. ¡°Doctor Staniforth won¡¯t agree. If he knew, I¡¯d be in danger. I may even be killed. The best case scenario, I¡¯d be forced to wear a male uniform, go by a male name. I can¡¯t go back to that, I won¡¯t go back to that, so I¡¯m here until Doctor Ballard can get my records amended.¡±


    Viola spat on the ground. ¡°Staniforth can do one. Man never leaves his office. What does it matter to him which uniform you¡¯re wearing?¡±


    Tema smiled weakly. ¡°It¡¯s not worth the hassle, Viola. If I suck it up for a few more weeks, everything will be sorted, and quietly. If I go back, there¡¯s a risk Doctor Staniforth will raise hell. I can do without having my identity smeared in public.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll spit in his coffee,¡± said Viola.


    ¡°That¡¯s a bad idea.¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll pour the coffee over his head.¡±


    ¡°An even worse idea,¡± Tema chuckled.


    Viola sighed. ¡°I wish I could stick around, but I should get going. I don¡¯t want to be too late for my shift.¡± She began to walk away.


    Tema nodded. ¡°I understand.¡±


    A few paces along, Viola turned back briefly. ¡°I love your coat, girl,¡± she called. ¡°You look really pretty in it.¡±


    There was no fighting back the tears now. Tema ducked inside Peseltane so nobody would see as she sobbed her heart out. So what if she looked a mess? She was pretty.


    It had only taken thirty years for somebody to call her pretty.


    Once she¡¯d cleaned herself up, Tema made her way through the town. A hunger had settled in her stomach, so she traded a silver granney for a sandwich heaping with tender strips of pink meat and a pot of hot potatoes in gravy from the Tavern in the plaza. She liked to get her lunch from the Tavern when she could. The waitress always complimented her outfit, and she always got a kick out of that.


    With her sandwich in hand, she headed north, following along the narrow tributary of the Clearwater that crept up out of the town then peeled away towards easterly headlands. This was a peaceful route. Even on the brightest days, most merrymakers preferred the wider stretches of the river closer to the Eia. It was purely happenstance that Tema had come to learn of this trail. Even the point where it became separate from the main body of the river was obscured. High earthen banks overgrown with thick leafy trees made the confluence difficult to find. It was shady there, and peaceful.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    Tema planned to spend her lunch in the company of the little critters that dwelled here. Theirs was the sort of chatter she could bear to listen to.


    She¡¯d not even taken a single bite when she saw a familiar face. This arboreal pocket was right beside the grassy slopes upon which the Northern Road lead out of the valley, and on these slopes a man was walking briskly. Macel Donea. The sleeves of his serge were rolled back to his elbows.


    How could she fail to recognise that great big nose of his? She¡¯d got on well enough with Macel, during her stint with the Advanced Party. It had been a long time since she¡¯d seen him, months. He had a girlfriend now, if she remembered what Sam Preston had said. Bessily. The same Bessily who had fallen in with Caroline.


    Tema wondered if Macel knew about the stablegirl¡¯s special gift. It might be worth finding out. If he didn¡¯t, well then at least she¡¯d have had a chance to catch up with a friend.


    She stuffed her food into its paper wrapping and pushed through the trees directly towards him, calling his name as she went. He didn¡¯t seem to hear.


    For the most part the greenery was easy to pass through. The trunks of the trees were narrow, and the branches spindly. Much of the mass was pure vegetation, easily bending in the wake of even gentle pressure. But there was the occasional thorny thicket, rewarding her for her endeavours with a mass of annoying little nicks. She¡¯d ignored these as best she could, and as Macel was passing directly by so she was but a single row of trees from the open incline.


    ¡°Macel!¡± She called his name once more, and this time he heard. He paused and looked around him, looked in all directions. He looked right past her. There was nothing on his face to suggest that he¡¯d spotted her. The leaves were dense, in fairness. Sure, there were gaps enough to see through, but only if you knew what it was you were looking for. She¡¯d got lucky that she¡¯d spied Macel through a wider gap in the trees, the rivershore having a higher vantage point.


    After a few seconds, Macel seemed to have satisfied himself that he¡¯d imagined the wild voice calling out his name. He shrugged and carried on his way.


    That wasn¡¯t acceptable. Tema had forgone her peaceful lunch in the woods because she wanted to talk to Macel. If she were now to lose sight of him, it would be just as if she¡¯d chosen not to talk to him in the first place. Only it would be worse, because she wouldn¡¯t have eaten her dinner. It would be cold by the time she got back to a good spot.


    She charged forward, hoping to push through and get onto the grass. She should have watched the ground. As she moved, so her feet caught in a knot in the ground, and her momentum was too great. She found herself falling. There was just time for her to put out a hand to try and break her fall. The potatoes in their pot went tumbling to the ground, and she got a face full of congealed gravy.


    The commotion she caused drew Macel¡¯s attention. It must have been an odd sight for him to see, turning around to find a mad woman looking feral on the ground. He didn¡¯t act concerned.


    ¡°If it isn¡¯t Tema Caerlin,¡± he said. ¡°Did you have a bit of a fall?¡±


    ¡°I was just testing the ground.¡± Tema used to be better at coming up with explanations on the spot. She pushed down at the soft soil, smearing more of the gravy on her hands. ¡°Yep. It¡¯s really there.¡±


    Macel laughed. ¡°I didn¡¯t know you were funny,¡± he said.


    ¡°Now what do you mean by that?¡± She got to her feet, arms folded. ¡°I told more than my share of jokes.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I mean,¡± Macel nodded.


    ¡°Is it too hard to play along? You¡¯ve just crushed a girl¡¯s dreams of being an entertainer.¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you a doctor?¡±


    Tema nodded. ¡°Well, yes. For the moment.¡±


    Macel took a step towards her. ¡°You make it sound like any minute now you¡¯re going to lose your doctorship.¡±


    She felt her lip beginning to tremble, so she bit down on it to make it comply. ¡°If there¡¯s a way, I¡¯ll manage it.¡±


    Macel jabbed a thumb downwards, in the direction of the town which seemed from here to stretch all the way to the horizon. The Eia seemed but a tiny speck in the distance. She¡¯d always focused on the woods and the water, when it came to finding nice places to relax. A view like this was a treat. If she hadn¡¯t dropped her picnic already, she might have stayed here. She¡¯d have to remember this for next time. ¡°Why don¡¯t you walk with me?¡± said Macel. ¡°I¡¯ve got an errand to run in town, and then it¡¯s back to the Watch.¡±


    Tema smiled. ¡°I can walk a while. It¡¯s not as though I¡¯ve anything better to be doing.¡±


    For much of the journey back into town, their conversation was limited to general chatter. They shared the stories of what broadly they¡¯d been up to, and a small part of Tema found herself lamenting her return to hospital work. It seemed that Macel had had a more interesting time. And a less insulting one, presumably. Still, she couldn¡¯t say she missed Anna Bennett. Lieutenant Bennett had raised her hackles for the entirety of her time amongst the soldiers, and from what Macel said she¡¯d got no better with time.


    She¡¯d sent him into town today, in fact. ¡°It¡¯s my fault for being late to breakfast, apparently,¡± he said. ¡°I was with Bessily all night. She needed me.¡±


    ¡°Is that Bessily the stablegirl? Sam Preston mentioned her.¡±


    Macel shook his head. ¡°Nothing¡¯s a secret with Sam, is it? Let me guess: he spun a story of how I¡¯ve been fucking Bessily for months? And somehow, somewhere along the way, he had to have a go to show her what she¡¯s missing out on by staying with me? Is that accurate?¡±


    ¡°Not the second part,¡± said Tema. ¡°But he did say you and her have been having sex.¡±


    ¡°Well, we haven¡¯t,¡± said Macel.


    As the conversation died down, an awkward silence took its place. Tema wanted to probe further, to ask more questions and see what exactly Macel knew about Bessily the stablegirl. It was a question of working out how to do so without coming out and saying what she had already been told¡ªand she wouldn¡¯t do that unless she was certain Macel already knew the same things. Bessily deserved her secrets, just like everybody else.


    ¡°This place has grown up a lot recently,¡± said Macel, eventually breaking the silence. They were approaching the Eia, and the last grotty row of tenements surrounding it. ¡°I was expecting an easier time finding my way around.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think the layout¡¯s changed, so much as the buildings have all sprung up now. It¡¯s harder when you can¡¯t just look over the top of the foundations.¡±


    Macel nodded. ¡°That sounds like the sort of thing lectors like to tell you is profound. Stick a philosopher¡¯s name next to it, and you could probably sell it as some deep quote.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing deep about it,¡± Tema laughed. ¡°Every word was one hundred percent literal.¡±


    ¡°Wallwork¡¯s is this way.¡± Macel indicated the road south-east. It was a road seldom travelled by Tema. Little in the way of construction had taken place here. Tenement buildings aside, there was only the little crescent of tradesmen¡¯s workshops¡ªToby Wallwork¡¯s glaziers included¡ªwhich had been spun off halfway down the road. Further on, when the road came nearest to touching the valley walls, a branching track meandered towards Tasha¡¯s house. Tema didn¡¯t need an excuse not to venture that far.


    ¡°This girl. Bessily.¡± Tema took the opportunity to sound Macel out, as they followed the south-east road. ¡°What¡¯s she like?¡±


    Macel shrugged. ¡°I like her. She¡¯s lonely¡ªit wouldn¡¯t surprise me if she¡¯d never had a friend in her life before she came to Essegena. But she¡¯s friendly enough.¡± He paused. ¡°Sometimes she has bad dreams. Not proper dreams, more like she can see the future. I think it¡¯s just coincidence, but to be honest I don¡¯t really know. She gets really spooked by it, though. That¡¯s why I was up all night last night, actually, and thus why Bennett sent me to the glazier. She had a bad one.¡±


    ¡°Foresleepers see the future in their dreams, so they say.¡± She took care to word things so as not to make it obvious that she knew.


    ¡°Bessily mentioned that word,¡± said Macel. ¡°They¡¯re a myth, aren¡¯t they?¡±


    ¡°Myths are based on something.¡±


    Macel laughed. ¡°Bessily¡¯s a normal girl¡ªa bit fragile, maybe, but normal. I highly doubt there are any great myths based on her.¡±


    ¡°Normal or not, she sounds fun,¡± said Tema. ¡°If ever you¡¯re in town with her, swing by. I¡¯d like to meet her.¡±


    They came upon Toby Wallwork¡¯s workshop then, and that brought the conversation to an end. Macel headed inside, leaving Tema in the sunlit yard. There was a woman there in a smock the colour of terracotta, a dark pinafore in front of it and blonde hair piled into a net atop her head. She was moving bags of sand into a pile beneath the linen awnings at the front of Wallwork¡¯s shop. She could only be his wife. The old man with her, leaning on a spindly wooden cane as he stood beside a wooden barrel, was immediately more recognisable. Everybody who¡¯d grown up in Unity schooling knew Edward Ruddingshaw by sight. There were few bigger celebrities.


    Tema was surprised to see him. She thought he¡¯d died years ago.


    ¡°Excuse me, sir.¡± She inched towards him. ¡°You¡¯re Edward Ruddingshaw, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    Master Ruddingshaw turned to her with a genial smile. ¡°Another fan? I¡¯m afraid I¡¯ve no mementos to give you.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want anything, Master Ruddingshaw. I just... I wondered if I could ask you a question?¡±


    The blonde woman put down the bag of sand in her hands. ¡°I¡¯ll make sure Toby gets to your request as soon as he has a minute,¡± she said, rubbing her hands clean, and she bustled indoors.


    ¡°Mistress Wallwork is good to me,¡± said Ruddingshaw. ¡°A rare perk of being old. You had a question, dear?¡±


    ¡°Everybody loves you, Master Ruddingshaw. It¡¯s like the whole Unity¡¯s agreed to never say a bad word about you. Not that I¡¯d want to, of course¡ªI loved how you invoked the Tally Vaux case when you were defending Bel Jephnum.¡± Tally Vaux was a bloodthirsty tale from a few centuries past, a series of grisly murders¡ªthe name ¡®Tally Vaux¡¯ daubed in blood at every crime scene. A local butcher had been tried and arrested for the murders, and all was well. And then the dreaded Tally Vaux had struck again. The butcher had been set free, of course¡ªhe couldn¡¯t possibly have been the killer, since he¡¯d been at the bottom of a deep cell when the last murder happened. But they never caught the real culprit. To this day, debate endured. Some even theorised that the butcher was guilty after all. Tally Vaux wasn¡¯t an individual¡ªit was an identity, used by multiple killers.


    Nobody had been quite sure how that related to the Bel Jephnum case, when Ruddingshaw first brought it up. Tema still didn¡¯t understand the link. But clearly it had worked. Bel Jephnum was never convicted of any crimes.


    Tema looked to Ruddingshaw. ¡°How did you get people to respect you? I thought it came with experience, but the higher I climb the more it seems like people want a bite of me.¡±


    Master Ruddingshaw looked at her with a glint in his eyes. ¡°You¡¯re Tema Caerlin¡ªis that right? Doctor Ballard is rather fond of you. She¡¯s nominated you as her deputy, if my understanding is correct.¡±


    Tema nodded. ¡°That¡¯s right, sir. But it still feels as though I¡¯ve got to watch my every move. If I make one move wrong, everyone will pounce, and my career will be over. How did you get past that point?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t.¡± Ruddingshaw shifted his cane in the dirt. ¡°Being an expert isn¡¯t knowing everything there is to know. It¡¯s knowing enough that everyone expects you to know everything. Sometimes there¡¯s something beyond the breadth of your knowledge, but try telling people that. You know what they¡¯ll say? ¡®How can you not know? You¡¯re an expert¡¯. You have to get in the mindset that what other people think is completely irrelevant. It¡¯s the same with respect. You don¡¯t earn respect by getting people to like you. High Commissioner Graystone wanted me disbarred when I stood behind Jephnum, but I did it anyway. I did a good job, and I kept doing a good job whenever I could. That¡¯s where the respect came from. And you know something? I still worry that I¡¯m going to be found out for a shyster. I haven¡¯t entered a courtroom for fifteen years, and part of me¡¯s still expecting all the respect to disappear.¡±


    ¡°Master Ruddingshaw... oh, I¡¯m making a fool of myself even talking here... but you were one of my heroes, growing up,¡± said Tema. ¡°That won¡¯t change. Not ever.¡±


    ¡°And yet no matter how often you say that, I won¡¯t stop fearing. It¡¯s human nature to fear. You have to put that fear aside to be great. Whatever you do, people will judge you for it. Let them judge you for what you do, not the other way around. When you start letting others¡¯ opinions inform your decisions, you¡¯re lost.¡± He hobbled over to Tema, and rested a bony hand on her shoulder. ¡°Do the right thing, and do it for you. If you do that, you¡¯ll get the respect you deserve. You look a pretty young woman, Tema Caerlin. I¡¯m sure the respect will come.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not young,¡± said Tema. ¡°I¡¯m thirty.¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯m thrice that.¡± Ruddingshaw turned away from her, casting his gaze at the brilliant sky. ¡°All the adoration, all the love I get, I¡¯d trade it all for a chance to be thirty years old again. To be with my Vera. If you catch yourself wishing your youth away, Tema Caerlin, remind yourself that I told you not to. And yes, you do still have youth. When it¡¯s gone, you¡¯ll know. It¡¯s the worst feeling in the world.¡±

 33. The Governor Comes

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Tasha ~


    Tasha woke to a cool breeze blowing across her face. She lay for a while with her eyes closed, so her brain could switch on. Why hurry up? There was nothing for her to do but enjoy the day. And she¡¯d been having such a wonderful dream. Aunt Danyer had been there, showering her with gifts, ¡°for you and your brother¡±. If she stayed in bed, perhaps she could return to the dream...


    Someone was walking nearby. She could hear the heavy sound of leather boots on wood. The floorboards creaked loudly¡ªshe¡¯d have to speak to Oliver about that, so he could get somebody to fix it.


    Tash opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling, plain and wooden, glowing where the sun shone onto it. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her door swinging open.


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, Mistress. I didn¡¯t mean to wake you. I thought you¡¯d be up by now¡ªit¡¯s nearly midday.¡± Young Eva Renet was standing in the doorway, her eyes wide.


    Tash propped herself into a sitting position. ¡°It¡¯s alright, Eva, I was just getting up now.¡± The girl nodded¡ªor was it just a tremble? The movement was so slight it was difficult to tell. And she stood in the doorway, watching Tash. ¡°Can you give me five minutes?¡±


    Eva nodded frantically now. ¡°Oh yes, of course, Lady. I¡¯m sorry.¡± She bowed her head and left the room.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to keep apologising,¡± Tash called after her, in case Eva heard, but the door was shut. She sat for a few seconds more on the bed, her dream gone for good now.


    The floorboards creaked a little as she climbed out of bed. The wood, heated by the morning sun, was nice and warm beneath her bare feet. Not at all like the chilly stone of Tol Manase. No, this would be a far better place for little Jem to grow up. And, eventually, the half-dozen brothers and sisters that would surely follow.


    She thought back to the man in the hospital bed, the one who called her ¡®mama¡¯. Had his life been happy? Had she done right by him? Would she do right by him? She liked to think she would.


    But then, she¡¯d always assumed she¡¯d pass medical school with flying colours, become a doctor and fix her family¡¯s problems. As if they could be fixed.


    She padded across to the wardrobe, ignoring the onset of growling from her stomach. There was an order to these things. Clothes always came before breakfast. She wanted something light and flowing, something that would preserve her modesty but keep the heat at bay. Opening the wardrobe, she found herself spoiled for choice. She¡¯d never been good at picking the right dress. For the longest time, Mother used to set something out on the table beside her bed. When she was too old for that, she¡¯d enlisted Tema¡¯s help. Mother had told her to stop it, that she was only encouraging Tema¡¯s perversions. But she¡¯d never meant to encourage anything. Tema just had a good eye for fashion, that was all. How was Tash to know that Tema was going to decide she was really a woman?


    Knock, knock. ¡°Are you decent, Lady?¡± called Eva through the door. She wasn¡¯t decent. She was all but naked, wearing nothing but a thin cotton nightdress, staring at a lifetime¡¯s supply of fine gowns.


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you when I¡¯m decent, Eva. You don¡¯t need to keep on knocking.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, Lady,¡± came the sullen reply.


    Tash returned her gaze to the clothes. Hers was the conundrum of choice. Every one of these dresses had seemed so darling when she was purchasing it from the dressmaker. Now, every one of them was wrong. Still, she had to wear something. She grabbed the first one her hand reached and pulled it on at record pace.


    Eva shrank back when Tash opened the door, out of the way. ¡°You can clean in there now. I shan¡¯t be returning for a while.¡±


    ¡°Of course, Lady,¡± said Eva, nodding timorously.


    She left Eva to clean the bedchamber, and made her way down the stairs. Comestine the cook was in the kitchen, bent double over a pot on the fire. ¡°Morning, Stini,¡± Tash said.


    ¡°Good morning, Lady,¡± Stini said, standing bolt upright and turning to face her. In doing so, she hit her head on a hanging brass pan, causing it to fall to the ground with a clang. She cursed loudly and surprisingly colourfully, then caught herself. Her cheeks flushed. ¡°Sorry you had to hear that,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m not used to this new kitchen.¡±


    Tash laughed. ¡°It¡¯s quite alright, Stini. There¡¯s quite a lot I¡¯m not used to yet. Having staff, for a start. I love it, but it¡¯s a little strange.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t have a cook before, Lady?¡±


    Tash shook her head. ¡°I did all the cooking myself,¡± she said, leaning against a counter. ¡°Not that I was any good. I¡¯m surprised Oliver didn¡¯t starve, the sort of meals I was making for him.¡±


    ¡°Pardon me, Lady, but did he really leave the cooking to you?¡± Stini¡¯s helper Nickie had been stood flush against the kitchen door. Tash hadn¡¯t even noticed her until she spoke.


    ¡°He didn¡¯t make me cook, Nickie. He¡¯d have done it if I asked him to. I had this na?ve idea that I could get good with enough practice¡ªbut some people just aren¡¯t born to be cooks.¡±


    She looked around the kitchen. Stini kept a tight ship. Everything was neatly organised. Wicker baskets on the counter held all manner of foods, every one labelled by a calligraphed card. Juicy pears and plump oranges were bursting out of their containers. The apples were wrapped in brown paper. ¡°What¡¯s going on with that?¡± Tash asked. ¡°I always thought you could keep apples loose.¡±


    ¡°You can,¡± Stini nodded. ¡°That¡¯s just for my protection. Apples play havoc with my allergies. Apples and celery and a few others besides. When I use them in a recipe, Nickie has to prepare them for me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m basically the apple girl,¡± said Nickie.


    ¡°Well then, apple girl,¡± said Tash, liberating one of the apples from its pulped cocoon, ¡°do you mind if I have one?¡± She wandered towards the main room, biting into the apple as she left the kitchen. Tart juices flowed, and she took another bite. By the time she sat herself down, only the core remained.


    She spent an hour or so with herself, reading from a book she¡¯d found. It was one of Oliver¡¯s, a dull treatise on old merchant tariffs dressed up as a grand seafaring adventure. Boring, for the most part, but she¡¯d become engrossed in the story of the heroine¡¯s lovelorn best friend. She read to find out the resolution, and she hated every minute of it. But she had to know.


    Eventually Sesi appeared, to relieve her from this chore.


    ¡°I need you to run an errand for me, Sesi,¡± said Tash, as her ladiesmaid crossed the threshold of the room.


    Sesi frowned. ¡°Me, Lady?¡±


    ¡°Who else can I trust? I¡¯m in need of some new clothing. Fine dresses, befitting of my status, and a caul as well. If I¡¯m to fit in amongst the ladies of society, I need the attire.¡± Tash gestured to a rosewood chiffonier in the corner of the room, beneath a particularly extravagant death mask covered in tricoloured feathers of ceramic paint. ¡°There should be money enough in there. Spare no expense.¡±


    Sesi trotted across the room. ¡°You¡¯ll be most enamoured with my picks, Lady, I promise you.¡± She fumbled in the sideboard and produced a leather pouch, jangling with coins. There were near to a hundred bushels in there, money enough to clothe everybody aboard the Eia¡ªprovided cheap rags were sufficient. For Tasha¡¯s tastes, the extra expense was a necessity.


    She watched Sesi go, and sat back to await her new parcels. Oliver was sure to adore them, and her in them.


    Goodwife Mabeth came into the room in the early afternoon. Tash had been resting her eyes, nestled beneath her blanket, when the old woman entered. She woke slowly. Rays of golden sun were pouring through the empty windowpanes, bathing the room in light and highlighting all of the particles of dust that floated through the air.


    ¡°Have a word with Eva, please,¡± Tash muttered, only half-seeing Goodwife Mabeth. ¡°She really should be dusting better.¡±


    ¡°It isn¡¯t all that untidy,¡± came a male voice. Tash sat up. Following behind Goodwife Mabeth, his hair slicked back neatly and his face shaven microscopically close, was the Governor himself. Tash knew Chris Ballard by sight, and recently Oliver had been praising him often and loudly, but she¡¯d never had the honour of meeting him before. She wished he¡¯d announced his coming in advance. That way, she might have tidied herself up a bit. Her hair was certainly messy, just as it always was when she¡¯d been sleeping on it, and Sesi had not done her make-up today. Her clothes were wide-fitting, made to be comfortable not to be looked at. Baggy fabric hung loosely off her. At the wrong angle it made her look twice the size. With her swollen belly, she was big enough already.


    She sat up abruptly.


    ¡°There¡¯s a man here to see you, Lady,¡± said Goodwife Mabeth, too late.


    ¡°Governor Ballard. I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m in no fit state to receive you. If only you¡¯d said¡ª¡±


    The Governor raised a hand, with a genial grin on his face. ¡°Don¡¯t worry yourself. My wife has been pregnant herself.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± She didn¡¯t realise Governor Ballard had children. Goodwife Mabeth was stood beside him, waiting for instruction from Tash. ¡°Send for some cakes from the kitchen please, Goodwife Mabeth. A few of those ones with the blueberries in, if there¡¯s any left over.¡±


    Goodwife Mabeth¡¯s skirts rustled as she curtsied stiffly and bustled out of the room. The younger women were content to wear just a few layers, but Goodwife Mabeth was of a different time. She insisted on the full uniform, exactly as it was centuries past, girdle and petticoats and all. Tash liked the aesthetic, but Goodwife Mabeth would often be seen sweating by mid-day.


    Governor Ballard took a seat across from Tash, unbidden. She became suddenly aware that she was exposed. Expecting only female company until Oliver¡¯s return, she¡¯d dispensed with her underwear before settling on the sofa. Beneath her dress she was naked. She pressed her legs tight together and pulled the blanket up to cover them. The Governor seemed too interested in the masks hanging from the wall to notice.


    He was fixated on one in particular. The white porcelain was decorated by just a stroke of red lacquer, running down the middle of the face from top to bottom, and grey-black pits of paint around the eye-holes. ¡°Death masks are a rather macabre sort of decoration,¡± he said. ¡°I hope you won¡¯t think me rude for saying so. Some of these designs seem familiar. I daresay I¡¯ve seen this one before.¡±


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    She nodded. ¡°You might well have done. A replica of the one made for Hester Macallan.¡±


    ¡°A museum piece,¡± said the Governor, approvingly. ¡°And hard to come by on the buyer¡¯s market, I believe. Though it¡¯s been a while since I searched.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s an heirloom. An ancestor of mine was at Cook¡¯s Hold,¡± she explained. What happened two hundred years ago at Cook¡¯s Hold, a minor fortress on the old Manaser frontier, had made martyrs of many. Hester Macallan was but one, a young officer of growing renown who had been murdered by the outlaw warchief Holis for the crime of being in love. Her mask was based on the traditional make-up of her hometown on Belaboras, and it was said that only a single ceremonial copy was made before Hester and her mask were burned. ¡°Her mother¡¯s tears have soaked into the ceramic. They say she shed all her tears over her daughter¡¯s body, and she never could cry again.¡±


    Governor Ballard sighed. ¡°I didn¡¯t come here today to talk about Cook¡¯s Hold,¡± he said. ¡°I came to talk about you.¡±


    ¡°Me?¡± Tasha wasn¡¯t aware that Governor Ballard knew who she was, beyond simply ¡®Oliver Wrack¡¯s wife¡¯.


    ¡°You. Look at you. A woman in her prime, with child. The miracle of birth is coming to you. What is the saying? ¡®The Lightness guides she who births a nation¡¯.¡±


    ¡°And.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡±


    ¡°¡®The Lightness guides she, and births a nation.¡¯ It¡¯s from the second part of Mordant¡¯s Testimony. When he¡¯s recounting the story of the Mother.¡±


    A nod from Ballard, whose eyes were glazed. ¡°I¡¯m not too clued in on my theology,¡± he said, ¡°but I think the sentiment comes across nonetheless.¡±


    Just then, they were interrupted by Mam Argent¡¯s girl Nickie, who came in laden with trays full of goodies. Nickie blushed at the sight of the Governor. That was unsurprising, really. It didn¡¯t take much to make her redden, and her face was crimson more often than not. She set the trays down on the table in front of Tash, and curtsied. ¡°Mam Argent wanted to apologise, Lady, but she has no more of the blueberry cakes. There¡¯s some with currants, and some sugar-baked.¡±


    Tash thanked Nickie and returned her attention to Governor Ballard. ¡°Have one, please. Mam Argent is very good.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t, if it¡¯s all the same to you,¡± Governor Ballard said. ¡°Myself and cake have a... complicated relationship.¡±


    ¡°Suit yourself.¡± She stuffed one of the currant cakes in to her mouth. ¡°More for me.¡±


    Governor Ballard watched her intently as she ate. It was more than a little off-putting, and she found herself swallowing too quickly to stop it. She spluttered. Moist crumbs of half-chewed cake sprayed over the table and over the Governor, who didn¡¯t even blink as he brushed them from his jacket.


    ¡°Your husband is devoted to you,¡± he said, once she¡¯d stopped coughing. ¡°He¡¯s told me more than once that he thinks the world of you.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± She avoided eye contact. Governor Ballard undoubtedly expected her to say more than just ¡®oh¡¯, but she didn¡¯t know the right words.


    ¡°He tells me that you come from a noble line?¡±


    She nodded. ¡°I¡¯m a Caerlin by birth. There¡¯s also some blood in there from the Dalls, the Balketts, and the Eyrins, that I know of. Probably a dozen more if you look back far enough. I¡¯m told the family used to own much of Tol Manase.¡±


    ¡°Fine heritage indeed.¡± Governor Ballard clasped his hands together. ¡°A few hundred years ago you¡¯d have a strong claim to much of the Unity. Of course, the old blood doesn¡¯t carry the weight it once did. There are no kings, no dukes, no lords, just number cards plucked from the deck by a mob conditioned against the lines that made man great. I shouldn¡¯t complain. My ancestors were merchants at best. There was a time when it would have been an impossibility for me to be in my position.¡±


    ¡°Times change.¡±


    Governor Ballard beamed. ¡°Times change. And with the right will they can change back. I¡¯ve not read the holy texts since my mother stopped dressing me, so I might have it wrong, but I seem to recall kings being unmade on more than one occasion, and every time being made again.¡±


    ¡°That is true.¡± Her hand wandered to her belly. She held onto it protectively, as if the Governor¡¯s words might hurt the foetus. ¡°The revolutions were always bloody though. Both ways.¡±


    Ballard chuckled. ¡°You know your history. Yes, circumstances often call for blood to be spilt. It¡¯s a fact as regrettable as it is unavoidable. In this case it¡¯s necessary. The Unity has stagnated. The system is regressive. I have spoken at length about this with certain key advisors, your husband among them, and we have agreed upon a plan. But that¡¯s not why I¡¯m here today. Lady Tasha, I assume you¡¯re aware of what your status means?¡±


    ¡°My status?¡±


    ¡°Yours will be the first child born within my colony. He, or she, will be a figure of historical importance. The day of her birth will be a landmark, a moment all of Essegena will come together to celebrate. As the mother, you¡¯ll find yourself suddenly in possession of a good deal of influence, and your child will go on to great things. My wife is of noble birth, just as you are. Her family were kingmakers in the old times. I would very much like you to make her acquaintance.¡±


    Tash was dubious. The society ladies she¡¯d encountered were without exception haughty bitches, every one of them impeded by a stick jammed far into their arses. And they were only reeves, or the wives of reeves. She¡¯d not been born rich, not like they had, so they judged her unworthy. If they¡¯d known that she was their better, they¡¯d have begged her to befriend them, but they were all so blind in their convictions that they did not see. The Governor¡¯s wife was likely just as bad, maybe worse. It wasn¡¯t her idea of fun to suffer the company of someone who despised her.


    Still, the Governor¡¯s hand was stronger than hers. If she refused him, he could punish Oliver. He could strip Oliver of his reevedom and his home. Then they¡¯d be poorer than Tash¡¯s parents.


    ¡°It would make me very happy if you and your husband would join my wife and I for dinner, two nights from now. You and Caroline will fast become friends, I have no doubt.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll have to talk to Oliver¡ª¡±


    The Governor waved her aside. ¡°Naturally. My residence has not yet been completed, so the dinner will take place at my quarters aboard the Eia. There will be no need to bring any of your guard along, the security will be well in hand.¡± He got to his feet, and in a few long strides he was at the door. He turned before he opened it. ¡°But please bring your Mam Argent. Caro will want to try a currant cake, I know. They¡¯re a favourite of hers.¡±


    He was gone so quickly that she didn¡¯t think to get up and escort him to the exit. She didn¡¯t have the time to think. He hadn¡¯t given any quarter to the possibility of Oliver not wanting to go¡ªnot that she could envisage her husband turning down the event. She wondered if perhaps the Governor had already broached the subject with Oliver.


    The Governor had left the door slightly ajar, and it remained that way until Sesala Roe arrived, an hour or so later. She had nothing in her hand but the pouch of coins she¡¯d taken, now as good as empty, and a linen wimple, plain white. It wasn¡¯t as elaborate as those the ladies in the grove had worn, but it was a start.


    ¡°It¡¯s finer than it looks,¡± said Sesi, taking the caul and fitting it on Tasha¡¯s head. ¡°The merchant¡¯s name is Dravis, and the fabric¡¯s a rare silk.¡±


    ¡°I hope you didn¡¯t spend all the money on it,¡± said Tasha.


    Sesi laughed. ¡°Of course not, Lady, you asked for dresses. Fine gowns.¡±


    ¡°Where are they?¡±


    ¡°The seamstress has your measurements, Lady, and an order. But it will take time for the dresses to be made.¡± Sesi reached over and squeezed the tip of Tasha¡¯s nose. ¡°You tease me, but I can only do as bid. I cannot conjure the impossible, I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    So much for her planned evening of losing herself in pretty new clothes. What was she to do now? Read more of Oliver¡¯s dire book? She¡¯d just expected Sesi to pull some items from the clothier¡¯s shelf. ¡°How long will it take?¡±


    ¡°The woman said a week, or thereabouts,¡± said Sesi.


    ¡°A week?¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re short, I can see to it that your dirties are cleaned for you. I thought I¡¯d seen Emmy doing laundry yesterday, but if I was mistaken¡ª¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need anything washed,¡± said Tash. ¡°I¡¯ve got plenty of clothes in my chambers. I¡¯m just bored of them.¡± She sighed.


    ¡°Lady, you seem disinterested.¡± Sesi sat on a seat next to Tash. ¡°Are you feeling well?¡±


    No. Tash shook her head in silence. She wasn¡¯t ill. Physically she felt fine, as good as ever. For a while now, though, she¡¯d been overcome by some strange lethargy. It was an effort to work up the energy to do anything, and when she did she found herself getting easily bored. Everything was boring. The evening had well and truly descended on this day, and she¡¯d spent much of it sedentary on a chair by herself. ¡°I¡¯ve just had a visit from the Governor.¡±


    ¡°The Governor?¡± Sesi¡¯s mouth dropped open. ¡°Lady, that¡¯s an honour.¡±


    ¡°It is. It should be. But I¡¯ll tell you, it doesn¡¯t feel like an honour. It feels like a chore. I just wanted him to hurry up and go away, so I could go back to wasting the day in peace.¡± She was sobbing like a squalling infant, suddenly. She hoped Oliver wouldn¡¯t come back now. It would be humiliation if he were to see her like this.


    Sesi patted her on the back. It was a comfort to feel the maid¡¯s soft hands. ¡°It¡¯s just a funk, Lady,¡± she said. ¡°It isn¡¯t to be ashamed of. We¡¯ve all of us had them.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not like you,¡± said Tasha. ¡°I¡¯m not a servant. I¡¯m not a maid, or a cook, or anything like that. I¡¯m a Lady. Why should your feelings have any bearing on mine?¡±


    She felt Sesi draw away. Don¡¯t go, she thought. Don¡¯t let me be alone.


    ¡°Do you think you are to be a Lady forever? My father was a reeve, a powerful man who was very good friends with an ambitious ealdorman. Mine was the lot of a Lady like you, wife to a lordly man and mother to his children. And yet I came to be at the bottom.¡±


    Tasha had never heard this before. Oliver had vetted the staff before he hired them. Tash just assumed he¡¯d pass on anything interesting to her, but obviously he didn¡¯t see the story of a wealthy woman gone broke to be all that relevant. ¡°How could you go from the top like that?¡±


    ¡°Bad fortune,¡± Sesi shrugged. ¡°Too many reeves had too many children. There¡¯s not enough money for us all to be rich. I missed out, Lady.¡±


    ¡°And you came to be in my service?¡±


    ¡°Mine was an uncommon road, Lady,¡± said Sesi. ¡°I started my trade as a cleaner for hire. The brothels at Galleon¡¯s Wake pay a handsome wage for one willing to scour the stains away. In time I moved into personal service, as a scullery maid and then a chambermaid. For a short while I was ladiesmaid to Lady Felterran, while the woman in the post was away pregnant.¡±


    ¡°Lady Felterran?¡± Tasha couldn¡¯t help but whistle. Felterran was a rich land, and a quiet one. Such was the dearth of suitors there that an eligible maiden even in service had a decent chance of marrying into the family. The dowries for even First Floor girls were larger from Felterran than any other family. One of Tasha¡¯s schoolmates, in her Rindehall days, had forgone a lucrative posting with Unity accounting in favour of chancing her hand at a Felterran marriage. She wondered if Delys had made more of herself than a maid yet. Maybe she¡¯d known Sesi. ¡°I had a friend in service to Lady Felterran,¡± she said. ¡°Delys Redwood. Squeaky girl, with a huge nose.¡±


    A funny smile ran across Sesi¡¯s face. ¡°I was with Lady Felterran only a short while, Lady. I never came to know her staff.¡±


    ¡°I hope you don¡¯t mind all the questions, Sesi. I don¡¯t mean to pry. It¡¯s just nice to have a conversation.¡±


    Sesi shook her head. ¡°You mustn¡¯t worry yourself about me, Lady. I¡¯m here to serve you. And if I might be frank, there¡¯s none I¡¯d rather serve than you. Lady, you are a gem. You should be a queen.¡±


    ¡°The Governor agrees with you. I mustn¡¯t kid myself, Sesi, I¡¯m not a queen. Queens are born for ruling. If there was a Temperance College left they¡¯d probably seek me out to reject me.¡±


    ¡°Who would be better?¡±


    Tasha laughed. ¡°I hardly think that¡¯s important, Sesi. There doesn¡¯t need to be anybody. The universe has survived for hundreds of years without kings and queens, it can survive a time longer.¡±


    ¡°Might I offer some advice, Lady?¡± Sesi was getting to her feet, smoothing out the skirts of her dress. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be so keen to settle for your own rung on the ladder. In my experience, you rarely get the opportunity to climb. It¡¯s so easy to fall away, and so hard to get higher again. If you don¡¯t move up now, you might never get the chance again. Would you be happy dying the wife of a reeve?¡±


    Tasha scowled at Sesi. If she was trying to insinuate that Tasha was somehow unworthy, that there were others who were better, she was in need of a reality check. Her mind wandered to her old daydreams. Bessily and Marguerite, Anna and Adelina, Frevisse and Eleanor. The old queens had lived forever in history, but those below them had been forgotten. Who had served in the court of Marguerite? Tasha could remember no names. Maybe a few were preserved in old texts in a dusty library somewhere. And what of their wives? They¡¯d been forgotten the moment their gravestones wore smooth. In time she¡¯d be forgotten, if she carried on as she was. She didn¡¯t want to be forgotten. It would be such a waste of all her life spent making memories. ¡°I always wanted to be a queen,¡± she whispered, so softly she thought Sesi couldn¡¯t possibly hear it.


    But Sesi did hear. She tossed her auburn hair aside and smiled that narrow smile at Tasha. ¡°Then be a queen, Lady.¡±

 34. The Speakers Warning

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Ian ~


    The day had been long and oh so hot, so by night the alcohol was flowing. Sergeant Pratley had been reluctant to let Ian go¡ªhe would be remiss in his duties as a security officer if he allowed the Corrack himself, second most senior person in the entire colony, to go off on his own to a drinking establishment.


    Ian soon found out the real reason Sergeant Pratley wanted to come. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say no to a drop, if you¡¯re buying,¡± the Sergeant had said when they arrived, removing his cap and setting it down on a wooden table. ¡°Not the dry type, though¡ªmakes me queasy.¡± Pratley was off duty, he later confessed, and just fancied a pint. Harry Gorman was keeping a low profile somewhere out in the plaza ready to step in if anything happened. Pratley was here to drink.


    He was on his second and quite drunk when Ian stood to wave to Millie. She¡¯d dressed up for the occasion in something brightly coloured and ever so soft, and traced the outline of her eyes in thick black. She looked taken aback to see Sergeant Pratley sat next to Ian. If it bothered her, she said nothing.


    It had been her idea to come to the Tavern. They¡¯d met three times so far, each meeting orchestrated by Sergeant Pratley. By the last she¡¯d become anxious at the idea she was just a faceless fuck to him. She could handle the fact that a serious relationship was off-limits, but not even being able to talk to Ian as a friend had led her to doubt her actions since leaving her boyfriend behind. But who would mind if they just had a drink together? Everybody had friends, whether or not they were married. And friends were allowed to enjoy a pint or six in the Tavern together.


    Ian was glad of a reason to go somewhere. Of late he¡¯d begun to feel haunted by that damned book on his shelf, always watching him and always projecting the ghost of Dani into his thoughts. Becoming a miserable old man who never left his own bedside would be the death of him, if only because the constant presence of his worst demons would drive him beyond the point of insanity.


    Unfortunately, he knew little of Millie, and she seemed to know not much more about him¡ªquite a poor showing, actually, from a woman who¡¯d been stalking him for months. Bland small talk was all they had.


    Millie, Ian learned, worked for Mistress Mary Snyder, spinster purveyor of fine dresses who had abandoned her reputation to set up shop in Essegena. Those staff who had lives outside their work were laid off. Millie, being single, had been brought along as a resident seamstress. ¡°Although technically I¡¯m not resident, since they didn¡¯t put enough rooms in Mistress Snyder¡¯s shop. I sleep in one of the tenements down the way.¡± As far as he could fathom, she had no life outside of her work and him.


    Which made him strangely sad. She was a young girl, good-looking; she could have a lot going for her if she spent more time out and about.


    ¡°Mistress Snyder showed me a new design she¡¯s been working on,¡± said Millie, two hours into their night. She¡¯d begun to slur her words now. It was a better showing than Sergeant Pratley, who¡¯d as good as passed out, staring aimlessly into nowhere as he held his head on his elbow. ¡°It¡¯s darling, really it is, and as soon as we can get a shipment of tulle she¡¯ll start on the prototype.¡±


    Ian nodded along, hearing every word but not really understanding all of them. He wasn¡¯t sure if it was just because the booze was beginning to kick in, but he found himself very intently focused on Millie. Specifically, on her cheek. It wasn¡¯t a special cheek, not that it was hideous, but he couldn¡¯t work up the motivation to turn his head away. Millie was talking with a real sparkle in her eyes, he noticed. Elise had lost that sparkle a long time ago. He hadn¡¯t noticed it had been missing until he was seeing it in another woman.


    She looked at him. ¡°Do you think it¡¯ll be long before they send someone to link up with the Hive?¡±


    The Hive. The Unity¡¯s central command vessel had started out as little more than a resting port between the two dozen wormholes of the galaxy, but over time it had become a heavily corporatised administrative block, filled with every amenity. It was also where the Commissioners met. When the Essegena colony was ready to join the Unity¡¯s ranks, a small vessel would make the journey back to the Hive, equipped with all the information needed to make near-instantaneous travel a possibility. Exotic imports would have to wait until then.


    Ian didn¡¯t know when that would be. Nobody did, really. Still, he murmured something that sounded like the word ¡®soon¡¯, and didn¡¯t correct Millie when she got excited.


    ¡°Oh, I can¡¯t wait,¡± she cooed. Then, before Ian had time to move out of the way, she leaned forward and planted a gentle kiss on his cheek. It was a small thing, but both of them fell silent afterwards.


    That had been Ian¡¯s only condition. They couldn¡¯t act like they were anything other than just mates.


    He froze for a second, looked around cautiously. Nobody seemed to have noticed. He breathed in relief.


    ¡°I must say, Elise looks younger than I expected.¡± The Hookbill. Ian spun around to see George Prendergast lurking nearby, an amused grin on his long face. His head was covered by a felt bourrelet.


    Frantic, he fumbled for an excuse. ¡°This isn¡¯t Elise,¡± he said.


    ¡°Emily Farmer,¡± said Millie, holding out a hand for the Hookbill to shake. ¡°People call me Millie.¡± The Hookbill didn¡¯t shake her hand.


    ¡°Millie¡¯s, uh, she¡¯s my¡ª¡±


    ¡°Dressmaker,¡± said Millie, who then turned bright red.


    The Hookbill looked from Millie to Ian, then back to Millie, with an unreadable look on his face. ¡°I suppose it would be hard to find dresses in your size,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯re a bit broad in the chest for the usual cuts.¡±


    ¡°Is there a problem here?¡± Sergeant Pratley was sat upright, Ian noticed, and glaring at the Hookbill through slitted eyes.


    The Hookbill shook his head. ¡°You don¡¯t need to be so worried, Master Fitzhenry. Your indiscretions don¡¯t concern me. Nobody will know about your... dressmaker. Not from me.¡±


    Ian nodded. ¡°That¡¯s good to know.¡±


    ¡°But you should be careful. The valley is fast becoming a viper¡¯s pit. Watching eyes are everywhere. I hear names whispered in the breeze to which I cannot put a face. The Ealdor and the Grey Crow. Sixleaf. Nightingale. I¡¯ve even heard tell of a man named Swithin, who calls himself king.¡± The Hookbill adjusted his hat. ¡°Who these people are, what they want, I cannot say. It may be that they seek to spin webs of their own, and a web of knowledge can quickly grow vast enough to suffocate. Oh, it starts small, yes. But see how it grows. One man only has so many eyes with which to see. If I should chance see something I wasn¡¯t intended to see, I might find I¡¯ve come into some knowledge about a man¡ªsomething he wishes to remain hidden. A dead body in his past, perhaps. So he agrees to be my eyes. In exchange for my silence, he tells me what he sees. Information, Master Fitzhenry. Now, if he knows something, I know it too. Connections breed connections. The web grows ever larger. And I¡¯ve been cultivating my web for a very long time.¡±


    Ian frowned. ¡°You want me to spy for you?¡±


    ¡°Oh, godsouls, no.¡± The Hookbill shook his head. ¡°That¡¯s not your part to play in the great tapestry. Of course, information will never be unwelcome, but I have all I need from you. I have no wish to harm you for it. These others may not be understanding. You understand what I¡¯m saying?¡±


    ¡°I do.¡±


    Sergeant Pratley stood up, knocking the table as he did so and spilling cider all over it. ¡°If you want to threaten the Corrack, it¡¯s me you¡¯ll answer to,¡± he said, pointing a hairy finger at Prendergast.


    The Hookbill just looked at him with an expression of mild amusement. ¡°Did I threaten him?¡± He left without answering the question.


    When he was gone, Sergeant Pratley retook his seat. ¡°I don¡¯t trust him,¡± he muttered. ¡°Do you want me to have a guard follow him?¡±


    ¡°That won¡¯t be necessary, Sergeant,¡± Ian laughed.


    Millie was staring at Sergeant Pratley. ¡°I thought you were drunk,¡± she said. ¡°You¡¯d spaced out.¡±


    Pratley chortled. ¡°Sorry, old move. People will show their true intentions more if the big security bloke¡¯s out for the count. I didn¡¯t mean to trick you.¡± He raised his near-empty flagon. ¡°Now, how¡¯s about another?¡±


    It wasn¡¯t the morning sunlight streaming in through the window that woke Ian the next day, nor was it the incessant clamour of the heralding songbirds. It was the drill boring a hole into a brick across the street. There weren¡¯t proper streets yet, not like they had on Belaboras. There were unsurfaced gaps between rows of buildings¡ªor in this instance, between a row of buildings and the space set aside for a future row of buildings.


    This wasn¡¯t his chambers.


    He lay staring at the ceiling for some time. It was an alien feeling, waking up to the touch of fresh air. As the colony¡¯s second in seniority, he was entitled to his own house, with room enough for his whole retainer of soldiers and some domestic staff¡ªnot that he knew where he could get some domestic staff from. They weren¡¯t exactly sold in shops. But there¡¯d be opportunity enough to figure it out later. That was all some months away. The Governor¡¯s palatial residence took priority, and the builders had yet to break ground on that. In the meantime, Ian had continued to use his quarters on the Eia.


    Millie Farmer¡¯s tenement room was a fair stretch smaller, but at least she got to feel the breeze. There were windows¡ªreal windows, not screens playing the feed from exterior cameras. The whole place was filled with the smell of freshly-sawn wood. It took Ian back to home, and his father¡¯s little workshop. It wasn¡¯t far from paradise.


    If only it was quieter.


    It was a rude thing indeed to start drilling so early. Did Master Holden¡¯s builders have no conception of people sleeping?


    He took a moment to look around. Everywhere was clean and tidy, the only muddles a half-full cup of water and a leather-bound book the size of a fist, both resting on the table beside the bed. A diary, he guessed. I wonder what Millie¡¯s been writing about me?


    Millie padded into the room as he reached for the book. She snatched it up from the table and shoved it into a pocket. ¡°You weren¡¯t reading that, were you? There¡¯s some pretty personal stuff in there. It¡¯s embarrassing.¡±


    Ian shook his head.


    ¡°I thought you¡¯d want to sleep in,¡± Millie said. ¡°You were like a rocket last night.¡±


    Last night. His memory was pretty hazy. He remembered drinks, jokes, a whole lot more fun than he¡¯d ever had with Elise. Specifics were gone. He wasn¡¯t entirely sure how he¡¯d come to end up in Millie Farmer¡¯s bed, though he could hazard a guess.


    Wait, sleep in? ¡°What time is it?¡±


    ¡°Early afternoon. One after, or thereabouts.¡±


    He shot upright. The meeting. It was an important one, or so Chris led him to believe.


    ¡°You should have woken me,¡± he said.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know you wanted me to,¡± said Millie.


    ¡°Well, I did.¡± He thought for a second. ¡°Where¡¯s the plaza from here?¡± From there, he¡¯d be able to find the council chamber easily, but the trick was getting there in the first place. It was well beyond him to guess whether there was any plan behind Master Holden¡¯s construction works, but the town had certainly taken on the appearance of an unplanned sprawl. The cartographers had prioritised getting the geography of the planet down. Ian suspected it was because none felt up to the task of trying to map Master Holden¡¯s town.


    Millie would have been able to, though. She directed him while he threw his clothes on. To be more precise, she attempted to direct him, but by the time he¡¯d dressed he was more confused than he¡¯d been to begin with. He wondered if she¡¯d ever given directions before.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t I just show you the way?¡± She knelt to pick up a pair of shoes, as though she knew his answer before he did.


    No, he thought. I can¡¯t be seen in public with you. I¡¯m a married man.


    But to a wife who wasn¡¯t here. There were maybe a dozen people on Essegena who were aware of Elise Bainton¡¯s existence. They were all close enough to him to believe any story he cared to spin about his relationship with Millie.


    What could it hurt?


    ¡°Go on, then,¡± he said.


    Millie, as it turned out, was far better at practical navigating than she was at giving directions. She ran on instinct. It was all Ian could do to keep up, and when they reached the plaza he was sweating. ¡°You¡¯re bloody fast,¡± he said.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    ¡°I used to run,¡± she said. ¡°Can I see you later?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll send Sergeant Pratley to find you,¡± Ian promised. Millie looked upset that he was leaving her, but she didn¡¯t try to follow him. A stalker who didn¡¯t pursue him everywhere he went was a novelty he definitely hadn¡¯t ever expected to have.


    By the time he got to Government Hall, he was definitely late. Two soldiers were stood at the door, their rifles on the floor at the feet. They were playing some kind of word game when Ian approached. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you two be guarding something?¡±


    ¡°Sir.¡± They stood aside to let him pass. He weighed up the benefits of reprimanding them, and decided there weren¡¯t any. They hadn¡¯t abandoned their posts, and it wasn¡¯t like anybody was going to break into a council meeting anyway. You¡¯d have to be sadist to attend when you weren¡¯t required.


    Council meetings were always boring.


    This one was already in full flow. He could hear the voices before he even got to the room. He just hoped he hadn¡¯t missed anything important.


    The air inside the chamber was hot and heady. Unusually, the whole council had attended the meeting. It was more common for somebody to cry busy, often Caroline. Today, for a change, she was there, looking smart if bored stiff. The tears of the other day were gone from view, hidden behind a mask of immaculate make-up and the familiar carefree smile she so loved to wear. She shifted across a seat when she saw Ian, gesturing for him to fill the space between herself and her husband.


    He tiptoed around the edge of the room, ignoring the glares from General Bradshaw, and slipped into the seat. ¡°What have I missed?¡± he whispered.


    ¡°Two children shouting across the room at one another,¡± Caro replied. He didn¡¯t need to ask her who the two children were. It seemed like there wasn¡¯t a single meeting that passed without degenerating into verbal sparring between Chris and Bradshaw. Whatever one said, the other invariably found it the height of folly. On good days, they¡¯d express their displeasure in a wrapper of sarcasm. More often, civility became an afterthought.


    Bradshaw had a fire lit beneath him today. ¡°Frankly, none of this is good enough. Three of my men, good men, missing for three months now¡ªmissing, Governor, in a place with nowhere for them to go. And now two more are dead. I think it¡¯s time you bucked up your ideas.¡±


    ¡°In fairness, none of that¡¯s the Governor¡¯s fault.¡± Ian had to speak in Chris¡¯ defence; it wouldn¡¯t be right otherwise.


    Bradshaw looked at him like he was a hideous monster. ¡°I hardly think now¡¯s the time for fairness. The buck stops with the Governor. Everything is the Governor¡¯s fault, if it¡¯s not properly dealt with.¡±


    ¡°And what would you have me do? What, should I somehow conjure your missing men out of thin air?¡± Chris beat his fist down on the table. ¡°I¡¯m not a god.¡±


    ¡°But would that you were, eh?¡± Bradshaw snickered.


    Stockton joined in. ¡°You could make allowances for more searches.¡±


    Bradshaw nodded eagerly, looking pleased as punch that someone else had stepped up to alternate swings. ¡°The truth is you aren¡¯t up for the job. If it wasn¡¯t missing people, it would be something else. I was promised good government. Where is it? What have you achieved? You delay¡ªand you delay because you can¡¯t bear the thought of giving up even a shred of your power.¡±


    Chris squirmed. ¡°Everything has a time. The colony is fragile. If we rush into things, the whole operation could collapse. There¡¯s just no benefit to it.¡±


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t agree more, Governor,¡± said Bradshaw. ¡°But it¡¯s been nearly six months since we put down in this valley. That¡¯s enough time to make a start, surely.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve made a start. Master Holden¡¯s builders have transformed this valley into a thriving little town. Already, I¡¯m told, Plateau Watch fort is aiming to be self-sufficient. I¡¯d count all that as success.¡±


    General Bradshaw snorted. ¡°Heh. You have a town that can¡¯t govern itself. Things are ticking by through the sheer pig-headedness of the section heads. Nothing¡¯s come from the Council. As it is, it¡¯s nothing but a rump. How many meetings have we had? How many? And yet I can¡¯t remember the last time everybody was here.¡± He leaned across the table towards Caroline. ¡°There are some who prefer to send excuses in their stead.¡±


    Caroline stared Bradshaw down. ¡°There are some who have more important things to do than argue with aggressive old men with nothing going for them but the glories of twenty years ago. And before you get pissy, no, I¡¯m not talking about you, General¡ªwe all know you never had any glories.¡±


    General Bradshaw didn¡¯t dignify that with an answer. Ian stifled a laugh.


    The Hookbill raised a hand. ¡°Let us return to the order of the day. This bickering will help nobody.¡± There were murmurs of assent from the Council.


    ¡°Our granaries are full to bursting,¡± said Master Wrack, standing. ¡°I¡¯ve spoken with a number of the farmers¡ªAster, Pindale, Hultry¡ªand all are optimistic about their yields with the harvest. Seems the soil here is very rich indeed. With the news that Plateau Watch hopes to be increasingly self-sufficient, I¡¯ve told those working in the hydroponics dome that I intend to shut down their section, once the current crops have been harvested. All that artificial ground is, frankly, an unsustainable use of power, and unnecessary too.¡±


    ¡°And the workers?¡± Master Peulion asked the question as though he himself came from humble stock.


    ¡°Ready for reassignment to the seeding parties, or to jobs elsewhere in the valley. As was originally intended.¡±


    Ian frowned. ¡°I thought the hydroponics dome was meant to serve us for three years.¡±


    ¡°Three years was a target,¡± said Master Wrack. ¡°We¡¯ve beaten the target.¡±


    ¡°And what of the seeding parties?¡± This was Master Stockton. ¡°Has any preparation been undertaken?¡± The seeding parties were the second phase of the Unity¡¯s colony plan. While the Eia Valley would remain the heart of Essegena, there was a wide world for the taking. Hand-picked groups of farmers and masons and other workers would journey across the land to find suitable places to settle. They¡¯d set up farms and villages, so Essegena had more than a single point of failure.


    The Unity had learned its lesson from Tavack. It was nine hundred and fifty years ago that man had first landed on Tavack, and nine hundred and forty years ago that the colony had failed. There¡¯d only been a few dozen of them, living in a single town. When sickness came, it wiped them out. Only pirates had wandered Tavack since.


    It was the General who spoke to answer Master Stockton. ¡°A few days ago I visited the commander of the cartographers¡ªa Lieutenant Jackson¡ªin his hospital bed. The poor man has a broken leg, but it doesn¡¯t stop him reading maps, nor passing on orders. The cartographers will identify potential sites from those maps and present a report in due course. That will determine the direction the various seeding parties travel.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯ll be a high demand for a place in one of these parties, particularly for the reeves,¡± said Master Holden. He wasn¡¯t exaggerating. Each new settlement would have a reeve in charge of local governance, and that reeve would also be entitled to a seat on the Council. There were a dozen reeves in the Eia Valley who didn¡¯t have such a seat. They¡¯d be vying for a place, no doubt.


    General Bradshaw grunted. ¡°We ought to be able to handle this without the reeves.¡±


    ¡°Ought to, maybe,¡± said the Governor, ¡°but we won¡¯t.¡± And then Ian got bored of the whole deal, and stopped really listening. Every now and then he¡¯d glance at Caroline, resting her head on an arm, and got lost in her eyes for a few seconds. Lost in the past.


    Perhaps it was the heat of the day, but Ian was feeling a little drowsy.


    ¡°Come on, Ian, wake up.¡± Caro prodded at his cheek. She wasn¡¯t sat in her seat any more, and neither were the others on the Council. They were all on their feet, filing out of the room.


    ¡°Is the meeting over already?¡±


    Caro nodded. ¡°I figured you weren¡¯t paying attention. You glazed over about an hour ago.¡±


    He grinned sheepishly. ¡°Is it that obvious?¡±


    ¡°Only to me. Come on.¡± She held out her hand, and pulled Ian to his feet. One leg had fallen asleep, and the pins and needles shot agonisingly through him as he put the weight on it. At first, he limped. Caro was kind enough to be a shoulder for him to lean on, until the bloodflow returned.


    General Bradshaw was talking with the serjeant-at-arms in the outer hall, and scowled at Ian as he passed.


    ¡°Take no notice,¡± said Caro. ¡°If he¡¯s anything like Chris, these meetings put him in a foul mood. I doubt it¡¯s personal.¡±


    Not that Ian particularly cared if General Bradshaw held a personal grudge against him.


    Chris fell in with them at the front entrance, where apparently he¡¯d awaited Caro, and the three stepped out into the sunlight.


    ¡°Bloody Bradshaw.¡± The door had barely closed behind Chris before he let off. ¡°The bastard¡¯s incorrigible. Every turn, he¡¯s there. I think he¡¯s doing it deliberately.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not in the wrong,¡± said his wife, putting a cautious hand on his shoulder.


    Chris sighed. ¡°I know he¡¯s not in the wrong. There wouldn¡¯t be a Council if there wasn¡¯t room for debate. That doesn¡¯t mean he¡¯s not a bad actor. How is the system supposed to function when I¡¯m being perpetually stymied by a professional contrarian?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t see how it¡¯s as bad as you¡¯re making it out to be,¡± said Ian. Caro had the right of it: however irritating General Bradshaw was, he had as yet done nothing more than his job. Master Stockton and Master Holden voiced opposition to Chris just as often as the General did, and he¡¯d yet to rant about them.


    Chris¡¯ face went dark. ¡°It¡¯s the principle. Every time I lose a debate, every time Bradshaw makes me seem the fool, my position becomes that little bit less tenable. Bradshaw¡¯s undermining me bit by bit by filling the role of the everyman.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a good speaker,¡± said Caro.


    ¡°His speeches are vacuous. It¡¯s empty words to hinder our operations. Nothing¡¯s ever going to get done as long as he¡¯s blocking the way, and you just know he¡¯s doing it out of spite.¡±


    ¡°Of course he¡¯s blocking the way,¡± said Caro. ¡°That¡¯s what democracy is. People get to have their say¡ªit¡¯s fundamental. Were you expecting him to roll over and let you ride roughshod? This isn¡¯t Borrowood, Chris. This isn¡¯t your personal kingdom.¡±


    ¡°And what would you know about bloody democracy?¡± Chris was suddenly shouting. ¡°I had to beg and plead for you to even show up.¡±


    Just then Caro¡¯s tone turned cold, the way it seldom did. Ian recoiled to hear it. ¡°You did,¡± she said. ¡°You begged. And I came, because I thought perhaps you¡¯d say what needed to be said. This isn¡¯t time for secrets.¡±


    ¡°Secrets?¡± The word pricked Ian¡¯s attention. ¡°What sort of secrets?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I see.¡± Caro jerked her eyes Ian¡¯s way. ¡°You haven¡¯t even got the stones to tell your so-called best friend. You¡¯re the very model of transparency, Chris, it¡¯s really admirable.¡± She was practically spitting venom. ¡°We¡¯re not the first people to come here, Ian, far from it.¡±


    They were, though. That was how the Unity had sold the job to him. He remembered coffee with Chris and Commissioner Irmden. ¡°Think of it,¡± Chris had said. ¡°The chance to make history, together, the way we always dreamed we would.¡±


    ¡°There won¡¯t be an opportunity like this again,¡± Commissioner Irmden had assured him. ¡°Not in your lifetime.¡±


    Yet there Caro was, insisting that her own husband was a liar.


    They¡¯re always having little tiffs, he thought. They say things that aren¡¯t true. That¡¯s all this is. He stood back, silently, to let them hash it out in peace.


    Caro spoke through gritted teeth, etched into a fake smile. ¡°And wouldn¡¯t have you have thought a little detail like that might have been worth mentioning? Because I would have.¡±


    ¡°Caro...¡± There was a helpless pleading in Chris¡¯ voice that Ian had never heard before. It was more than a little disconcerting.


    Not that Caro seemed to care. ¡°Course, he of infinite wisdom disagreed. Kept it to himself, so the rest of us could be mugs. Every weird thing that¡¯s happened, everything we¡¯re all at a loss to explain? Well, never fear. Chris had the answers all along. And guess which mug spent hours of her life caring for a dying man who shouldn¡¯t even have existed, and getting shit for it from all comers.¡± She covered her chin in mock thought. ¡°Might it have been your wife, Chris?¡±


    It was Chris¡¯ turn to go on the offensive. ¡°It was one man, Caro. For all we know, he stowed away somehow.¡±


    ¡°With the amount of times they checked the ship before we left? I don¡¯t think so.¡±


    ¡°Not on Belaboras then. Jenat¨¦, maybe.¡± The stop-off at the minor Jenat¨¦ had been an unexpected detour. Certain instruments had stopped working, without which they¡¯d run the risk of coming to a standstill in the middle of dead space, so they¡¯d liaised with a Unity repair vessel over the satellite world. But nobody could have stolen aboard then. The repair ship never docked, and the Eia never made planetfall.


    Ian said as much, earning the ire of Chris for his contribution.


    ¡°The man mightn¡¯t have been a stowaway. Nobody ever checked against the civilian rolls, he could have been on the list anyway.¡±


    Caro snorted. ¡°That makes so much more sense,¡± she said. ¡°A civilian managed to get planetside with the Advanced Party¡ªwell before any of us, you remember¡ªand on top of that they had time to carve some wooden idols and hide them in the lake, and then get themselves hurt. All in the space of a day. Oh, and don¡¯t forget: they got some friends to wander out of the valley and pretend to be natives. Credibility wouldn¡¯t be stretched that much in the event horizon of a black hole. Admit it, Chris: you¡¯re lying to us. We aren¡¯t the first.¡±


    Ian looked to Chris, who sighed, long and slow. ¡°Okay. We aren¡¯t the first. There was a mission way back when¡ªa few hundred years ago, at least. The exact dates are written down in the archives somewhere. Do you remember when the teachers made us study Henry Balkett?¡±


    ¡°The poet?¡± Henry Balkett had made a living long ago, pumping out sentimental tripe that sold off the back of a proud family name.


    Chris nodded. ¡°His great-uncle had command of the mission. Alfred.¡±


    Ian took a moment to process what Chris was saying. ¡°What happened to them? A couple of hundred years, this place should be crawling with people.¡±


    ¡°It might be,¡± said Chris. ¡°I never saw any of the survey maps. Wouldn¡¯t surprise me if not even the High Commissioner got a look. Telfer handled all that personally. But the truth is, there shouldn¡¯t be a soul here. They never transmitted after they passed Arvila. We don¡¯t even know if the Balkett mission ever got as far as Essegena.¡±


    ¡°They must have done,¡± said Caro. ¡°That¡¯s the only explanation for how somebody else was here.¡±


    Ian frowned. ¡°There must be more then, surely. Where is everybody else?¡±


    ¡°They could be dead,¡± Caro suggested. ¡°Or they could still be around somewhere.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s irrelevant, really,¡± said Chris. ¡°If there¡¯s others on Essegena, they¡¯ll have to be dealt with. Anybody with good intentions would have made themselves known by now. In any case, this world is ours now. We have a surfeit of soldiers. General Bradshaw can have the chance to prove he has the nous.¡±


    ¡°Tell me you aren¡¯t saying what I think you¡¯re saying,¡± said Caro, her voice hard.


    Chris turned to her. ¡°If they won¡¯t make peace, we¡¯ll have to make war. It¡¯s really quite simple.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t lecture me about simple,¡± Caro snapped. ¡°You want them gone, because they¡¯re an inconvenience. It¡¯s disgusting.¡±


    Ian felt very much like he¡¯d got himself caught up somewhere he didn¡¯t want to be.


    ¡°There¡¯s probably nobody here anyway,¡± said Chris, with a chuckle.


    Caro¡¯s lips thinned. ¡°There are. I¡¯ve met a few.¡±


    Chris sighed. ¡°Godsouls, Caroline, you¡¯re sounding unhinged. The pills are meant to stop this insanity.¡±


    ¡°Good thing for you I flushed them,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯d hate to still be under the thumb of a self-important prick like you. Guess what, Chris¡ªI have my own mind. My own eyes. I¡ª¡± Chris slapped her hard. She cried and went to the ground, a hand rising to rub the flesh of her cheek. Ian could see it was angry and red.


    Caro glared at Chris, with eyes so piercing Ian recoiled himself. ¡°Well done, you can hit me. Was that supposed to prove something? You¡¯re pathetic sometimes, Chris.¡± She stood and made for the door.


    ¡°Caroline¡ª¡± Chris called after her. It was futile. She didn¡¯t turn around or break stride until she was gone, and the door slammed shut behind her.


    Chris turned to Ian. ¡°Tell me about Millie Farmer.¡±


    How did he know her name? ¡°I don¡¯t know who you¡¯re talking about.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s not play silly buggers,¡± said Chris, his voice raised. ¡°Wrack saw you, Ian. Look, I¡¯m not Elise, and I don¡¯t much care whether the girl you¡¯re shagging is Elise either. But I have a feeling Elise wouldn¡¯t be happy to hear about your escapades. So here¡¯s how it works: you¡¯ll forget what you heard here, forget you ever heard the name ¡®Balkett¡¯. In return, I¡¯ll make sure the name ¡®Millie Farmer¡¯ never crosses my lips. Do we have a deal?¡±


    Ian sighed, a long, slow sigh. What choice did he have? He thought back to the Hookbill¡¯s warnings, then nodded his head slowly. ¡°Deal.¡±

 35. At Dinner

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Caroline ~


    Caroline wandered the living area of the Governors¡¯ Suite, a sturdy broom in her hand. It had been liberated from the hospital, from a room filled to bursting with surplus supplies still in their wrappings. Nobody would miss a broom. She hummed a tune as she swept, something she remembered from when she was a little girl.


    She¡¯d not been back up to her hill of reflection for the last two nights, and she doubted she¡¯d find time tonight. Instead, she¡¯d busied herself with preparations. This was the end, she¡¯d decided. Tomorrow, all things well, Captain Kenton and his Rovers would be there on the hill¡ªand she intended to go with them. Chris would be disappointed that he no longer had a pliable little wife he could use to shape Essegena to his will, but he¡¯d get over it. Somewhere deep inside of him, maybe he¡¯d even find some of the youth he¡¯d once had, and be sad for the loss of Caroline.


    That was his problem.


    With a bit of luck, Captain Kenton would be able to treat with Chris, and unite the old colony and the new. How long ago was it that the Balkett colony had come here? Two hundred years? Long enough to get past the teething problems of society. The Eia colony could learn from them. Ease past the difficult bits.


    All the same, she hadn¡¯t found time to tell Chris about her encounter. Not yet. He didn¡¯t deserve to know ahead of time. If he thought her stupid enough to not be told that Essegena¡¯s weren¡¯t virgin moors, that was on him. She was going to prove him wrong. And she was going to do it all by herself.


    Just one more day to wait.


    Yesterday had been her final day at the hospital. She¡¯d drop a letter off at some point, to explain to Tema Caerlin and Isla Fleming and the others that she wasn¡¯t running away because of anything they¡¯d done. For now, she¡¯d said nothing. Somebody might talk, and Chris might stop her. She¡¯d taken a pair of scissors to her favourite green dress, the one she¡¯d worn on the day she arrived, and cut a ribbon for Lily Day¡¯s collection. It was her way of saying goodbye.


    She swept a pile of debris into the pan, then moved into the bedchamber. The brush glided along the smooth floor as she pushed it, gathering up more dirt than she¡¯d imagined could have got there. It hadn¡¯t looked dirty. Nothing in the suite had, really, save for perhaps a few grotty stains in the toilet.


    Foolishly she¡¯d put on a blue cotton smock that morning, before she went for a sunrise stroll. It came to just above the knees. Those selfsame knees were red now from a day spent knelt, cleaning. Her hands too were raw, and the smell of carbolic was etched into her nostrils. But if Caroline didn¡¯t tidy up, nobody would. As she was returning from her walk, she¡¯d caught Chris on his way out¡ª¡°for an important meeting¡±. He didn¡¯t think he¡¯d be back until just before the Wracks arrived.


    Oh, yes¡ªthe Wracks. ¡°Oliver Wrack is coming to dinner,¡± Chris had said. ¡°He¡¯s bringing his wife.¡±


    ¡°When is this?¡± Caro had still been in a sweet mood at that point in the day.


    ¡°Tonight.¡±


    She¡¯d called after him as he walked down the hallway. ¡°Why haven¡¯t we hired a maid? You call me a queen, but a queen doesn¡¯t dust her own palace.¡± Caro thought she could stomach the heavy weight of a queen¡¯s crown if it meant an end to tedious housework. She wondered how Chris would fare, once she was gone.


    Chris had replied without turning around. ¡°This isn¡¯t a palace.¡± Trust him to come out with an ill-timed quip. Sometimes his wit made her laugh in spite of herself. She always tried to remember the failed jokes, to keep balance. This was one of them, and it had sent her into a fit of angry polishing. When the arse of the Lady Eia statue by the bedroom door was shiny enough to be a mirror, she decided to stop for a rest.


    After an idle lunch at Peseltane, chatting with Tema Caerlin, she¡¯d gone back to the grind. It might have served Chris right to leave the chores undone. Walking home to the pit of filth he¡¯d left might make Chris see that she had value as more than a potential tool. But today wasn¡¯t the time. Today they had company.


    She didn¡¯t know the Wracks all that well. Sure, she knew Oliver by sight from the few Council meetings she¡¯d attended, but that was the extent of it. Chris had found him somewhere, adopted him as a friend, treated him like one of the Borrowood group. He¡¯d probably never been near Borrowood, backwater as it was on the galactic scale, but that was the kind of technicality that Chris never worried about when it came to classifying his friends.


    Oliver¡¯s wife she knew even less about. Her name was Natasha, though she only answered to Tasha and was likely to throw the odd fist at anybody who used her full name. She¡¯d been enrolled in Raconesta for a time, before meeting her husband and dropping out to ¡°fuck him on five colonies¡±. And though she could be a judgemental cow, when it came to it she was soft of heart. All of this she¡¯d learned through Tema Caerlin, Natasha Wrack¡¯s sister. Oh, and the part about the soft heart wasn¡¯t true, but Tema felt obliged to say something nice about Tasha.


    It hadn¡¯t been easy convincing Tema to talk. The pair were estranged, had been for as long as Tema had been true to herself, and that seemed to still rankle with the young doctor. ¡°But as long as you haven¡¯t changed gender since last time she met you, she¡¯s a darling,¡± Tema said, a note of bitterness on her tongue.


    Caroline hated new people. Chris would have to guide the conversation, or she¡¯d be useless. She didn¡¯t have any difficulty talking to her friends, to people she already knew, and when she was at work a hidden Doctor Ballard persona seemed to take over. But when it came to strangers she never knew what to say. When she was a young girl, she¡¯d followed her brother, clutched tight to Armand¡¯s leg while she watched his friends. It took her six months of this to get to know any of them, and in time they became her friends too. Without Armand, she might never have had a friend.


    As she idly wandered the bedroom looking for egregious collections of dust to wipe away, she picked out a green gown which Chris always said brought out the colour of her eyes. No sooner had she settled on wearing it later than she changed her mind. It was hemmed in sequin, and the ancient marque of Heramey was embroidered on the colour. A regal dress, designed to show off the stature of her family. It would make her look up herself.


    Her next choice, a tan-and-white piece, lasted a full five minutes before she decided it looked frumpy. The Wracks would think she was a dull, pious type. Impressions were everything. Chris hadn¡¯t elaborated on why he¡¯d invited them, but there was a purpose. In all these months, he¡¯d not invited a soul to the Governor¡¯s Suite. If he¡¯d started now, he stood to gain something from the meeting. He would be expecting his wife to look the part. But she couldn¡¯t make up her mind. No matter how perfect these dresses looked hanging up in her wardrobe, the tungsten glow of the bedroom light always revealed some fatal flaw. So what if the flaws were mainly imagined. The right costume wouldn¡¯t even have an imagined flaw.


    When Chris got back, she was lying on the floor, down to her underwear, surrounded by mountains of discarded clothes. ¡°That¡¯s a bold look,¡± he said, with a whistle. ¡°Oliver will appreciate it, at least.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re going to hate whatever I wear. It¡¯ll ruin the night, and they¡¯ll think less of you.¡±


    Chris lay down beside her and gave her a kiss on the cheek. ¡°I hate to see you anxious,¡± he said. ¡°Caroline, you look beautiful no matter what you wear. Nothing you could possibly do would ruin the night. Here.¡± He dug around in a trunk beneath the bed. It was his family¡¯s oldest treasure, she knew, handed down from generation to generation. The first to own it had fought in the Wars of Veneration, when he¡¯d made the family name. He was a Chris as well, if she recalled her husband¡¯s stories. Her Chris pulled a small bottle of greenish liquid and gave it to her. ¡°Drink this. It¡¯ll calm your nerves.¡±


    She unscrewed the cap and gave it a sniff. Phew. It was pungent. From the smell, it was either a tonic or a strong spirit. Either way, it would serve to take the edge off. She drank it all down in one gulp, and grimaced at the aftertaste. There was a hint of aniseed in there, and something else¡ªa stronger flavour, but not one she could pinpoint. Bitter, clammy almost.


    ¡°Molochanise. A gift from Charlie,¡± Chris explained. ¡°He¡¯s been getting really into all the weird stuff they drink on Kelsiern. I think he¡¯s going native.¡± Charlie Ballard was Chris¡¯ youngest, and only, brother. He¡¯d never really been part of the Borrowood gang, being that much younger than the rest¡ªhe was barely eight when they started to go their separate ways. Caro liked him nonetheless. Four years ago he¡¯d packed up with his wife for the barren desert that was Kelsiern, in the vain hope of treasure. All he¡¯d found was a drinking problem.


    Charlie probably thought nothing of the green drink. His body was undoubtedly so numbed to the effects of alcohol that it went down smooth as water. But Caro was not Charlie, and it wasn¡¯t sitting easy in her stomach. A sudden wave of nausea brought her to her knees. She opened her mouth to vomit and burped instead. It brought relief from the nausea¡ªit was just gas.


    Still, she thought it best to sit still until whatever Chris had given her had run its course. It was difficult to tell whether she was drunk or just imagining it. When a sharp knock at the door brought her to her senses, and she realised she¡¯d been sat at the foot of her bed counting the two fingers she held in front of her for a solid hour, that she became convinced that she was indeed drunk.


    Perhaps it was the molochanise on her brain, but Chris had been nice to her this afternoon. His words had been loving enough even if they were hollow. She¡¯d play the part of the happy wife tonight, she decided. Why spoil her last evening with her husband?


    She stood unevenly, swaying slightly as she did, and threw on the first dress her hands grabbed. It was yellow and frilly, and her sister liked to tell her it made her look like a decorative lemon, but it was comfortable, and she wasn¡¯t sober enough to care.


    The Wracks were waiting for her when she emerged from her bedchamber, sat on two of the carved wooden chairs Chris insisted on bringing with him everywhere. Tasha, for some unearthly reason, had painted her face in that horrible yellow powder which all the rich women seemed to love, the stuff that made it look like her face was badly bruised. Caro was guilty of the look on occasion, but not in the company of normal people. ¡°You must be Tasha Wrack,¡± she said, kissing the shoulders of the other woman. ¡°It¡¯s wonderful to meet you.¡±


    Tasha Wrack raised both of her eyebrows. ¡°Is that something all the rich ladies say to set up their put-downs, or can I actually trust you?¡±


    Her husband jabbed her in the ribs, so hard she actually gasped. ¡°Now, Tash, there¡¯s no call to be rude. The Ballards aren¡¯t at all like the people you¡¯ve met.¡±


    Tasha smiled, with all the teeth showing. ¡°Forgive me. I¡¯ve had bad experiences with the wealthy.¡±


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    ¡°I know what you mean.¡± Caro remembered her first hobnob with the pinnacle of Unity society. She was studious and diligent and did everything a noble lady was expected to do. She wore the most in fashion, and acquainted herself with all of the vogue slang, and then she¡¯d stumbled on an uneven floor tile in High Commissioner Coningsby¡¯s ballroom, and that was apparently proof that she didn¡¯t belong with the top drawer¡ªshe couldn¡¯t even walk like a proper lady. ¡°Society snobs can be the worst. They also have a short memory. If you tough it out for a few weeks, they¡¯ll forget you aren¡¯t just like them.¡±


    A warm, delectable smell wafted through. Caro looked to see Chris emerging from the kitchen¡ªif all that was needed to make a room a kitchen was the most basic of facilities¡ªin the company of a woman Caro had never met before. This woman was plump and walked at a waddle. Her top lip was hairy, and the sleeves of her pinafore dress rolled back to the elbows. She was carrying a tray of golden cakes. Caro felt suddenly hungry.


    ¡°Caroline. You¡¯re awake!¡± Chris beamed.


    ¡°You should have hurried me up,¡± she said, but she didn¡¯t feel like pursuing an argument today.


    ¡°This is Stini Argent. The Wracks¡¯ cook. She¡¯s very kindly offered to prepare tonight¡¯s dinner.¡± Stini smiled, and held out her tray for Caro to take a cake. It crunched as she bit into it, but beneath the crust it was light and fluffy. Soft wonder filled every corner of her mouth.


    ¡°This is very good,¡± she said, through a mouthful of crumbs. ¡°Oliver, I¡¯ll have to borrow your cook every now and then.¡± If she were staying here, she definitely would. Presumably she¡¯d have no need of Stini Argent when she was with Captain Kenton¡¯s crew.


    Tasha Wrack¡¯s lip twitched. ¡°It¡¯s not Oliver you¡¯d be borrowing from.¡± Her husband squeezed her shoulder. Caro glanced sideways at Chris, who had a blank expression.


    Stini Argent ducked away from Chris. ¡°Pardon me, Governor,¡± she said. ¡°I should get to the cooking.¡± She set the tray down on the table in front of Caro and returned to the kitchen. How she could make a proper meal in there was a mystery. The person who had designed the Eia¡¯s crew staterooms was clearly of the bachelor persuasion, someone whose idea of cookery was ¡®let somebody else do it, ideally in a restaurant, and just reheat it if it gets too cold¡¯.


    ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have been short,¡± said Tasha. ¡°People assume that Oliver is in charge of everything in the household, and that¡¯s not true. The domestic staff are my responsibility. Take another cake.¡±


    ¡°I probably shouldn¡¯t,¡± said Caro, as she helped herself to two. They were phenomenal.


    Chris took his perch next to Caro. He took a cake for himself, which he nibbled mistrustfully at. Half of it he discarded into Caro¡¯s hand. She didn¡¯t mind. She could always find an appetite for food if it was going.


    ¡°Thank you for inviting us to dine with you tonight,¡± said Oliver Wrack. ¡°It¡¯s an honour, Governor.¡±


    ¡°I look after my friends,¡± said Chris.


    ¡°But he can only marry one, and he picked me.¡± Caro positioned her hand to show off her ring. The Wracks looked at one another and shrugged. Chris chuckled politely.


    ¡°What my wife means,¡± he said, ¡°is that I¡¯m an excellent judge of character. At least, that¡¯s what I assume. Either that or she doesn¡¯t think herself worthy.¡±


    Caro reddened.


    ¡°While we¡¯re on the subject of worthy, I understand that the Lady Tasha is with child.¡± Chris didn¡¯t notice or didn¡¯t care about his wife¡¯s embarrassment. When his jokes didn¡¯t land, which was often, she acted as if he¡¯d never said anything. He¡¯d only turn the joke on her. Which was unfair.


    ¡°I¡¯m about six months in,¡± Tash said. ¡°Very excited.¡±


    ¡°So you should be. Bringing a child into this life is what makes a woman.¡± Caro tried to glare at Chris without either of the Wracks noticing. The resulting half-scowl probably made her look constipated.


    The topic of Tasha Wrack¡¯s baby dominated conversation for some time. Caro tried to listen, to join in, but it was a struggle. She was happy for Tasha¡ªin the abstract way that she¡¯d be happy for any strange woman¡ªbut she couldn¡¯t help but feel a pang for her own wasted time. Her clock was ticking. Much as she had tried to convince herself that she didn¡¯t want children of her own, that they would be difficult, and she¡¯d struggle, and anyway she didn¡¯t need to have children to prove her worth as a woman, she couldn¡¯t escape her brooding instincts.


    If only she was the one sat on the other side of the table...


    Chris always tried to tell her that it was okay if she couldn¡¯t have children. He wouldn¡¯t be cross with her. Well, so what? Why did it make a difference if Chris was cross? She was the one who¡¯d be carrying that baby around inside her, so she was the one who got to decide whether she wanted that or not. And when it came down to it, she did. It wasn¡¯t a kingdom she wanted. She wasn¡¯t interested in peons or praise. She just wanted to be a mother, a good mother, and have a body that didn¡¯t let her down.


    The Gods had denied her a life with little Alianor. They¡¯d denied her a second opportunity. Immortal deities or not, they¡¯d have a lot to answer for when they decided to take her.


    She put on a brave face while Tasha Wrack gushed. She said the things she was expected to say, at the times she was expected to say them. When the conversation drifted to other, happier topics, she jumped on that. She fought to keep these avenues of conversation open for as long as she possibly could. Inevitably, focus returned to Tasha¡¯s baby.


    ¡°I¡¯d like to put to you a proposal,¡± said Chris, shifting in his seat. ¡°Soft power for hard. In the old times, they used to say that nothing brought people together like the birth of a baby. A royal baby, I stress.¡±


    Tasha laughed. ¡°Jem isn¡¯t a royal baby.¡±


    ¡°There haven¡¯t been royals for nigh on a thousand years,¡± Oliver added. ¡°The last royal baby¡¯s decayed to dry bone by now.¡±


    ¡°So there would be nobody to complain if a new royal line came into being,¡± said Chris. Caro rolled her eyes. Royalty was his bugbear. When they were all idealistic teens, his determination to be a kingmaker was endearing¡ªattractive, even. By now it was old. Old and unrealistic, and yet still he seemed to think he could pull it off.


    ¡°I think you¡¯re getting ahead of yourself, Chris,¡± she said. ¡°This is the modern day. Leave the kings and queens in the storybooks, where they belong.¡±


    ¡°Your wife is wise, Governor,¡± said Oliver. ¡°People don¡¯t want to be chattel. Nobody will agree to be subjugated.¡±


    They were interrupted then by the appearance of Stini Argent, laden with steaming plates of stew. ¡°Let me help you with those,¡± said Chris, dashing to his feet. He slipped into the kitchen and returned with two more plates, which he set in front of his own place and Caro¡¯s.


    Her tummy rumbled at the sight. She grabbed the plate as soon as it was set down and began to wolf it down at once, before her guests could have a sniff¡ªpoliteness be damned. She was supposed to eat first, right? They had provided the chef after all.


    Neither of the Wracks seemed to mind. Oliver impaled a chunk of meat on his fork, but held it in the air for so long before he thought to put it in his mouth that all the gravy had dripped back onto the plate. Tasha hadn¡¯t even looked at her own meal. They were busy talking to Chris.


    ¡°People don¡¯t seem to mind having a Governor,¡± Chris was saying. ¡°What¡¯s a monarch but another name for the same thing?¡±


    Governors are elected, Caro thought. If you piss the people off too much they can boot you out. She kept silent. There was nothing to be gained by undercutting Chris at every opportunity.


    He took a mouthful of stew. ¡°Anyway, what I¡¯m suggesting is just the trappings of a monarchy,¡± he said, spraying flakes of meat and drips of gravy onto the table. Caro reached across and dabbed at them with her sleeve. ¡°No real power, just the bells and whistles. Wheel them out for special occasions, or when things aren¡¯t going great. People love a figurehead.¡±


    ¡°If you want me to agree to signing my Jem away, you can forget it,¡± Tasha said. ¡°Monarchs die when people get upset.¡±


    Caro tuned out the conversation. The stew was far more interesting than anything that was being said.


    It was healthy with tender meat, heady gravy, a smorgasbord of fresh vegetables. Carrots, onions, celery and potatoes were there in abundance. Caro picked one of each item out to try them individually. She¡¯d had the habit since she was young, and no amount of being told to eat like a normal person had shaken it. Understanding the constituent parts helped her to appreciate the overall meal.


    Each of the vegetables had been cooked to perfection. The carrots seemed to melt into an explosion of flavour at the moment of contact with her teeth, the onions were finely balanced on the precipice of caramelisation. The potato was fluffy.


    The celery was bitter.


    It had been cooked fine. It had crisped perfectly, and it wasn¡¯t an unexpected colour. But the flavour was entirely absent. She grimaced. With a bit of effort the celery went down, but it took with it all of the moisture in her mouth. What remained was dryness. She coughed, and her throat burned.


    ¡°Caro? Are you alright?¡± Chris, noticing her for the first time. He clasped her hand.


    She nodded. ¡°Went down the wrong way. That¡¯s all.¡± She stood to get some water, and stumbled. How long had she been seeing double for? That drink was stronger than she¡¯d realised. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said, to the Wracks, ¡°don¡¯t think I¡¯m being rude. I think I¡¯m going down with something. We¡¯ll do this again some time.¡± She didn¡¯t force a smile, because it hurt too much. If she really focused on where she was going, one step at a time, she could just about keep her balance. Her hands were shaking. Her head was beginning to throb.


    She collapsed gratefully onto the bed and screwed her eyes tight. It only took a second for her to fall asleep, dreamlessly.


    The room was in darkness when Caro opened her eyes. What time was it? She reached for the lamp beside the bed, hoping to turn it on and illuminate the fresco on the far wall, but her arms were all floppy. She couldn¡¯t tell whether she was getting close to it or not. All over, she ached. Every limb was agony. Through blurry eyes she could see a number of red blotches on her arms. How many more were there beneath her clothes? The coarse itching of skin beneath her dress made her painfully aware of at least a dozen she couldn¡¯t see.


    She could hear faint voices coming from the living area. Chris¡¯ voice was distinct; even if she couldn¡¯t hear the words he was saying, couldn¡¯t concentrate on listening without her head throbbing angrily, she could recognise his voice. The day she didn¡¯t recognise it was the day she was dead to the world, she decided. A woman was talking, too. Tasha Wrack, probably. The Wracks must still be here. How long had she been out? And Chris had just carried on...


    The need for some water was urgent now. Taking a second to gather her breath, she tried to stand.


    Bad idea.


    At the very instant she put weight on her legs, they gave way beneath her. She tumbled to the floor with a tremendous crash, and howled at the ignominy. As she pounded furious fists on the floor, feeling only the fuzz of pins and needles, the room was suddenly bathed in light.


    ¡°Caro?¡± Chris had finally woken up to her condition. She didn¡¯t answer him. She wasn¡¯t sure she could. She lay where she¡¯d fallen, hands vibrating, tears dampening her eyes. What¡¯s happening?


    He was there. She could feel his hands. ¡°Caro, are you hurt?¡±


    She tried to rasp. Her voice had vacated her.


    ¡°Stay there,¡± said Chris. ¡°I¡¯ll get the hospital.¡± She felt his breath on her neck, then his kiss on her cheek. He hadn¡¯t kissed her like that in years. ¡°You¡¯re going to be okay,¡± he said.


    She needed water. Her throat was scratching, clawing at her. For a wild instant she wanted to grab at it, rip it to shreds just to make it shut up with the constant pain.


    ¡°Stay there, I¡¯ll get the hospital.¡± Chris was repeating himself. She coughed. Something red landed on the floor. Blood. That¡¯ll stain, she thought. ¡°You¡¯re going to be okay,¡± Chris told her, for the second time.


    It didn¡¯t make it more believable.


    She tried idly to dab at the blood she¡¯d coughed. Her hand was too unsteady. She smeared it everywhere. Damn it, she sobbed. She pressed her head down on top of her hands. Colours danced in her vision. Everything doubled and tripled, and all sense of reality abandoned her.


    Another cough seized her. She tried to swallow it down, but it exploded out all the same. Pain. Agony. More blood, black. She shouldn¡¯t be coughing black blood.


    Help me. She directed the silent prayer at anybody who would care to hear. Mother, father, Nana Raine. The Gods in those distant heavens, indifferent as they were. If Fr¨¦reves had any hope to spare, she could really use it about now. Good Matilda, if you¡¯re so good, why don¡¯t you help me?


    None answered the prayer. None even heard it.


    She felt another cough settling in the base of her throat, ready to force its way to the fore. A fresh wave of pain was baying. She scratched viciously at a sore on her leg, and when she brought her hand before her face her fingers were red with blood.


    No more did parts of her body hurt. There was only her, Caroline as a whole, and she hurt. Everywhere.


    She closed her eyes to shut out the horrors of this next cough, and let out a feeble whine at the pain. How typical that her last words were to be a sad whimpering.


    Blackness took her.

 36. Midnight Standoff

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Tasha ~


    The soldiers came at the crack of dawn. Their shouting from outside woke her, and the urgency with which Oliver shot out of bed and dressed convinced her of the seriousness of the matter. Still half-asleep, she asked him what was going on. ¡°Stay there,¡± he told her, as he left the room.


    Like buggery was she going to stay there.


    She threw on yesterday¡¯s clothes, and an overcoat of leather and fur, and scurried down the stairs. Eva met her on the first floor landing, emerging from the staff hallway with bleary eyes in nothing but a thin nightgown bedecked with sewn kittens.


    ¡°Lady? I heard shouting¡ª¡±


    Tash ran past Eva without a word. If she stopped to listen to the girl, she might miss the commotion. As soon as she stepped off the carpeted stairs she intook of breath. The floorboards were cool against her bare feet as she went. She¡¯d probably get a splinter or two, and Sesi would have to pull them out for her, but that pain was a secondary concern right now.


    Outside, there was a gentle breeze, and a stand-off. A dozen men were stood at the perimeter, with torches and firearms. In the faint orange twilight it was hard to tell which division they belonged to. The only discernible feature of their uniforms was the jacket. All soldiers wore jackets. If these were grey or black or another colour entirely was impossible to say.


    Oliver was stood at the gate. Beside him, the household guard were in formation. She could hear the soft, fatherly tones of Jon Sharp, remonstrating with one of the others. ¡°What do you think gives you the right?¡±


    ¡°The Governor¡¯s wish.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s utter horseshit,¡± Oliver shouted. ¡°My wife and I dined with the Governor just yesterday evening. I¡¯ve worked closely with the man for months. I know him well. I refuse to believe that he would authorise armed bullies to invade our property.¡±


    In the glow of the torches, Tash saw the leader of the soldiers turn to one of the others and laugh. ¡°Armed bullies?¡± he said. ¡°That¡¯s a new one.¡±


    ¡°Clearly you don¡¯t know the Governor as well as you think,¡± said his friend. ¡°Tell you what, Sergeant, I wish the kids who bullied me had been polite enough to stand at the gate until I let them in.¡±


    ¡°Oh, are you being polite?¡± Oliver¡¯s voice was getting louder. Lights were coming on in the surrounding buildings, people appearing at windows to watch. A pair of women in beige kirtles and white bonnets were stood atop a nearby hillock, watching the events with interest. ¡°So if I tell you to take a hike, you¡¯ll turn around and walk away? Or will you force your way through anyway?¡±


    ¡°We have instructions from the Governor, through the Lord Constable,¡± said the Sergeant. ¡°You can either grant us access, or hand her over. We will have her either way.¡±


    ¡°I know your type well,¡± said Jon Sharp.


    ¡°I bet you do,¡± the Sergeant laughed. ¡°A few grey hairs and suddenly you¡¯re wise?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d best learn your place,¡± said Jon, sharply. ¡°I¡¯ve fought in more battles than all of you put together, and the likes of you are always the same. The rule of law is just a suggestion for you, something you can push and poke at until it can¡¯t be stretched any further.¡±


    ¡°Here¡¯s a suggestion,¡± said the Sergeant¡¯s friend. ¡°Stand aside and let us do our job.¡±


    Jon glanced at Oliver, who shook his head. Little Wilkie, a spotty boy who Tash had once caught chatting away with Emmy instead of doing his job, was running a trembling hand over the barrel of his gun, agitated. Don¡¯t do something rash, Tash willed him. Keep your cool.


    The Sergeant fidgeted. ¡°This is beginning to turn into a farce. I don¡¯t know if you¡¯re having trouble with how you process language, but our request is a simple one. Hand her over.¡±


    ¡°We will not.¡± That was Oliver.


    ¡°She is suspected of treason,¡± said the Sergeant. ¡°The law requires us to take her into custody. Article four-seventeen of the Colonial Constabularies act, if you¡¯re unfamiliar.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m familiar with the laws, have no fear on that,¡± said Oliver.


    A hand brushed Tasha¡¯s shoulder, and she jumped. Sesi was there. Her copper hair was hanging loose behind her, unusually untidy. ¡°Lady, come inside,¡± she whispered. Behind her, Eva had wandered as far as the front door. She gasped.


    It was clear why. At the gate, Jon Sharp and the others had readied their own firearms. On each side of the wall, a dozen men were positioned ready to kill at the slightest provocation. All it would take was a nervy finger and there would be a bloodbath.


    Oliver would be right at the heart of it.


    ¡°Lieutenant,¡± he said, with a quick nod.


    ¡°You have no permission to pass,¡± said Sharp. ¡°If you force your way in, we will readily defend this place at the cost of lives¡ªyours or ours.¡±


    ¡°Article four-twenty,¡± said Oliver. ¡°I have the right to defend my property.¡±


    Tash had the horrible feeling that it wouldn¡¯t be the soldiers¡¯ lives that were in danger. Jon Sharp was lovely, and a real expert, but he was also old. His fighting days should have been well behind him. His reactions would have surely dulled. And the rest of them were youngsters, earning more pay to guard the Wracks than to earn their stripes in the Unity reserve. They might take a few of the soldiers with them, but not all.


    And the ones that survived would turn their guns on Oliver. Oliver, who was unarmed. Oliver, who could not shoot with any accuracy.


    The Sergeant looked from Sharp to his gun, and then to Oliver. ¡°There¡¯s no need to turn this into a slaughter,¡± he said. ¡°None of you are in any trouble. We just want the woman.¡±


    Tash was breathing heavy, then holding it for as long as she could. She could feel Sesi tugging at her, trying to turn her away. She was rapt.


    Oliver spoke. ¡°What will you do with her?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s going to the tower,¡± the Sergeant replied. ¡°Until she¡¯s been tried. If she¡¯s innocent, she¡¯ll be returned to you, and with a little compensation for your inconvenience. If she¡¯s guilty, she¡¯ll probably die.¡±


    Were they talking about her? What had she done? Maybe she¡¯d been a little coarse towards the Governor¡¯s wife, Oliver had told her she was a touch abrasive, but that shouldn¡¯t warrant being arrested by a whole platoon of armed soldiers. Perhaps she should run away. Now, while she still could. Whatever they wanted her for, they¡¯d have to find her. Essegena was a big place, and empty for the most part. They¡¯d never find her.


    ¡°Eva,¡± she whispered, not taking her eyes off the front wall. ¡°Pack some of my things in a bag, and go to the back of the house.¡±


    ¡°Lady?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll meet you there. Quickly, Eva.¡±


    The girl scurried inside. Oliver was still holding firm against the soldiers, two walls of primed cannons waiting for the spark. Just a little longer, she thought. I¡¯ll be gone, and you can let them pass. Then you won¡¯t get hurt.


    She took a first step back, very tentative. ¡°Give me five minutes, Sesi, and cause a scene. Whatever it takes to make Oliver stand down.¡±


    He had to stand down. If he didn¡¯t, he¡¯d be a dead man, and she wouldn¡¯t have him dying on her account. She screwed her eyes tight. Perhaps she could telepathically beg him to give up, if she concentrated hard enough. Or perhaps Eva would be along in a second, and she could go. Far away. Either would do.


    And then the shot rang out. It was deafeningly loud, somehow louder than when she¡¯d been on the hunt, and the echo lingered longer in the silent air. Tasha¡¯s heart sank in an instant. This was the flashpoint. The end of it.


    But no slaughter broke out. A second shot followed, and one of the guards on the wall beside Oliver slumped. And then there was only a leaden silence. The hideous screams of the fallen guard were its only punctuation. It was Little Wilkie, she saw, when she looked closer.


    ¡°That wasn¡¯t necessary,¡± said Jon Sharp.


    ¡°He fired first,¡± said the Sergeant. ¡°He chose his fate. Now, will you let us pass, or will you continue with this pretence at righteousness?¡±


    Oliver sighed, and pushed Sharp¡¯s gun down. ¡°Stand down,¡± Sharp said, and the simultaneous relaxed outtake of breath from all present was palpable. In unison, Oliver¡¯s guards lowered their rifles.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be speaking to the Governor,¡± said Oliver, as the soldiers walked past. ¡°I won¡¯t let this stand.¡±


    Tash ran forward, into the path of the soldiers. It was a clumsy move, desperation, but she couldn¡¯t let anybody else get hurt. It was better to let them catch her now.


    ¡°Move aside.¡± The Sergeant¡¯s voice was stern. Tasha blinked, dumbfounded. Move aside. If the Sergeant wanted her to move aside¡­ well, then it couldn¡¯t have been her they were after. But if they hadn¡¯t come for her, then who?


    She stood her ground. ¡°What do you want?¡±


    Oliver yelled at her from the wall. ¡°Tash, get out of the way. I told you to stay upstairs.¡±


    She ignored her husband. She put her hands on her hips in her best impression of the strict mother she¡¯d grown up with. ¡°Tell me what you want. Then I¡¯ll move.¡±


    ¡°Your cook is under arrest,¡± said the Sergeant.


    ¡°Arrest? What for?¡± She sounded confident, she knew. She didn¡¯t feel confident. She just hoped the Sergeant didn¡¯t notice her trembling beneath the overcoat.


    ¡°She poisoned the Governor¡¯s wife,¡± said the Sergeant¡¯s friend. ¡°Tried to kill the Governor too.¡±


    She¡¯s a dangerous criminal.¡± The Sergeant shoved her aside and carried on past.


    Tash deflated. No. Not Stini. Mam Argent was always polite, always friendly. She was a far remove from the sort who would murder people. What possible grievance could she have against the Governor?


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    She¡¯d served the same food for Tash too. Tash and Oliver. They could have died.


    No, Stini wouldn¡¯t do that.


    If she kept repeating it, she could keep believing it. She had to keep believing it. Otherwise it meant Stini Argent wanted her dead. Stini wouldn¡¯t want her dead. Stini couldn¡¯t. She was good to her staff, kind.


    Suddenly Sesi was with her, escorting her inside. ¡°It¡¯s okay, Lady, it¡¯s just a misunderstanding.¡± She wanted to cry, but crying wouldn¡¯t help things. She didn¡¯t really know what would. Nobody had ever told her what to do in this situation. Not Mother, not her teachers, not even Sesi with her many lessons. Why had nobody told her what to do?


    The ground felt like it was giving way beneath her. She slumped against Sesi, the feeling gone in her feet. Her legs were weak. If I lie down, I¡¯ll go to sleep. If I go to sleep, I¡¯ll wake up, and this will all have been a nightmare. Tema was the one who had night terrors. Tash had always laughed at her for it.


    Suddenly, Oliver was there, holding her up. He practically carried her inside, him and Sesi. She was a passenger. A spectator.


    And she couldn¡¯t look away.


    As they carried her through the hallway, a shrill scream rang out from the kitchen. The open door gave a partial view of everything that was happening inside. Half a dozen of the soldiers were there. Two of them had Stini, holding her hands behind her back. As they escorted her out of the kitchen, so Nickie came at them, looking for all the world like an asylum patient clad in only a silk nightgown sewn with pictures of songbirds in starfire groves. She had half a loaf of bread in her hand. She hit the soldiers with it, over and over again. Each time she screamed a little louder. The hits did nothing.


    Another of the soldiers pulled Nickie away from them, bundled her to the ground. He stood with his foot on her midriff, his musket pointed at her head. Even from the hallway Tash could see that she was sobbing.


    Stini, to her credit, was not. She was silent and stony-faced, and walked in pace with the soldiers. Even when she passed, and Tash called out to her, she didn¡¯t speak. She didn¡¯t even turn her head.


    Through all this, the Sergeant was stood casually on the first step, yelling instructions. His words didn¡¯t make it through as far as Tash; to her, they were just noise. What she did register was his smirking. He wouldn¡¯t be smirking if she took his head off. And wouldn¡¯t that be justice?


    The Sergeant was the last of the soldiers to leave the house. Before he left, he fixed Oliver with a stare. ¡°That wasn¡¯t so hard, was it? How¡¯s about next time you let us do the job we¡¯re supposed to do and nobody gets hurt.¡± He was gone before they had a chance to respond.


    Tash wanted to run after him, but Oliver held her back. ¡°No, Tash. Leave it. It¡¯s just the heat of the blood, it won¡¯t achieve a thing.¡± Even if he¡¯d let her go, she wouldn¡¯t have made it very far. Her legs still didn¡¯t have the strength to run. As soon as Oliver let go of her, she fell to the floor.


    And there she stayed.


    With the soldiers gone, for a long while nobody spoke. Tash was glad of that. She didn¡¯t feel like talking. Outside, the screams of Little Wilkie were still ringing out occasionally, weaker now than they had been. They sounded almost pitiful. She watched Oliver slip out, and let him go. It wasn¡¯t worth the effort to make him stay, no matter how much she wanted to have him with her.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on down here? I heard shots.¡± Goodwife Mabeth had appeared, belatedly, at the top of the stairs. Either she wore a corset beneath her nightclothes, or she¡¯d taken the time to fully dress before going to investigate.


    ¡°They took her,¡± said someone, her voice a hideous wail. ¡°They took Mam Argent.¡± Tash realised that it was her that was speaking.


    Goodwife Mabeth hurried down the stairs and crouched down beside Tash. She stroked Tash¡¯s head with a soft finger, like her grandmother when she was sick. ¡°You¡¯re pale, Lady,¡± she said. ¡°You should rest.¡±


    Nickie whimpered from the kitchen. Sesi vanished to investigate, and little Eva wandered after. Tash was left alone with Goodwife Mabeth, and there she was happy to stay. Goodwife Mabeth brought calmness. She was the personification of assurance, the rare woman whose mere presence made everything lighter. If only Tash were a child still, she could burrow herself in Goodwife Mabeth¡¯s arms and be rocked to sleep.


    Everything was easier when she was a child.


    She ran a hand along the hillock of her abdomen, letting little Jem trace his thoughts onto her palm. You¡¯ll never have to cry, she promised him. You¡¯ll never be upset, or afraid. Your life will be perfect.


    There was an old piano in the quiet room, in the family home. The wood was mahogany, and bore the signature of a famous composer etched into it. Half of the keys were gone. The thing hadn¡¯t been tuned in over a century, but it had always remained the centrepiece of their family evenings. Mother would light a candle, and place it atop the piano where the candid photographs and vases of flowers lived. Long into the evening, for as long as the candle still burned and the smell of lavender and warm dough permeated the room, they would all sit and talk together.


    How many nights had Mother sat in the shadow of that old piano, enraptured by the perfect scent, promising the world to Tasha? No woman ever set out to be a bad parent to the child she carried. Stini Argent¡¯s mother didn¡¯t spend nine months awaiting the birth of her very own miniature murderer, nor did she vow that her daughter would be falsely imprisoned. Surely she¡¯d have sworn to make her child¡¯s life a happy one, and the Darkness take anybody who stood in her way. If she had, she¡¯d failed. Stini Argent would be spending tonight in a cell.


    But wasn¡¯t it better to fail to keep a promise than to never make it in the first place?


    With the last of her strength Tash took herself into the solar, and collapsed into a soft sofa there. Even if she¡¯d wanted to stand again, she¡¯d not have been able to. Her legs had turned to jelly. She felt numb, woozy. Not Stini.


    Sesi sat with her, and Eva too. All of the first floor staff. In normal circumstances, Tash would have reprimanded them for being presumptuous enough to sit themselves down in her solar. Right now she didn¡¯t feel that it mattered. She was glad of the company.


    A couple of the guards had filed in too, hats off and buttons undone in various combinations. Lanky Millington leaned against the wall, muttering bitterly to himself. ¡°Bastards,¡± he was saying. ¡°Bloody bastards.¡± His surcoat was stained with Little Wilkie¡¯s blood, from where he¡¯d tried to administer aid.


    Poor Nickie was faring even worse than Tasha. The girl was curled up in a cocoon at the corner of the room, rocking herself in her peals of silent sobbing. Emmy was sat with her offering some words of comfort, but there was no evidence Nickie could hear. Stini was her closest friend, her ticket to Essegena in the first place. She¡¯d seen her carried away right before her eyes, and had a gun pointed at her to boot. No wonder she was cowering in the corner. Anybody would be, given the circumstances.


    It was mid-morning, and the sun was firing warm light into the room, when Tasha was next aware of her surroundings. She must have dozed off. Nickie was still in the corner, she saw, but she¡¯d sat herself up now. Millington sat next to her, his arm around her shoulders. Emmy and Eva sat silently. Goodwife Mabeth was bustling about, the only person in the room who looked ready for the day. At some point she¡¯d taken the time to put on her face and tidy her hair, and she¡¯d liberated a tray of cakes from the kitchen, which she was carrying around the room, handing out to everybody there.


    ¡°Not what you¡¯re used to, Lady,¡± she said, when she got to Tash. ¡°I followed Mam Argent¡¯s recipe as close as I could manage, but I¡¯m no cook.¡±


    Tash took a cake. It was golden brown, thoroughly crisped, and it held firm against her attempts to bite at it. ¡°It¡¯s lovely, Goodwife Mabeth, thank-you.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no need for thankings, Lady. I¡¯m just doing what I was hired to do. Your Aunt Danyer had a sweet tooth too, you know. She loved her cakes, almost as much as she loved you.¡±


    Tash laughed. ¡°Jaina always got mad at me and Tema, when Aunt Danyer came to visit. She used to spend all this time making the fanciest sweets, and we¡¯d break into the kitchen and pilfer it. Jaina used to chase me through the gardens with a rolling pin. I think I¡¯d have been scared of her, but we knew she¡¯d never use it. Father wouldn¡¯t have stood for it.¡±


    Goodwife Mabeth¡¯s warm smile grew stretched. ¡°Your father was a fearsome man when he wanted to be. Danyer always said she wasn¡¯t afraid of him, but she wouldn¡¯t ever let me join her on her visits.¡±


    ¡°Well, why should you?¡± Goodwife Mabeth looked hurt at the remark, so Tasha elaborated. ¡°Meaning no offense, Goodwife Mabeth, but you were Aunt Danyer¡¯s maidservant. It¡¯s usual practice for the staff to stay behind, to keep the house ticking over.¡±


    ¡°Tasha, sweetheart, you must remember growing up. Half of your house was boarded up, because your father couldn¡¯t afford to keep it heated. He could barely afford a cook, let alone a staff. I waived my wage entirely when I came to work for him. How did you think Danyer was able to pay for a maidservant?¡±


    ¡°She was family. My parents wouldn¡¯t let her go without.¡±


    Goodwife Mabeth shook her head. ¡°I fell in love with Danyer when we were girls together. She was in love with me too, I think, though it took her a bit longer.¡±


    ¡°You were lovers?¡±


    Goodwife Mabeth nodded.


    Tash found herself thinking back to childhood, and Aunt Danyer¡¯s visits. She always came alone, and she always seemed unhappy about it. Father would always ask if she¡¯d found a husband yet. She never did. Once, Tash had overheard Danyer and her mother, talking in hush tones in a quiet part of the house. ¡°I¡¯ll never marry a man, not ever,¡± her aunt had said. ¡°Nicolas knows this. He must know.¡± At the time, Tash had assumed Aunt Danyer wanted to live her own life. After all, to the eleven-year-old girl Tash was then, the idea of getting married was anathema. Better to be by herself, and do what she wanted to do. Only later had boys gained an appeal. By then that hushed conversation was far from her mind.


    Suddenly it all made sense. ¡°I never realised. Aunt Danyer was attracted to women.¡±


    ¡°Danyer never so much as glanced at me sexually,¡± said Goodwife Mabeth, shaking her head. ¡°I think she just liked my company.¡±


    ¡°Why did we never know about you? Aunt Danyer always told us you were her ladiesmaid.¡±


    Goodwife Mabeth laughed a sad laugh. ¡°Your father couldn¡¯t bear anything that didn¡¯t fit with his view of the world. Danyer introduced me to him once, before you were born. She still lived in the family home then. Well, your father made it quite plain that I wouldn¡¯t be welcome. If Danyer were to continue seeing me, she¡¯d have to live elsewhere. I think he thought she¡¯d cave. To be honest, I thought she would too. But Tasha, she told him where he could stuff his ideas, and she moved out the same day. Sure, life was a pinch for a while, but it was a bearable pinch. Never have I known a person to be so brave as Danyer was that day. She wasn¡¯t ashamed of who she was, who she loved, and she stood up for it, even though it cost her her ancestral home, very nearly her family.¡±


    Tasha shook her head. ¡°No, that doesn¡¯t make sense. Father wouldn¡¯t have been bothered by that. The man who lived next door, Terry Unsworth, he married another man. My father was the biggest supporter of their marriage. He gave the speech.¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t my being a woman that upset him,¡± said Goodwife Mabeth. ¡°I was a scullery maid born to a whore mother and an unknown father. He thought me beneath his sister. I had to beg and plead before he¡¯d let me go into service to your family, after Danyer passed away, but she loved you and your brother, and she wanted me to be sure you were both well. I¡¯m your aunt too, technically speaking.¡±


    ¡°Sister,¡± said Tash. ¡°Tema¡¯s my sister.¡±


    Goodwife Mabeth smiled. ¡°So she did find herself. Danyer would be proud.¡±


    Tash screwed her eyes tight. ¡°Goodwife Mabeth, I was cruel to Tema. I was mean to her. She won¡¯t talk to me, she won¡¯t see me. I¡¯ve messed up proper.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe that for a minute, Tasha. The two of you are family. Whatever¡¯s been said or done, you¡¯ll mend. I know it.¡±


    Goodwife Mabeth resumed her circuit of the room, feeding Eva with plenty of the cakes. Tash thought sadly of Aunt Danyer for a time, and tried to imagine a world where Goodwife Mabeth had been welcomed into the family. Aunt Danyer would still be alive now, for one. It was a respiratory infection that killed her, from mold in her potting shed. At the Caerlin house, she¡¯d never have fallen ill.


    She was interrupted in her thoughts by heavy footsteps on the wooden hallway, and a second later the door opened. Oliver was there, with Jon Sharp beside him, both men looking gloomy. Tash propelled herself to her feet with a vigour she¡¯d have thought impossible a few minutes earlier, and ran across the room into his arms. He buckled under her weight. ¡°We¡¯ve talked about this, sweetling. You¡¯re too heavy.¡±


    ¡°Where were you, Oliver? I was lonely.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve spoken to the Lord Constable,¡± he said, setting her down. ¡°Believe me, I had some choice words to say to him. I don¡¯t know if you¡¯re familiar with Clifford, but the man¡¯s arrogant and condescending and impossible to cow. Mam Argent¡¯s not coming back, Tash, not for a while at least.¡±


    ¡°Oliver...¡±


    ¡°I quoted every law I could, tried to argue from every angle I could think of. I had an idea to pull rank, but that¡¯s not possible. I¡¯m in a different pillar of command altogether. Clifford doesn¡¯t have to listen to a word I say, and he knows it. It didn¡¯t matter to him that an innocent woman¡¯s life was being ruined, it was all a big joke. I said I¡¯d be speaking to the Governor. He told me to go ahead. Said he¡¯s known the Governor far longer than I have, and at any rate he was only acting on the Governor¡¯s instructions. We¡¯ll see what the Governor has to say, but I don¡¯t see there¡¯s a case for Mam Argent to answer.¡± Oliver reached into the pocket of his surcoat and took out a grubby copperhead, which he pressed into Tasha¡¯s hand. ¡°He had the nerve to give me this. Compensation, he said, for the man who was shot. Wilkie¡¯s worth more than a copperhead. Everybody here is.¡±


    Oliver swivelled on his feet and strode out of the door. Tash saw him thundering up the stairs, no doubt to their chambers. She made to follow, but Jon Sharp stuck out a hand to block her.


    ¡°I¡¯d leave him a time, my Lady,¡± he said. ¡°Let him gather his thoughts. The Lord Constable got to him, I¡¯m afraid. I¡¯ve never seen Oliver so angry.¡±


    Tasha shook her head in mute agreement. Oliver didn¡¯t get angry. She did. She was emotional, he always told her that. But Oliver was the sort to swallow his fury, and distil it into a fearsome motivation. One way or another he¡¯d find a way to bring Stini home. He¡¯d not even needed to promise it. She just knew he would.

 37. The Chain of Command

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Tema ~


    If the Gods had a sense of justice, Caroline Ballard would not be lying ill in a hospital bed. Not Caroline. Why, of all people, did it have to be her?


    Caro had been Tema¡¯s first boss, after she¡¯d recovered from the nightmare of Balking. Back then, she still wore the mask of a man. She couldn¡¯t let her guard slip. On one of her days off, all made-up and wearing a cute russet skirt, she¡¯d found herself face-to-face with Caroline in the streets. Tema had quickly turned away, and hoped she hadn¡¯t been recognised. But Caroline had called out her name¡ªher old name, the one she didn¡¯t use anymore¡ªand she knew she¡¯d been caught. She expected to be fired on the spot. Women like her were for domestic service, mundane jobs, not important professions. But Caro just complimented her choice of clothes with a smile. ¡°Do you have a name you¡¯d prefer?¡±


    For her next shift, Tema had dressed up in the most feminine uniform available, a pink-lined dress with tights and bow-pumps. She¡¯d strode into the hospital, greeting her co-workers¡¯ stares with a crimson face, and knocked on Caro¡¯s office door. ¡°Call me Tema,¡± she¡¯d said, then, and Caro always had.


    It was a cruelty that she had to be sick.


    She¡¯d come a hair¡¯s breadth from turfing Oliver Wrack away when he¡¯d appeared at her door. The nerve of the man to take himself along to her private place. But something about his face had bade her listen to him, and she was thankful she had. ¡°Doctor Ballard¡¯s sick,¡± he¡¯d said. ¡°I thought it for the best you knew.¡±


    Oliver had left her with her head in a whirl. Caroline was the only buffer she had from Maynard and Staniforth. With her gone, there¡¯d be nobody with the power to intercede if either doctor decided to turn their claws on Tema. Her job would be gone. Her fresh start would die with it. And yet she couldn¡¯t call herself a friend to Caroline if she didn¡¯t go to help. The fact of the matter was that whatever illness she had it must have been a bad one. Nobody would knock on her door in the night if Caroline just had an upset stomach. There was no reason at all for Oliver Wrack to bear the message, unless it was somehow serious enough that he thought she ought to know right away.


    All those years of study and practice had been to save lives. Caroline¡¯s was a life worth saving, even at the cost of her own happiness. It took a little while to break through the fog of fear that clouded her, but once she did the answer was clear. She donned her coat with the echinops on and tied her prettiest bow of pink lace into her hair, and went at once towards the hospital. If Maynard or Staniforth wanted to take issue, they were welcome to cause a scene.


    As she opened her door to leave, she was greeted by Janna Davis, bright red and glistening with sweat. Janna had her hands raised as though just about to knock. She practically fell into the open door, and straight away went towards a glass which was sitting on Tema¡¯s sideboard. ¡°Miss Tema. I ran from the hospital. You need to come.¡± Janna was panting as she gulped down the water.


    The water was Tema¡¯s. There was a tickling in her throat, which she¡¯d been trying to drown before it developed into anything more. It was quickly forgotten. ¡°You should have called through,¡± she said. The Eia was hooked up to an intercom system. Her chambers had a direct line to the hospital, in case she needed to be reached in an emergency. Janna need not have run here.


    No time for that,¡± said Janna, shaking her head. ¡°It¡¯s urgent, Miss Tema. Miss Caroline¡¯s come in critical. We don¡¯t know how to help her.¡± There was worry pooled in her eyes, overflowing. It broke Tema¡¯s heart almost as much as Caroline¡¯s being ill. Janna was a little delight, soft of face and kind of heart. Even when wit had failed her, it was hard to do more than roll eyes and play along. If she were to grow disheartened, it would be a loss to the hospital. She escorted Tema at a run to the hospital¡ªTema hadn¡¯t realised it was possible to get there as quick as she had done.


    She chose not to tell Janna that Oliver Wrack had already told her the bad news.


    Emmeline Maynard was there to greet her, arms folded behind the front desk. One of the nurses, young Lucy Jaine, stood beside her with a sheepish look on her face.


    Best to be polite, Tema thought. Now wasn¡¯t the time for feuding. ¡°Doctor Maynard,¡± she said, putting on a friendly smile. ¡°What¡¯s the situation?¡±


    Maynard didn¡¯t return the smile. ¡°You¡¯ve got some nerve showing your face.¡±


    ¡°Would you rather I went and hid? Doctor Ballard¡¯s ill, so I¡¯ve been told, making me acting chief doctor. It¡¯s my duty to come.¡±


    Maynard pouted. ¡°If you¡¯d just pick an appropriate uniform¡ª¡±


    ¡°Does now seem like the time to be worried about uniform? Doctor Ballard needs care. Who¡¯s with her?¡±


    ¡°I left Morton in her ward,¡± said Maynard. ¡°I meant to send Davis, but she wasn¡¯t here.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, Miss Emmeline,¡± Janna began. ¡°I only went to fetch Miss Tema.¡±


    ¡°Lucy told me what you went to do,¡± said Maynard, only vaguely concealing the threat in her voice. It was brimming with it. Tema could taste the seething. ¡°You¡¯re not to leave your post unless you¡¯re explicitly instructed to. And if you have any hope of finding somebody to sponsor your doctorate, Miss Janna, you¡¯ll learn to address your superiors in the appropriate manner.¡±


    ¡°Enough, Doctor Maynard,¡± said Tema. ¡°There isn¡¯t time for your posturing. Come on, Janna, you can help me.¡± And she strode past Maynard, ignoring the woman¡¯s glares.


    Janna had jogged with Tema all the way to Caroline¡¯s bed, run a dozen errands while Caroline was being stabilised. Two hours later, when Tema finally felt she had the right to leave Caroline¡¯s side, she broke down in the hallway outside. Janna was the one to hug her and tell her it¡¯d all be okay.


    Caroline, so strong and assured whenever Tema saw her, looked so suddenly frail in that bed, hooked up to a drip and with a bleeping monitor displaying her vital signs. She¡¯d assumed Caroline would be there forever. It was the same as when she was very young, expecting mother and father and Aunt Danyer to be there looking after her eternally. Long as those halcyon summers stretched, autumn always brought the leaves down eventually.


    This couldn¡¯t be Caroline¡¯s autumn. She was too young for it, too kind. The sun might as well have been her. And yet to look at her had been to stare the browned canopies in the face. To think of her gone... It was all too much to bear thinking about.


    Her head was throbbing. All of a sudden she was exhausted. Taking care of Caroline had sapped her dry.


    And it would be dereliction for her not to. She was the senior doctor. Hers was the final say.


    ¡°Stay by her side,¡± she told Janna. ¡°If anything happens, find me.¡± And she stumbled out of the ward, towards the calling comfort of her bedchamber. Sleep came to her before she was able to lay down.


    No dreams filled her sleep. The clock on the far wall mocked her, dancing around in her vision before coalescing on the actual time. She¡¯d slept for an hour, maybe slightly longer. It could just as well have been a single second. To her it was just the blink of an eye.


    She felt better though. The headache was gone.


    She took a brief detour via the staff kitchen to grab a cup of water, and headed back to check on Caro. Technically, she was coming to the end of her shift. In twenty minutes, she¡¯d be under no obligation to stay and work. Already she¡¯d sat ten hours at Caroline¡¯s bedside.


    Somehow, going home didn¡¯t feel like it was an option. What if Caro got worse while she was lazing in her own bed?


    Lily Day greeted her at the door outside Caro¡¯s ward. She had in her hand a couple of old rags, with buttons sewn on for eyes. She¡¯d had the same with the man Jem, in simpler times.


    ¡°More puppet shows?¡±


    Lily nodded. ¡°Doctor Ballard¡¯s enjoying them, I think.¡±


    ¡°Keep them up, then. Anything to make her happy. Just wash them after every show. I don¡¯t want you getting sick.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about me, Doctor Caerlin,¡± Lily smiled. ¡°I don¡¯t get sick. Never have. Mumma said I must have one of those iron immune systems.¡±


    ¡°All the same. Until we know what¡¯s wrong with Doctor Ballard, there¡¯s no reason to take risks.¡±


    She left Lily, and stepped into the ward. Caro was sleeping. The monitor behind her was blipping lazily, and Tommy Morton was watching it. Bab Flower was changing the linen on the other beds in the ward. Janna was nowhere to be seen.


    ¡°Is Janna about anywhere?¡± she asked Bab. When people like Janna Davis weren¡¯t where they were supposed to be, there was almost always a reasonable explanation for it. She¡¯d probably just slipped out for a quick bathroom break.


    Bab shrugged her shoulders. ¡°I can¡¯t say I¡¯ve seen her today.¡±


    Tema glanced down the ward. Bab was on the fifth bed from the door. The four nearest to it were all freshly made, the sheets stiff and starched. ¡°How long does it take you to do a bed, Bab?¡±


    ¡°One that¡¯s not too dirty? Five minutes. Ten if I¡¯m tired.¡±


    Four fives were twenty. Bab must have been in here for twenty minutes at least. There was a restroom directly across the corridor from this ward; there wasn¡¯t really any reason for Janna to spend that long in the toilet.


    Unless she was ill.


    Two close friends in one day was beyond plausibility, surely.


    The toilets on the wards conformed to the same basic design¡ªtwo cubicles at the far end, and a sink on a central bowl in the middle of the room. All of the visible wall space, for some reason, was mirrors, with the exception of the two feet closest to the floor and the ceiling, which were painted a sickly shade of green. Whoever thought it was a good bit of design, they probably didn¡¯t belong in the job.


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Both of the cubicle doors were open. There was nobody here, that much was obvious as soon as she stepped in. Still, she called Janna¡¯s name just to be sure. No response, just as she expected.


    So where was Janna?


    Wandering aimlessly around the hospital wasn¡¯t a good use of her time, especially not with Caroline helpless in a bed. But she was worried. Janna was the sort of person who would be frightened by the mere prospect of doing something she¡¯d been told not to do. She wouldn¡¯t have left without a good reason.


    Briefly, Tema¡¯s mind flitted to kidnap. She¡¯d used to love reading all those stories of people who disappeared without a trace. Her childhood brain had been morbid.


    She dismissed the idea. Who would kidnap someone from the middle of a busy hospital in broad daylight, on a planet hundreds of light years from the rest of the Unity? Someone foolish enough to try would be too stupid to pull it off. And even if they did, why would they want Janna?


    Viola Watling was wheeling a trolley of chemicals from a supply cabinet. She was close in age to Janna. They were probably friends.


    ¡°Viola!¡±


    Viola turned. ¡°Doctor Caerlin? Can I help you?¡±


    ¡°I hope so. I¡¯m looking for Janna. Have you seen her?¡±


    ¡°Janna? Janna Davis?¡± Viola thought for a second. Then her eyes lit up. ¡°Yes, I think so. She¡¯s the one with the mousy hair, right? And that stupid fringe? Quiet?¡±


    It was a bit unfair to describe it as stupid, but Janna did have a fringe. ¡°Where did you see her?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s on the reception desk.¡±


    Tema thanked Viola and headed for the central staircase, as always devoid of life. She took the steps two at a time. Her shoes clicked on the stone, loud enough to be heard over the roaring water. There¡¯s got to be a way to switch these waterfalls off, she thought. It¡¯s a huge waste. That was something to be filed away for later.


    At the bottom of the stairs, it was just a quick walk past the maternity corridor and she was at reception. Sure enough, there was Janna, sat looking thoroughly bored behind an empty desk. She was playing around with a pen, swinging it through the air like a child with a toy rocket. And there Tema thought skiving was supposed to be fun.


    ¡°Janna,¡± she said, in the most imperious voice she could muster. ¡°Did I tell you to attend the desk, or did I tell you to stay with Doctor Ballard?¡±


    Janna flushed. ¡°Miss Tema,¡± she said, rising to her feet. ¡°Miss Emmeline said I was wasting my time there. Too many people. She told me to come here.¡±


    Interesting. Maynard had never overruled Caro, when she was well. What could possibly be the difference here? She simply couldn¡¯t fathom... ¡°There¡¯s nobody here,¡± she said, gesturing to the silent reception. ¡°And there¡¯s an intercom if anybody does turn up. You¡¯re wasting more time here.¡±


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Janna said, head bowed and pale.


    Tema softened slightly. ¡°You¡¯re not in trouble, Janna. But in future, when Doctor Maynard gives you an instruction, you check it with me first.¡±


    ¡°Yes, of course, Miss Tema.¡± Janna jumped to her feet. ¡°I¡¯ll run back to Miss Caroline now.¡±


    Tema shook her head. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it now, Janna, you¡¯ve done enough. Shift¡¯s over. It¡¯s time you got yourself off.¡±


    Janna had been known to still be in the hospital working three or four hours after she was supposed to go home. She didn¡¯t like to be rude and leave when there was work that needed doing, even when she¡¯d been told it was okay to go. Often Tema found her stumbling in tired of a morning, having worked herself to exhaustion before she left the night before. She didn¡¯t want Janna to be exhausted. She stood at the desk watching until she¡¯d seen Janna out of the door.


    Then she went to find Doctor Maynard.


    Maynard wasn¡¯t difficult to find. She was sat in her office, cowering behind the soundproofed door. Tema watched through the frosted glass as Maynard supped on coffee, leaning back in her seat. An open folder was lying on the desk in front of her. She paid it no mind. Had she no concern for Caroline? No thought for the oath she swore to uphold?


    She knew it was useless, but Tema knocked on the door nonetheless. She knocked, and she knocked, until Doctor Maynard happened to glance her way. They locked eyes, and reluctantly Maynard got to her feet. And how she dragged her feet. Nobody whose age was less than triple digits would walk that slowly unless they were doing it deliberately, to prove some sort of point. From the sly look on her face, that was exactly what Maynard was doing.


    But eventually she reached the door, and unlocked it to let Tema in.


    The last time Tema had been in here, it was with Caroline for company. The reason was forgotten, but it had been early on. Well before Doctor Maynard had taken it into mind to look at Tema¡¯s file. She¡¯d seemed so sweet and thoughtful then. It was funny the masks that fell away when people thought they were superior. Tema would sooner take the duplicity of Maynard¡¯s mask than the unpleasantness of the face behind it.


    ¡°I¡¯ve just spoken to Janna Davis,¡± she said, deciding it best to be forthright. ¡°I¡¯d instructed her to stay by Doctor Ballard¡¯s bedside, and yet I found her attending the reception desk. Why is that?¡±


    Doctor Maynard shrugged. ¡°I sent her away. The ward was getting crowded.¡±


    Tema shook her head. ¡°See, that¡¯s nothing but a crock. Caroline¡¯s the only patient on a ward fit for eighteen. Are you really going to have me believe that it was crowded?¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter how many the ward¡¯s fit for,¡± said Maynard. ¡°Five¡¯s too many if they¡¯re all crowding around the same bed. As a trainee, I thought it best if Davis stood aside. This is a serious case, after all. We want nothing but the best care for our dear Doctor Ballard. Davis was best served at the front desk. So I told her to go there.¡±


    ¡°Who said you could do that?¡±


    ¡°Nobody said,¡± Maynard laughed. ¡°I just did. What, are you going to tell me I¡¯m not capable of making my own decisions?¡±


    Tema seethed. Little riled her more than smarmy people. ¡°You don¡¯t have the authority. There¡¯s a chain of command. Until Caroline is well again, I¡¯m in charge. She was very clear about the chain of command. Very clear that I was her deputy¡ªnot you, or Doctor Staniforth. Me. And that means I¡¯m responsible for her care. Janna was in attendance at Caroline¡¯s bedside under my explicit instruction.¡±


    ¡°You can play silly buggers with the rules all you like,¡± said Maynard, ¡°but I swore an oath to save lives, and Lightness take the rules if they get in the way. I¡¯m not beholden to your bad decisions.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no need to be disingenuous. Nobody was going to live or die because of where Janna was sat.¡±


    ¡°Then why do you care so much?¡±


    ¡°Because you undermined my authority.¡± Tema hated shouting. It strained her voice, pulled it down to the lower reaches. She quelled the shout as soon as it started. ¡°I need to be able to trust you to follow my instructions. If I can¡¯t trust you when it¡¯s not important, I won¡¯t be able to when it is. Do you see how our working relationship would be impossible?¡±


    Maynard shrugged. ¡°Then quit.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Quit. Your days are numbered here anyway, Mister Caerlin.¡± Maynard swivelled her chair lazily. ¡°So if you don¡¯t want to work with me, you can quit. And because I¡¯m kind, I won¡¯t even tell people what¡¯s in your file.¡±


    Tema could have thumped Maynard just then. Instead, she forced herself to think of pleasant things. ¡°I could fire you. You understand that?¡±


    ¡°Go ahead,¡± said Maynard. ¡°But then I¡¯ll definitely have to tell everyone the truth about you.¡±


    It was tempting, for a hot minute, to go for it¡ªto be shot of Emmeline Maynard and the burden of her past in one fell swoop. But no. Maynard would never have the satisfaction of victory.


    ¡°Are you threatening me? Using information from my confidential records as leverage?¡± Tema spoke soft and slow. ¡°No, you couldn¡¯t be so stupid. That would be far beyond a fireable offense. We both know I¡¯d have to call in the Constabulary. You¡¯d be arrested, and you¡¯d never practice medicine again. So clearly I¡¯ve misread the situation, and we were just having a friendly chat. Am I correct?¡±


    Maynard pursed her lips. ¡°You¡¯re correct.¡±


    ¡°Thought so. I usually am.¡±


    Maynard rolled her eyes. Perhaps she thought that Tema wouldn¡¯t notice, but if so she was so very wrong. ¡°What¡¯s your problem with me, Emmeline? And don¡¯t give me any more crap about Doctor Staniforth, because Staniforth isn¡¯t here right now. You have an issue with me. You. What is it?¡±


    Emmeline Maynard looked scared. No, bewildered. In fairness, Tema was a bit bewildered herself. She¡¯d come to Maynard¡¯s office with a rage, but not such a powerful one. ¡°You¡¯re arrogant, Tema. You act like you¡¯re better than everybody else, oh so superior, and nobody can touch you because of your special circumstances. Well, I don¡¯t give the slightest care to who you used to be. I¡¯m not Doctor Staniforth, I¡¯m a worldly woman, so don¡¯t paint me as a frightened little bigot. My issue is with who you are now.¡±


    The idea was laughable. Tema had been called many things, some so horrible she¡¯d consciously worked to erase them from her memory. But arrogant? There was no chance she was arrogant.


    ¡°Let me be clear: I am a woman, just like you are. If you have a problem with me, that¡¯s fine. If you think I¡¯m arrogant, then think away. But if you ever use my gender as a weapon to hurt me, as some idle fact you can respect or not as best suits your needs, your career here is over. So can I suggest kindly that you do yourself a favour,¡± she said. ¡°Grow up, and leave your issue outside the hospital where it belongs.¡± And she left, striding towards Caroline¡¯s ward.


    Only Janna was there when she arrived, sat diligently at Caroline¡¯s bedside. Too crowded? Maynard was spouting nonsense. A plastic cup full of yellowish water was resting on the table next to Caroline¡¯s headboard. That hadn¡¯t been there before.


    ¡°I thought I sent you home,¡± said Tema.


    ¡°Sorry, Miss Tema,¡± said Janna. ¡°As I was leaving I thought maybe Miss Caroline would need something, so I went to check.¡±


    ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°Miss Caroline woke up, and she asked for lemon juice,¡± said Janna, by way of explanation. ¡°Only, she was asleep again when I got back with it. So I thought I should leave it here for next time.¡±


    ¡°That was a good call, Janna,¡± Tema smiled. Though a better call might have been to go home and get some sleep.


    ¡°We always had lemon juice when we were sick, at home. It¡¯s a powerful remedy.¡±


    ¡°No substitute for medicine,¡± said Tema. ¡°But it can¡¯t hurt. And it usually tastes better.¡±


    Janna laughed. ¡°The lemons were bitter at home. Something in the soil made them grow that way. One time, my cousin had a virus, and the Lightness gave him lemon juice squeezed from the fruits of the church garden. He was actually begging for medicine instead.¡±


    ¡°Did he try cutting it with honey?¡±


    Janna shook her head. ¡°Honey isn¡¯t allowed at home. Dad believes that since it only serves to sweeten the taste of things, it should be cast aside. He calls it the first step on the road to Shadow. A trick laid by Malorre.¡±


    ¡°No honey.¡± Tema whistled. ¡°Tough life.¡±


    ¡°Dad¡¯s always getting ideas in his head,¡± said Janna. ¡°Nobody can talk him out of them. We even had the Lightness visit, to explain that there¡¯s nothing wrong with honey. The Good Mother ate honey for nine days in the Books, you know? Dad didn¡¯t know, and he didn¡¯t believe it either. He¡¯s convinced he knows the Books better than the Lightness does.¡±


    ¡°How did he take it when he found out you were going to Essegena? I don¡¯t recall much in the books of the virtues of stellar travel.¡±


    ¡°He gave me six bushels and told me to keep to a decent bedtime,¡± said Janna. ¡°He¡¯s not a bad man. Just a bit strange.¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t we all?¡± Tema murmured. She let her eyes wander over to the bed where Caroline lay, silent and still. Angry red pustules had sprouted all down her arms and on her neck. ¡°We¡¯re going to save Doctor Ballard, you and I. Whatever¡¯s the matter, we¡¯ll make her better. And that¡¯ll be a story for you to tell your dad. If he¡¯s not proud of you after that, he never will be.¡±


    ¡°Dad once said that the best day of his life was the day I was born. The second best day was the day I got into the academy. Where I¡¯m from, people don¡¯t go to the Unity. We work our farms for enough food to eat, until we¡¯re too old to work any longer, and then we hope our children care enough for us to keep us fed in old age. He wept when he learned I was going to study medicine. Mum would rather I¡¯d stayed at home and married off. If she had her way, I¡¯d be two children deep by now. She¡¯ll only be proud of me if I come back with a golden band around my finger. But not dad¡ªdad¡¯ll be proud of me whatever I do.¡±


    ¡°Unless you start a honey farm, presumably.¡± Tema stood, and pulled Janna up as well. ¡°Come on, it¡¯s time you rested. You must have done double your shift by now.¡±


    Janna stifled a yawn, as though her body had only now realised¡ªupon being told¡ªthat it was supposed to be tired. ¡°I could do double again,¡± she said, though she looked uncertain.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want you doing yourself damage,¡± said Tema. ¡°And neither will Doctor Ballard. Go on, sleep. I¡¯ll walk you as far as your dormitories.¡±


    Tema was yawning herself when she parted ways with Janna, and stumbling when she stepped back into her own chambers. She kicked off her shoes and pulled free the ribbon, and clambered into bed with her dress still on. By the time her head hit the pillow she was asleep. The warm air of the grove told her that she was back with Fr¨¦reves.

 38. Bloody Rainfall

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Macel ~


    Bess kissed the leaves with the gentle rainfall of her blood. She¡¯d pricked her finger on a sharp thorn lurking beneath the camouflage of a dew-drenched leaf; rivulets of scarlet formed on her skin and pattered onto the greens and yellows of the vegetable floor. It was a trail of breadcrumbs unlike any other.


    There was a calmness to the way she walked¡ªan assurance that the stars themselves would fall into place for her. She didn¡¯t care that she was bleeding. If she even felt the cut, she never let on. She just continued on.


    Flossie Mayborn had grazed her leg once, chasing one of Macel¡¯s friends on the schoolyard. Like Bess, she didn¡¯t seem to register any pain at all. That was until freckle-faced Eseld Morgan, who always clung tightly to Flossie for dear life, pointed out the blood trickling down her leg. Then she cried.


    The difference between Flossie Mayborn then and Bessily Edwards now was more than a decade. Flossie had been just a child, and of an age where most children cry at the sight of their own blood. Macel couldn¡¯t judge her for that. He hadn¡¯t outgrown his own tears until adolescence, after all. But today, Bess didn¡¯t look like she¡¯d ever shed a tear, even as a squalling infant.


    She had, of course. He¡¯d seen it. But that was the Bess of the night, the one who heard voices and saw strange pictures. That Bess had vanished.


    She¡¯d been whistling since Macel had met her at the stables. Most of the tunes were slow dirges, unfamiliar to him. On occasion he¡¯d recognise one. ¡®Effie May¡¯, for instance, or ¡®Once More My Sweet¡¯¡ªthe real melancholy stuff. ¡°They¡¯re the ones I know,¡± she¡¯d explained, when he asked her why she always went for the sad songs. ¡°The sad ones are the best.¡±


    The lake beckoned today. Bess promised she wasn¡¯t planning to spend another day searching for idols in the water. She just wanted time away from the confines of Plateau Watch. It would be wasted time without Macel beside her, she¡¯d told him. She¡¯d giggled girlishly as she said that, nestling her head on his chest and looking at him with those big eyes of hers. How could he have denied her?


    Last night at the kindling shed, the others had found it funny when he explained where he was going. Something about spending the day in the company of Plateau Watch¡¯s most beautiful maiden seemed to really tickle the sensibilities of Sam Preston and Matt Grogan and all the others who were incapable of saying more than a sentence or two to any woman they had an interest in.


    ¡°If that¡¯s the only way you can get a girl wet, I pity you,¡± Sam had said. ¡°I just need to look her in the eye.¡±


    Delie Rice stood over them with arms folded. ¡°You¡¯ve looked me in the eye before, and it didn¡¯t do a thing,¡± she said.


    ¡°That¡¯s not the impression I got the other night,¡± Sam had retorted.


    Delie had left the room at a fair pace, and Sam had followed behind her, neither to return for the rest of the night. It had been left to Matt Grogan to furnish Macel with exactly the sort of encouragement he wanted the day before he planned to ask Bess out properly. ¡°Are you sure you¡¯re not a serial killer? If I was going to murder a bird, I¡¯d probably take her to the lake. Tie something heavy to her leg and she¡¯ll sink right to the bottom. Nobody¡¯d ever find her.¡±


    He did have a point, twisted as it was. If Macel wanted to dispose of Bess, it would be easy to do. She was small, with a lean musculature, and he wouldn¡¯t need much strength to overpower her. He couldn¡¯t imagine why he¡¯d want to kill her. But he wasn¡¯t the only person on Essegena. Perhaps someone in the colony was a killer. Perhaps Bartley and Cailie and Warner were bloating at the bottom of the lake.


    Thanks to Matt¡¯s advice, Macel had slept uneasily, his dreams filled with sadistic killers and decaying bodies. When he awoke, he felt far from rested.


    Delie was alone at the end of the dining room¡¯s long table, making slow work of two sausages on a plate. When she saw Macel, she looked down at her food.


    ¡°Sam not about?¡± he asked, sitting across from her. Delie pointed across the room; Sam was huddled around one of the smaller tables, the ones fit for six, talking raucously with Greg Fentiman and Eric Scobie. Macel held onto his plate. ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    Delie looked at him, forced an exaggerated smile. ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± she said. ¡°I just needed a break.¡±


    ¡°Do you want me to go away?¡±


    Delie cocked her head to the side. ¡°If you would. Oh, and Macel? If you don¡¯t treat Bessily like she deserves today, I will hurt you.¡±


    He scooted across the room to Sam¡¯s table, and found a free seat there.


    ¡°There he is,¡± said Fentiman, as Macel sat down.


    ¡°You¡¯re not gonna come back all sappy, are you?¡± Scobie asked, shovelling a spoonful of oats into his mouth.


    ¡°I¡¯m spending the day with a pretty girl,¡± said Macel. ¡°I don¡¯t see how that¡¯s deserving of mockery.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s cause you haven¡¯t slept with her yet,¡± said Sam, as though it was the most obvious thing. ¡°I shag Hortense every time I see her. You¡¯ve been with Bessily every day for four months and you¡¯ve not even kissed.¡±


    Fentiman snickered. ¡°I bet there¡¯s something fucky about her. She¡¯s probably a secret serial killer or something.¡±


    ¡°A woman¡¯s a woman, killer or not,¡± Sam said, with a shrug.


    ¡°Yeah, but you wanna have a go on one knowing what she might do to you if you don¡¯t perform?¡± Fentiman took a swig of his vilsa juice.


    ¡°Bessily isn¡¯t a serial killer,¡± said Macel.


    ¡°No, but she¡¯s a weird one,¡± Scobie said. ¡°Happy one day and weepy the next. And she acts like she knows stuff. She¡¯s probably a Foresleeper or some crap.¡±


    Fentiman coughed up his juice. ¡°No way is she a Foresleeper. I thought they were all dead.¡±


    ¡°They keep on coming back to life,¡± said Scobie. ¡°Here, Macel, if she does turn out to be a Foresleeper you can use my knife to pull her guts out.¡±


    ¡°A knife¡¯s too kind for a Foresleeper,¡± Fentiman spat. ¡°Fire¡¯ll do the job just fine.¡±


    Macel left his breakfast unfinished. It wasn¡¯t worth eating if he had to listen to more threats on Bessily¡¯s life. In any case, he thought back to Matt Grogan¡¯s unwanted advice and his appetite faded away.


    Bess was waiting in her usual place against the fence. She waved at Macel when she saw him, and began to fix her hair. He wasn¡¯t sure why she felt the need to. It was perfect as it was.


    ¡°I can¡¯t get enough of this heat,¡± she said. ¡°I hope the weather holds.¡± She¡¯d dressed to make the most of it. Her clothes today were functional but sparse, light fabrics that covered enough to keep her modesty while leaving little to the imagination. He found his attention drifting to her breasts as she walked; every time he caught himself he felt dirty, lecherous, and he forced himself to either look at her face or not look at her at all.


    But looking at her face was worse, in a way. Her pallor had not subsided, even three weeks later. Maybe it had drained her to come clean to him. Maybe the ghost light had frightened her. Whichever, she¡¯d been less chipper since then. Oh, she wore the mask. She laughed at every joke, smiled at every compliment, did everything that was expected of a young woman with her whole life ahead of her, and she did it with an outward grace that made her look regal. If Macel didn¡¯t look deeper, he could believe that she was happy.


    A good look at her face belied the shadow underneath. Deep down she was cold.


    That was probably why she¡¯d stopped talking. Every word she said was a deflection. She¡¯d go through the usual niceties, the fillers said simply to pass the time. Sometimes she¡¯d even find time for a cynical joke. As soon as somebody asked her something real, she¡¯d retreat, back behind her armour of skin and powder.


    She¡¯d wanted to take a slightly longer route to the lake; the cleft carved at the foot of the Easterwood by that rushing stream would take them there via places unknown, so she thought. They¡¯d have to go around the hills that Plateau Watch was built upon, and circle around the great hill that the Easterwood grew on, but they¡¯d come to the water eventually. The stream had to rush to somewhere. And if they didn¡¯t, at least they¡¯d get to see some places that nobody else had ever seen. Macel had no objections to the idea.


    If anything, it allowed him to get thoroughly lost in his thoughts. Essegena looked a lot like home, at times. He could almost imagine that he wasn¡¯t on the far side of the universe at all¡ªthat he¡¯d merely crested the Tumper¡¯s Ridge and now he was on the other side of the Merrowain Heights. He scratched at the scar on his hand. It had been a sunny day like this when he¡¯d got it.


    They called the boy Raphe. Macel wasn¡¯t sure if it was really his name, but he answered to it¡ªin his sullen manner, and if he thought he might get an extra helping of that sour porridge. Raphe was what Tanis called a ¡®ward of the village¡¯. Neither Tanis nor Macel was privy to the politics that had led to his arrival¡ªthey only knew the arrangement as it was. Raphe was to be treated as any other boy in the village. He¡¯d learn the lessons, do the rituals, find a wife when the time came. But under no circumstance was he to go beyond the walls.


    It was a brilliant arrangement, in truth. The Donea children had jumped at the opportunity to be Raphe¡¯s companions. It meant being alone with each other and the boy, able to plan their escape from the village without the adults hearing. Tanis was going to become a writer.


    And then she fell for Raphe the ward. Macel never knew what she saw in him¡ªhis brown curls were messy, his face lop-sided, and his front teeth were chipped. But Tanis spent more and more time alone with Raphe. She grew angry at Macel for intruding, when Macel brought Raphe¡¯s porridge on a silver tray.


    He should have told Tanis her plan was stupid. She was his big sister, six years older, and he¡¯d always just figured she knew things. It wasn¡¯t until afterwards that he realised how little Tanis knew. She¡¯d been making it up as she went along. But she thought to elope, to run away with Raphe and marry him somewhere far away. ¡°I¡¯ll write to you, once we¡¯re settled down,¡± she told Macel, ¡°and then you can come and be with us.¡± Her plan was simple. On the eve of the Daughter¡¯s Day, when all the adults were preparing for the festival, Macel would help Raphe out of the tower that was his home, and beyond to the Heights themselves. Tanis would be waiting for them up on the hills.


    The plan would have worked, too, had it not been for Corrin Fleck. The twat-in-chief wasn¡¯t where he was supposed to be. He¡¯d been lurking at Mardy Handatt¡¯s croft, spooking Mardy¡¯s chickens¡ªand he¡¯d chanced to see Macel on the road out of town, and Raphe too. Corrin Fleck hadn¡¯t said a word as they walked by. Macel led Raphe to the meeting point, then went home to get a good night¡¯s sleep.


    He¡¯d awoken to half a dozen town guards standing over his bed, and his grandfather holding Tanis in a headlock. ¡°This girl would have brought dishonour to us,¡± grandfather thundered. ¡°And you too.¡±


    ¡°Fleck told us what you did,¡± one of the guards had grunted. ¡°Now you¡¯re to bring him back.¡± Grandfather handed Macel a gun, a wooden musket¡ªand no more words were said. Tanis had wept openly as Macel left the house, and got a tighter chokehold for her efforts.


    Macel had found Raphe, eventually. The poor boy was still wandering around the narrow clearing where Macel had left him, calling Tanis¡¯ name. He soured when he saw Macel approaching with a gun in his hand. ¡°You lied to me.¡± Raphe¡¯s accent was thick, but he spoke clearly enough. ¡°You betrayed me.¡±


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    And that wasn¡¯t the case at all. Macel raised his hands, to try to say ¡°no, not me¡±. He only had the gun because grandfather had insisted. And it was only because Corrin Fleck had seen them. He wanted to help Raphe¡ªhe¡¯d always wanted to help.


    But Raphe had seen the gun, and nothing more. Like a rabid animal, he attacked, lunged for Macel. The gun was thrown aside, lost in the undergrowth. Macel stumbled on a rabbit-hole as he backed away, and fell. Raphe was upon him. He scratched at Macel, carved deep gouges into Macel¡¯s arm, and the more Macel tried to fight him off the angrier Raphe became. The pain had been unbearable.


    Then there¡¯d been a shot. Macel couldn¡¯t hear a thing for ten minutes. He could see, though. He saw Raphe¡¯s arm explode in a splatter of blood, saw Corrin Fleck wrestle him to the ground. Raphe died that day.


    By the time they returned to Cad¨¦ist, Tanis had been cast out. Macel was gone within the week. How could he stay? He was the coward, the weak boy who¡¯d let an unarmed child tear his arm apart. And he was the boy whose sister was a traitor and a whore. Even Flossie would turn her nose up at him in the streets.


    He shook his head. He wasn¡¯t the same boy who¡¯d left to make ends meet in Pattinsdale. Why live in the past? This was the future. It was a much better place to live.


    The route was slow moving. The terrain wasn¡¯t hard, for the most part, but it was a mystery. The last thing they wanted to do was stumble upon a rabbit hole or some uneven ground, turn an ankle, and have to be carried back. And if they overshot, went too far before swinging west towards the lake, who was to say where they might end up. The further they wandered the sparser the maps¡ªand they wouldn¡¯t be the first to go missing.


    Eventually, the narrow pass widened, the left-hand hill peeling away. The way here was blocked by a small cliff, perhaps seven feet high. All those months ago it had served as an obstacle to Macel as he passed with Tema. He could just about grip the top with his fingers if he jumped, and from there shimmy up. Bess, the poor thing, couldn¡¯t get close. She had a few unsuccessful leaps, and Macel watched her all the while. ¡°Here,¡± he said, offering a hand, ¡°let me pull you up.¡±


    ¡°I can do it myself,¡± she said, indignant.


    Five minutes later, she relented, and he pulled her up. They sat at the top of the rocks to recover. Bess looked ahead, at where they were next bound. Macel¡¯s eyes never left her. Even panting and sweating, red-faced, her legs splayed out carelessly, she was a beauty. He wanted her. If she¡¯d only give the word...


    She caught his eye and smiled. Then she looked away again. That was the worst pain.


    Further ahead, the trees became more numerous, and their leaves greener. The ground here was littered with the debris of dead needles.


    In places, animals roamed, chestnut-furred mettysnatchers who scurried from one tree to another. They were placid, quite plainly unused to human contact. Sometimes they¡¯d sit there perfectly happily while Bess walked up to stroke them. Macel warned her away. ¡°Who knows what diseases they¡¯re carrying,¡± he said. ¡°The hospital¡¯s already closed up, so it¡¯s best not to risk it.¡± She brushed him off, but he noticed that she stayed away from the critters from then on.


    Some of the bushes that grew here sprouted fruits, gleaming berries of red and amber. They looked so good. It would be the easiest thing in the world to pluck one from its branch and take a bite or two. But to do that would be to hold a crapshoot between life and death.


    Bess pulled one of the big amber fruits off, rolled it between her fingers. ¡°Don¡¯t eat it,¡± Macel said. ¡°It could be toxic.¡±


    She smiled at him. ¡°You¡¯re sweet, worrying about me. I¡¯m not an idiot, you know¡ªnot all the time, anyway. Ella¡¯s a biologist, she can examine it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure she¡¯s got nothing more important to do than hold random fruits under a microscope.¡±


    ¡°What could be more important than looking at fruit? We need to know what¡¯s safe to eat, surely.¡± Bess threw the fruit up high above her head, then held her hands open to catch it. It bounced awkwardly, and she barely kept hold of it, clutching it to her chest. She shot Macel a devilish look. ¡°Or if you prefer, we could share it between us, right here and now. See who dies first.¡±


    ¡°Fine. Take it with you.¡±


    Bess tucked the fruit away in her little leather purse, hidden today in the folds of a linen jacket. She was heading towards a huge promontory rising out of the ground a ways north, topped by trees which cut the sky. The view from up there would be something special. That would be the place, Macel decided. There was no point making a big thing of it, just a casual question would do. ¡°Do you want to be my girlfriend?¡± or something equally unimpressive. What would change? He¡¯d want to kiss her, but sometimes he wanted to do that now.


    A sudden sinking cooled his feelings. What if Fentiman wasn¡¯t the only person who¡¯d want Bess dead? She might be ignorant to ill feelings towards her, but Macel wasn¡¯t. He¡¯d take on her fears. He rubbed at his scar again.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been doing that a lot today,¡± said Bess. ¡°I didn¡¯t know it bothered you so much.¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t, normally,¡± said Macel.


    ¡°Delie told me you got it wrestling a grimalkin.¡±


    Macel snorted. ¡°I¡¯m not that foolish. It was a man. Well, a boy.¡± And just like that, he was telling Bess the story of Raphe the ward. Every gory detail.


    ¡°What happened to Raphe, in the end? Did the gunshot kill him?¡±


    Macel closed his eyes and shook his head. ¡°They took him back to the village and tried him for a turncoat. He was guilty, of course. As a ward he was bound to the town, and yet he¡¯d left. He went to the block.¡±


    Bess had a blank look on her face. ¡°The block?¡±


    ¡°They took his head off,¡± said Macel. ¡°Least that¡¯s what I assume. I never stayed to find out.¡±


    ¡°They what? They killed him? I thought that only happened in the stories.¡±


    Macel shook his head. ¡°Execution¡¯s not an uncommon sentence. Far from it. This is a savage universe, Bess.¡±


    She¡¯d gone pale. ¡°Not Lakestable. Lakestable¡¯s peaceful.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s one of a kind then,¡± he muttered, casting an uneasy glance east. There, where the trees grew thicker still, angry clouds were massing in steel grey formations. ¡°I don¡¯t like the look of that sky. Let¡¯s head back. We¡¯ll get caught in the rain if we¡¯re not careful.¡±


    Bess pouted, but she didn¡¯t resist. ¡°I preferred it here when it wasn¡¯t raining,¡± she said. ¡°I wish it could be summer all the time.¡±


    They stood for a while, taking stock of their surroundings. Sooner or later, no matter which direction they looked, it eventually became hills¡ªsplendid things, behemoths crested with trees that speared the sky, rising high enough to make even a giant feel insignificant. This was a separate valley, far smaller than the Eia valley but just as lovely. From here no civilisation could be seen. They could pretend they were the only ones.


    ¡°Just think,¡± said Bess. ¡°The whole planet¡¯s like this. A thousand little paradises. You could slip away and start off on your own somewhere, and no-one might ever find you.¡±


    ¡°That would be a lonely life.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why you don¡¯t go alone.¡± She cooed, lost in a dream. ¡°Haven¡¯t you pictured it? You and me, perhaps a child or two, growing old together on our very own frontier...¡± Bess trailed off. Her face was crimson.


    ¡°I had no idea you saw me that way,¡± said Macel.


    She stammered a half-laugh. ¡°I don¡¯t. I mean... it¡¯s just a hypothetical. You were just an example.¡±


    ¡°Just an example? I¡¯m flattered.¡±


    Bess batted him away. ¡°You know what I mean.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just messing with you,¡± he said, ruffling her hair to reassure her. The action seemed to bemuse her.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Reassuring you.¡± As he said it, he realised how strange it sounded. She didn¡¯t look reassured, and he was hard pressed to blame her. If someone had started ruffling his hair, he¡¯d have been more than a little disconcerted.


    She pushed his arm away. ¡°Please don¡¯t,¡± she said.


    ¡°Sorry. That was a silly thing to do.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± She shook her head. ¡°It was nice. Just... too long. It got awkward after a while.¡±


    They locked eyes then, and he could see his whole life in hers. They were deep pools, and from them seemed to spring a trove of delights. He remembered the best piece of advice his father had ever given him. ¡°You¡¯ll know when it¡¯s time. If you¡¯re not sure, it¡¯s not right.¡± And now he knew. It seemed so obvious. Who cared what she did or did not see in her dreams? He wanted her when she was awake.


    Their lips met for an eternity. What do I do now? The kiss was an alien move to him; he¡¯d assumed it would come naturally, that instinct would take over and his mouth would guide him. Instinct told him nothing. So instead he closed his eyes.


    It was only a blink. He opened them to find Bess had released him. She was wide-eyed, blinking over and over as though she might wake herself. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have done that.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡± This time, he reassured her with only a smile. ¡°It was nice.¡±


    ¡°I wanted my first to be special.¡±


    ¡°It was special. You were there. That in itself makes it special.¡± He jerked his head towards the way home. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    She nodded, and he turned to head back. But almost as soon as he took his first step, he felt her hand on his arm. ¡°Wait.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°This way.¡± And suddenly she was walking down the incline east, towards the thick trees and the fury.


    ¡°Bess, no. Come on, you¡¯ll get soaked, you¡¯ll catch a chill. We can come back another day¡ªa drier day.¡±


    But she shook her head. ¡°It has to be now.


    ¡°What¡¯s the matter with you? You were fine to head back just now. All of a sudden you¡¯ve changed your mind.¡±


    She pointed at the ground. There were trample-marks in the dead vegetation, a trail which seemed to stretch on into the fledgling forest. Macel had come this way before, following Tema¡¯s lead. This was where they found Jem. Nothing had been trampled then. It was an animal, most likely, though a bigger one than the skittering things they¡¯d seen before.


    He shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m not chasing after an animal, not when we don¡¯t know what it might be.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll go on my own then.¡±


    He followed her despite his better instincts. ¡°You¡¯re stubborn,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯ll get you killed one day.¡±


    ¡°Being stubborn¡¯s what got me here in the first place.¡±


    The trees grew more numerous at an imperceptible rate as they passed through; Macel became suddenly aware that, in all directions, he could see nothing beyond them. The trunks seemed to thicken in tandem. Higher up, in the valley, they¡¯d been stick-thin, some of them little more than saplings. Here in the heartland, the trunks were stout and gnarled, and the branches twisted and bent like macabre contortionists.


    Too, everything became steadily darker. The burgeoning rainclouds had drifted overhead, and subdued the day¡¯s light. What rain there was barely reached them, though, crashing onto the canopy leaves with the roar of stampeding hooves but scarcely filtering through. Macel held his sweatshirt over his head regardless. It would only take a second for the gentle trickle to become a torrent.


    Bess seemed altogether unfazed by the rain. She wasn¡¯t dressed for it. Hers were summer clothes, for the summer day they¡¯d enjoyed as little as an hour ago. The water made them sag heavy as the fabric stuck fast to her. She walked on with rigid determination, not even raising a hand to wipe away the droplet which had traced its path down her brow, coming to rest at the edge of her nose.


    It was colder as well, he noticed. When had the temperature dropped? He wasn¡¯t sure, but he was shivering. The skin on his hands was a bright pink. Winter had arrived in an instant.


    In front of him, Bess stopped. She was shivering too, he could see. She was trying not to let it show, holding herself still, but it always escaped in the form of a shudder that rocked her whole body. Every breath she took was visible.


    It shouldn¡¯t have been this cold.


    Bess knew it too. ¡°Something¡¯s not right here.¡± Her voice was low and deep.


    ¡°We should have headed back when I said.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Even now, she was stubborn. ¡°We needed to come here. I saw him in a dream.¡±


    Of course. She was obsessed with her dreams. Best to indulge her, as long as she wasn¡¯t hurting anybody. But this was borderline. We¡¯ll stay, he decided, as long as it doesn¡¯t get any worse. If there was any hint of lightning, they¡¯d be going straight back to the Watch¡ªeven if that meant him picking her up and carrying her.


    ¡°He¡¯s here,¡± she said, in a screeched whisper. ¡°He¡¯s close.¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s close? Who are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°The soldier Bartley. The one who disappeared.¡±


    At once he soured. ¡°Stop it now. This has gone far enough.¡± He grabbed her hand and pulled her back along the trail. She dug her heels in; he was stronger, so as he dragged her she cut a shallow trench in the trees¡¯ litter.


    ¡°Let go of me, Macel.¡±


    ¡°No. I¡¯ll play along with the ¡®Foresleeper¡¯ stuff when it¡¯s fun, but this is too far. Robert Bartley is a human being, a friend of mine even. He¡¯s not some prop for you to use in your delusional games.¡±


    Somehow she slipped free from his grip. Her hand loose, she struck him with a firm slap across the face. ¡°You said you believed me. You said you respected me. What happened to that?¡±


    ¡°I said I don¡¯t think you¡¯re a demon,¡± he said. ¡°And I still don¡¯t. I think you¡¯re an immature child, too busy playing make-believe to grow up. We¡¯re going home. Now. And next time you should be less disrespectful.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not my father.¡± She was on the verge of yelling. Her top lip was quivering uncontrollably. ¡°In fact, you¡¯re not anything to me. Bugger off back if you want to. Thanks for teaching me not to waste my time with other people.¡±


    He watched her, and she watched him, and for a time neither made any movement. Her cheeks were crimson, and her knuckles bright white outside clenched fists. And there was rain dropping onto her face from the trees above. Bright red rain.


    ¡°Bess...¡±


    She folded her arms and turned pointedly away from him. Another scarlet rivulet dropped down, smearing her face as it snaked towards the ground.


    ¡°Bessily.¡±


    She turned with a huff, and sighed in exasperation. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s blood on your face.¡± At his direction, she rubbed her cheek with a finger. She looked at her fingertip, slick with the sky blood, and the fear was instantly palpable.


    ¡°It¡¯s not mine,¡± she said.


    ¡°It came from up there.¡± He pointed to the trees above her, looking for himself as he did so. And at once he saw the source.


    Corporal Bartley was there in the trees, suspended at least a dozen feet above them. His face was pale, his eyes unseeing. A branch from one of the trees was running through his stomach, like it had grown there. From the wound poured fresh, wet blood.


    Bess screamed.

 39. Sins Washed Clean

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Ian ~


    With its high walls of white stone, the Church of Lightness was an imposing figure in the Essegena skyline. Concealed as it was from the valley¡¯s township by trees and cunning placement, when it lurched into Ian¡¯s view it caught him momentarily short. A wave of doubt washed at him. Why? Lightness Skerrett had been happy to greet him before. Churches were meant to be happy places, bastions of worship. What about this one gave that uneasy sensation?


    Perhaps it was the lie he was hiding. Skerrett didn¡¯t strike him as the sort to take being lied to kindly.


    He¡¯d been reading when the news came to him. That book kept calling his name until he submitted, and he was knee-deep in the tribulations of Emonie, who had been cast out of her village for hunting more game than her husband, and who had responded by stealing and butchering every last animal in the woods around the village so the people there had no food to eat. Emonie was halfway through dying when Sergeant Pratley¡¯s knock disturbed him.


    At first he¡¯d been annoyed at the disturbance. When Sergeant Pratley was done, he¡¯d had no appetite for reading.


    Caroline. She was all he could think about, all through a sleepless night. His heart had grown heavy, and it had called him back to the church. The call was so tempting.


    Of course, Millie wanted to go with him, and he couldn¡¯t have her following him around while he prayed to whatever gods were listening for some sort of sign that his actions had been worthwhile, that his soul wasn¡¯t condemned for a wasted action. The arrangement they¡¯d come to was simple. Millie was to seek out Molly Bradshaw, befriend her, find out what her true motives were. The Bradshaws were planning something, that much Ian was certain of.


    In the meantime, he¡¯d be free to speak to Lightness Skerrett.


    Beside him, Millie grimaced and squeezed his hand. ¡°It looks ominous today.¡±


    So it wasn¡¯t just him. That was good. But that still left the question of ¡®why¡¯. He stared up at the church as they climbed the dirt track towards it, trying to work out what was amiss, and the more he stared the more it seemed to take on an angry form. The masonry was positively seething.


    Millie was still clutching his hand tight, her nails digging into his palm. He pecked her gently on the cheek, and she loosened her grip a little. ¡°That must mean we¡¯ve offended the Gods somehow,¡± he said. ¡°I told you to ease up on the sinning.¡±


    ¡°It was just the one orgy,¡± she said, gamely continuing the joke. Her timing could have been better, mind. They crested the hill and came into view of an ashen-haired acolyte who was well-placed to hear only the last word of Millie¡¯s sentence. He stared wildly at her in response.


    All the acolytes seemed to be about today. Two women in matching woollen pinafores crossed the track before them, carrying baskets full of gravel in their hands. Lightness Skerrett had explained that particular ritual last time, something to do with a story from somewhere in the holy texts. It had gone in one ear and straight out the other. Ian wanted to say it was in tribute to a woman who¡¯d been sentenced to do the same, long ago in the ancient times, but he wasn¡¯t sure. And if it was, he couldn¡¯t remember anything about her. Perhaps she was a priestess, perhaps a farmhand. She may even have been a queen. Her name might have been Hanna¡ªhe could swear there was a Hanna somewhere¡ªbut it could just as easily have been quite literally any other name.


    Thankfully, Millie didn¡¯t ask him what was happening. Or he¡¯d have had to make something up.


    Lightness Skerrett was waiting for him at the carved door, his golden beard tightly cropped and wearing a new scar under his left eye. He bowed his head at Millie. ¡°How wonderful to meet you, my dear,¡± he said to her, and then, to Ian: ¡°Could it be that I¡¯ve seen her hereabouts before?¡±


    ¡°You might very well have done,¡± Ian confirmed. ¡°It¡¯s not her first time up the hill.¡±


    Millie joined her voice to the chorus. ¡°I was nervous,¡± she said, nodding her head. ¡°I was worried I¡¯d be intruding.¡± She wrung her hands together as she spoke as if to spell out that she was still nervous. Though more about Ian¡¯s task than the possibility of being a hanger-on amongst the faithful, he thought.


    If Lightness Skerrett noticed her hands, he chose not to acknowledge it. ¡°There was no need to be nervous,¡± he said, working that smooth tongue of his. ¡°We¡¯re always happy for newcomers to hear the call of the Gods. Especially when they¡¯ve so clearly dressed for piety.¡± He gestured at her dress. At Ian¡¯s instruction, she¡¯d put on a salmon-pink sack of an outfit, of a cloth so rough it made him recoil every time he laid hands on her. It was as close as she could get to the uniform of the most faithful, the devotees and the chaste. It would help to ingratiate her with Lightness Skerrett¡¯s zealots.


    She blushed a pretty colour to match, and Lightness Skerrett¡¯s eyes narrowed.


    ¡°The Lightness has still to kiss you, my dear. You should not blush, unless you plan to prostitute yourself.¡±


    ¡°Sorry,¡± she stammered, turning an even deeper shade.


    ¡°Perhaps it would do Millie good to have a look around and get a feel for the place,¡± said Ian, before she dug herself in further. Skerrett, thankfully, nodded.


    ¡°Quite right. My apologies, dear, it was not just of me to attack you, when you¡¯ve sought out the right path. I would kiss your hand.¡± She held her left hand out. Lightness Skerrett took it and kissed the fingers gently. He waved an idle finger, and one of the pinafored women came over. This one had dusky skin and hair which hung in braided strands halfway down her back.


    ¡°Lightness?¡± The dusky woman spoke with a voice like a mouse.


    ¡°My dear Jael, this girl would like to know the wonders of the faith. Why don¡¯t you show her around our pasture?¡±


    ¡°But of course,¡± purred Jael, taking hold of Millie¡¯s hand. ¡°There is much to love here. I know you¡¯ll find it hard to return to the drear of the valley.¡± She disappeared to the depths of Lightness Skerrett¡¯s vast grounds, and Millie with her.


    Skerrett gave a smile, and fingered the pendant around his neck. ¡°Come,¡± he said to Ian, and led him into the church.


    If the outside was ominous, there was a power to the main chamber of the church that worked counter to it. The architecture here never failed to take his breath away. It had the feel of something greater than the hands that built it, as though it had tapped into a connection of some sort. Ian had read about infrasound causing strong emotional resonances before, often bringing about dread in the basements of really old buildings. It could be that something similar was at play here. Whatever it was, he could see how easy it might be to believe that a higher being walked within these walls. Certainly any unassuming child, not worldly wise already, could be brought to faith with a single visit.


    And then there was the smell. The great chamber of the church was adorned with censers, each one emitting the summery fragrances of the old country. This was the scent of fresh-trimmed grass, of warm lakes and gurgling streams and the singing of a songbird. This was the shade of the dovetree, and the love of the pretty girl lying beneath it with him. It hadn¡¯t been fragrant before. This was new.


    ¡°What¡¯s the smell?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Every candle is different,¡± said Lightness Skerrett. ¡°Lavender and honeysuckle, heart-thorn and marshgrasses. Together they make the most pastoral of aromas. We must always surround ourselves with the kiss of the earth, to remind us of the paradise from whence we came.¡±


    It brought to mind a lake, still and glistening in the sunlight. A lake could hold such evil shadows within its depths, but in the height of the summertime, from the safe vantage of the dry ground above the surface, it could be so sweet. ¡°It smells of home,¡± Ian murmured.


    He was taken by Skerrett into the Lightness¡¯ solar, where several acolytes stood, and there fed of food in plenty. There were all manner of fruits piled up in a silver bowl, bulging red berries and juicy yellow-gold ones. All his favourites were there, and some he didn¡¯t recognise at all. He picked out one the size of his thumb, a strange aggregate of violet drupelets which looked as though they might burst into juice at the mere pressure of his fingers. It exploded in his mouth. The flavour was sharp, almost tart, and curiously cooling.


    ¡°I¡¯ve not seen these before,¡± he said, holding another one so Lightness Skerrett could see what he was talking about.


    From behind Skerrett, Tim Fawley spoke. ¡°A local berry,¡± he said. ¡°We suspect it may be a poisonous one. I¡¯ll be watching to see if you die.¡±


    Ian gulped, but Lightness Skerrett chuckled. ¡°Excuse Tim his jokes, Master Fitzhenry. It isn¡¯t often he has cause to make them. In actual fact, that is the product of a certain strain of thistle found on Tol Manase, rare enough even there. I had some samples brought here with me at great expense.¡±


    ¡°Are they important?¡±


    ¡°No, not especially. But the flavour is divine, as I¡¯m sure you¡¯re discovering.¡±


    ¡°Why waste them on me? If they cost so much?¡±


    Lightness Skerrett laughed heartily. ¡°You¡¯re a friend of the church, Master Fitzhenry, and you¡¯re a man of this universe. The fruits are yours to enjoy as much as they are mine.¡±


    He helped himself to another, and another; it was almost unconscious the way he filled himself on these luxuries. He caught himself when half of the fruits were gone¡ªthey were probably there for the benefit of everyone, and there he was scoffing himself silly. But neither Lightness Skerrett nor Tim Fawley seemed bothered. They were watching him with expressions of calm disinterest. So sod it, he thought, and continued to eat.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you have come back,¡± said Skerrett, as Ian finished the last of those drupes. ¡°I have a request to make of you.¡± He pushed away the silver bowl and handed Ian a damp felt cloth. ¡°And a confession to make. I did not travel to the edge of the universe for the scenery, and neither did any of the other devoted. I came here to establish my church beyond the reach of the Unity, where their claws cannot grasp us.¡±


    Ian swallowed his final mouthful. ¡°That sounds sinister,¡± he said.


    ¡°It¡¯s not. Far from it. The Unity has pressed down on our freedoms for five hundred years, out of spite for our difference, and out of fear for the truths we espouse. Wars were fought to restore those freedoms, and some were granted. No longer are we prohibited from venerating our chosen saints, for instance. Alas, many of those liberties we enjoyed during the Era of Kings remain stolen from us, and the passage of centuries has damped the fire of revolt. My peers don¡¯t care to fight for what they don¡¯t even remember.¡±


    Stolen story; please report.


    ¡°Why not? If it¡¯s so important, surely they¡¯d still want what they used to have.¡±


    Lightness Skerrett smiled a sad smile. ¡°You¡¯d think so. But time presses ever on, and close on twenty generations have come since the death of free religion. This is where your help becomes so important. This might be a Unity colony, but it is not a part of the Unity, not yet. It is not beholden to the draconian laws of the Unity.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t make the laws,¡± said Ian.


    ¡°But you have a friend who can. The Governor. If you could persuade him to pay us a visit here, I have every faith that we can convince him to help.¡±


    Ian hesitated. ¡°Is that all? You want me to get Chris to come up here and meet with you?¡±


    ¡°That is all,¡± Skerrett nodded. ¡°I would be very grateful for that.¡±


    Why not, Ian thought. ¡°I¡¯ll speak to him,¡± he said. Something about being within the church¡¯s walls made him feel at ease. There was no niggling worry for Caroline, none of that leaden guilt that had followed him for his adulthood. Just peace.


    He could stay here forever.


    Just then, the door opened. Millie came in, beaming, accompanied by Molly Bradshaw. Molly was scarcely recognisable as the General¡¯s daughter. Her long hair was knotted into frayed braids, absent of the floral clip she was often seen wearing. There was no make-up on her face, save for her lips, which were painted blood red. A long white tunic, stained almost beige, ran to bare, dirty feet; when she walked, the fabric moved to reveal a nasty cut on the top of her foot.


    ¡°Are you hurt, Molly?¡± As much as he found her father loathsome, Ian had no ill feeling towards the girl. But she smiled politely back at him, and shook her head.


    ¡°An accident,¡± she said. ¡°I fell awkwardly into the river. The rocks on the bed there are sharp.¡± It sounded like bullshit to him, but he didn¡¯t push the matter.


    ¡°I hope you showed our visitor around,¡± said Skerrett. ¡°She¡¯s in need of some redemption, after all. We mustn¡¯t scare her off.¡±


    Molly bowed her head. ¡°I tried to be nice.¡±


    ¡°She was a wonderful guide,¡± Millie interjected. ¡°A delight.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± Lightness Skerrett clapped his hands together. ¡°And will you be joining us here?¡±


    Millie paused for a second. Ian tried to discreetly signal to her¡ª¡¯no, not yet¡¯¡ªbut he couldn¡¯t get the right line of sight. But then she shook her head. ¡°I¡¯d like time to think, if that¡¯s okay,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s a big commitment.¡±


    ¡°You are very wise,¡± said Skerrett. ¡°And always welcome to say the words. This can be your home at any time you so choose, dear.¡±


    ¡°Thank-you, Lightness,¡± said Millie, midway through an awkward curtsy.


    ¡°And what about you, Master Fitzhenry? Can I tempt you?¡±


    Ian shook his head. ¡°You don¡¯t want a man like me in your congregation. Too many demons.¡±


    ¡°Too many demons?¡± Lightness Skerrett seemed stumped. ¡°Can such a thing be possible?¡±


    ¡°Believe me, Lightness, I¡¯ve done bad.¡± He didn¡¯t really feel like going into detail. He just wanted to move away from the topic, before he found himself accidentally joining.


    Molly lifted her head. ¡°Perhaps we can expunge some of that bad,¡± she said. ¡°Before the rot sets in.¡±


    ¡°A wonderful idea,¡± said Skerrett. ¡°No man is too far gone to be pulled back.¡±


    ¡°I am,¡± Ian muttered. But the acolytes were up to something. Two sullen maidens, grey-skinned Silent Jen and the gaunt, flat-chested Boneskin Bets, sidled into the solar, carrying between them a pewter bowl. A metal shelf crudely stapled to the base of the bowl cradled a lit fire, which had the bottom of the bowl glowing ruddy with the heat. The permeating odour of cinnamon came with them.


    He momentarily locked eyes with Millie, before his attention was drawn to the stone idol Tim Fawley was holding. It was a woman carved of marble, perhaps two feet high. She was beautiful, her soft features clothed beneath a stone facsimile of the finest flowing silk gown that ever could have been dreamt up. Fawley held her over the bowl.


    And suddenly, there was a knife. Ian didn¡¯t know where it had come from, but Skerrett was holding it. Boneskin Bets outstretched her arm to meet it, palm of the hand facing up. The knife cleaved her flesh easily, making a deep rip four inches or so across. Boneskin Bets whimpered, and forced herself silent. She turned her cut hand over. The blood from the wound spilled down, drenching the idol.


    Skerrett stepped back, eyes closed, and spoke in an affected deep tone. ¡°The chaste and the good can by their blood avail you.¡±


    As if on cue, Tim Fawley let go of the idol, which fell into the warm bowl. The hiss and the splash told Ian that it was full of water, and a surge of steam gushed out.


    At once, the church seemed to gain the weight of a fierce storm. The walls darkened even as he looked at them. Was that thunder cracking? Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Millie slink towards the exit. One of the acolytes reached for her, but Silent Jen shook her head and Millie was allowed to depart.


    ¡°There¡¯s darkness in you. Your soul is black.¡± When Skerrett spoke it was more guttural than normal, the sound coming from somewhere deep within his chest.


    Ian nodded. ¡°The things I¡¯ve done... Is there a hell, Lightness? Tell me if there is. It¡¯s where I¡¯m bound.¡±


    ¡°No. No hell will receive you, Ian Fitzhenry, but for the earthly hell we all must walk. The day will come when a great torrent will baptise you. The rain will fall then like tears, tears for your dear friend. Oh, the pain will be great.¡± Skerrett seethed, his breaths rasping. He fought for them, one breath at a time. Then calmness overtook him, and his breathing grew gentle again. ¡°Your sins will be washed clean,¡± he said, ¡°and your demons drowned.¡±


    Drowned. What did Skerrett know?


    All of a sudden, his hand was wet, his entire arm drenched. Dani. She was there, lying on her belly. Her sodden hair was matted like ropes in his hand. Funny¡ªit hadn¡¯t felt so heavy when it was real. He¡¯d held her until she¡¯d stopped writhing, and his arms were aching, but when he let her go her head bobbed back up, and she spluttered for air. He¡¯d just let her catch her breath. She was disoriented to begin with. Then she looked his way, and he knew at once that she hated him. There was fear and fury in those eyes. She¡¯d had just time enough to spit out one word¡ªher last word¡ªbefore he pushed her back to the deep. ¡°Why?¡±


    Afterwards, as he dug out a grave for her at the top of the hill where all her favourite flowers grew, he¡¯d told himself that he hated every second of it. It was a monstrous task, but one that had to be done. That didn¡¯t mean he¡¯d derived any pleasure from it. He told himself that lie¡ªover and over again, until by the time Dani Carrigan had been committed to the earth he actually believed it. But the truth was that he¡¯d found it exhilarating, to take her life. He¡¯d enjoyed it. That was the worst bit about it.


    ¡°Master Fitzhenry?¡± The hand on his shoulder was Molly Bradshaw¡¯s. Her voice broke the memory. Dani disappeared, and he was back in Skerrett¡¯s solar.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± he said, hurried, so nobody would press the point. Dani was his secret. She existed for him alone, and he wasn¡¯t about to share her with anyone¡ªleast of all a bunch of zealots.


    Molly furrowed her brow, her red lips forming a lopsided smile. ¡°You went all stiff,¡± she said. ¡°I thought maybe you were having a fit. That used to happen to Mother sometimes.¡± He knew that Molly Bradshaw¡¯s mother was dead, succumbing after years of struggle to a long-term disease. He certainly hoped he wasn¡¯t displaying the same symptoms. Dying was the last thing he wanted to do. He¡¯d have no way of escaping from the ghosts if he was dead.


    Looking at Molly, he couldn¡¯t help but see traces of Dani¡ªDani as she was, before the water took her. She hadn¡¯t seemed so at the time, but she was so young. If only she hadn¡¯t caught Chris¡¯ eye, she might have lived a long, fulfilling life. She couldn¡¯t have been more than a few years older than Molly. Ian tried to imagine how the valley might react should Molly die. It was unfathomable. For so young a girl to lose her life would be a cruel injustice indeed. General Bradshaw would be crushed, half of the women in the valley would spend the week weeping.


    Just as the women of Borrowood had wept for Daniella Carrigan.


    He got to his feet and made a beeline for the exit. ¡°I¡¯m very sorry,¡± he said, when Skerrett stood to follow. ¡°I have to run. I think I ate something dodgy.¡± The sea of acolytes parted so that he could dash between them. He ran all the way to the valley, scarcely daring to blink, trying to forget what Dani looked like.


    Her ghost followed him all the way.


    Millie caught up to him at the bottom of the hill. He¡¯d stopped, breathless, against a tree to rest. At some point while he rested Dani had faded away. The darkness around her had lifted. A little brown critter watched him from the tree, one of the ones people were calling mettysnatchers. He was smiling at it like a prime numpty when Millie found him.


    ¡°Well?¡± He looked at her expectantly. Her face was stained with the faint smudges of a foundation that had been crudely and haphazardly wiped off.


    ¡°No dirt,¡± she said.


    He frowned. ¡°You definitely found the right girl? The one who came to Skerrett¡¯s solar with you?¡±


    ¡°Molly Bradshaw. Yeah. She was the one you described, wasn¡¯t she? Big, haughty.¡± She leaned in close to whisper in Ian¡¯s ear. ¡°Completely insane.¡±


    He laughed. ¡°Insane how?¡±


    ¡°I asked her how it was she came to faith. It¡¯s not from her father, that much is obvious. I thought perhaps she¡¯d go off on one about some handsome proselytiser with a honeyed tongue who cornered her in the street or something.¡± That had been Ian¡¯s instinct as well, that or she was faking it as part of her dad¡¯s scheming. It wouldn¡¯t have run against the modus operandi of the Church of Lightness. They liked to send their attractive men out to find vulnerable young women to convert. Skerrett was getting older, but no doubt he¡¯d been quite the draw in his younger days¡ªand his words were certainly convincing enough. Ian was half-sold on the stories himself.


    But if that wasn¡¯t the net that had caught Molly Bradshaw, what was?


    ¡°So what is it then?¡±


    Millie started to answer, but as she opened her mouth she began to giggle, to such a degree that she couldn¡¯t speak. She chittered away, bent nearly double, hands on her knees, trying to vocalise an explanation for her mirth. Every time she tried it started her off again.


    Ian kissed her on the mouth, and held the kiss for a few seconds as her eyes widened. When he released her, the giggles had stopped. She looked at him for a second, then reached in for another kiss. ¡°Sorry,¡± she said, when she was done, ¡°but I just find it so absurd.¡±


    ¡°Tell me.¡±


    ¡°She reckons she met the Gods.¡± The laughter threatened again, but Millie swallowed it down. ¡°Like, the deities themselves, in the flesh. They came to talk to her, apparently. Isn¡¯t that insane?¡±


    He mulled it for a second. ¡°Could be mental illness. Delusions. Easy to convince herself it¡¯s the Gods she¡¯s spoken to, and if the church wants to encourage that belief they can get themselves a free acolyte. Of course they¡¯re gonna tell her what she wants to hear.¡± The idea of Molly Bradshaw, General Mark Bradshaw¡¯s blood and heir, being a crackpot was sweet. Ian was a child again for a moment, rubbing his hands together gleefully. ¡°Oh, I hope that¡¯s the case. It fucks Bradshaw¡¯s ¡®bloodline¡¯ talk right over.¡± He rolled his tongue over his teeth, doubtful. ¡°I still reckon it¡¯s a trick though.¡±


    ¡°No, it can¡¯t be. She genuinely believes. I spoke to her.¡±


    ¡°Millie, the Bradshaws begin lying and scheming before they leave the womb. It¡¯s in their blood. What she says is probably as far from the truth as you can get. The sooner you understand that, the better.¡±


    She pulled away from him. ¡°So why did you make me go and interrogate her?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t make you,¡± he said, chuckling. But she didn¡¯t share the joke.


    ¡°It sure seemed like you did from where I was standing. You had me waste my time for nothing.¡±


    He shook his head. There was no need for her to cause a scene. ¡°It¡¯s only for nothing in hindsight. I didn¡¯t know what Molly was going to say, she might well have confirmed my suspicions.¡±


    ¡°Oh, and that would have been worth it?¡±


    ¡°Of course it would.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Millie was stood with her arms folded tight across her breasts, backing steadily away from Ian. ¡°Would she suddenly be trustworthy? If I told you what you wanted to hear, that would have meant she was telling the truth, but since I told you something else it means she must be lying?¡±


    He sighed. ¡°Millie, I¡¯m not blaming you for anything. You don¡¯t know the Bradshaws.¡±


    ¡°And you do?¡± He wasn¡¯t aware a person¡¯s eyebrow could rise as high as hers had. ¡°Have you entertained the idea that perhaps the reality is that you don¡¯t know Molly Bradshaw as well as you like to think, and not that I¡¯m so na?ve that I can¡¯t see the wool being pulled over my eyes? Did you only tolerate me because you thought I was just a poor little fool girl?¡±


    Ian tried to say something about her being unfair and unreasonable, but she didn¡¯t seem prepared to listen to it. She stormed away as he sputtered. And he was left alone, wondering why Millie Farmer had blown up so suddenly.


    Because it definitely wasn¡¯t anything he did.

 40. The Investigation

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ David ~


    ¡°Sorry to call you in at a time like this.¡± David smiled at Lieutenant Baxendale as he bade her entry. Her ever-haggard face was particularly sullen today. Heavy bags grew fat beneath puffy eyes.


    She tried a feeble smile. ¡°I understand, sir. Due process and all.¡± Her lip quavered, so she bit hard on it. The flesh pinched beneath her teeth shone white. ¡°Look, I know I haven¡¯t been all there these last few weeks. It¡¯s hit me hard, you know?¡± She¡¯d been a passenger around the tower since David¡¯s first day as Lord Constable. Most of the time she¡¯d been shut away in her corner-office, a room that always seemed to be locked and from which a faint sobbing could occasionally be heard.


    He nodded. ¡°I know,¡± he said, softly.


    Baxendale carried on. ¡°At the time I was too hopped up on adrenaline to realise quite what was going on. It didn¡¯t sink in until the funeral. I mean, I saw the body, but it didn¡¯t really look like Captain Mannam. The way he¡¯d broken on the ground¡ª¡± She shuddered bodily.


    David rushed forward, putting an arm around her back to keep her from taking a tumble. ¡°Sit,¡± he said. ¡°Have something to drink.¡±


    He sent for Gracie, and she went scurrying to fetch something from the kitchens. She was good for that. Not for much else, mind. If the day ever came when they had to defend the Tower to a man, little Gracie would be the first to fall. Her scrapes of arms were built for errands, not holding weapons.


    Lieutenant Baxendale had steadied herself a touch. She looked tired, shaky, but the quivering lip had stopped. ¡°Don¡¯t tell the others, sir,¡± she said. ¡°They barely respect me as it is. The last thing I need is them thinking I¡¯m weak.¡±


    ¡°Are you weak?¡±


    She nodded. ¡°Look at me, blubbering about my commanding officer. As if he¡¯d do the same if I¡¯d fallen.¡±


    David shook his head. ¡°Don¡¯t be hard on yourself, Lieutenant¡ªand that¡¯s an order. It¡¯s only natural to be upset. Mourn, for as long as you need to mourn. Build a shrine to Captain Mannam in your office, if you think it¡¯ll help. But don¡¯t convince yourself you¡¯ve somehow failed, just because you felt something when a friend died.¡±


    She smiled weakly, and he let her sit for a while, engaged in pointless small talk. She¡¯d been close by Richie Mannam¡¯s side for a good chunk of her life, all of her adulthood and then some. Of course she was going to take his death poorly.


    Eventually, Gracie came back, balancing two steaming mugs of coffee on a vinyl tray. ¡°Master Ellavon told me to tell you that if you want biscuits, you¡¯ll have to check back in an hour. They¡¯ve only just come out of the oven.¡±


    ¡°I think we¡¯ll survive, thank-you, Gracie,¡± David said, and she trotted out of the room. He wondered what she did with her days. She was always on hand when he summoned her, but how often was that? Once a day, maybe twice? There was only so much time one could spend ferrying hot drinks and snacks around.


    Lieutenant Baxendale reached for one of the mugs and pulled it in tight to her chest, nursing it with both hands. The rising steam seemed to paint the colour back onto her cheeks.


    Time to get started, then. At the flip of a switch, the microphone he¡¯d placed in the middle of his desk was engaged.


    He flicked through the pages of a maroon binder on his desk. That was where Captain Mannam had kept his daily reports, filed religiously, and brimming with details. The tease it was, it stopped the day before his death. He¡¯d never got a chance to complete that last write-up. ¡°I¡¯ve read Captain Mannam¡¯s notes twice over,¡± he said, speaking slowly at first lest Lieutenant Baxendale be reduced to whimpering again. ¡°He was a very thorough man.¡±


    ¡°That was his way,¡± Baxendale agreed. ¡°His notes actually helped my case against Corporal Arfon. You know he¡¯s in the Opteris House now? Some bullshit, that is. How come he gets to be elected to high office, while I¡¯m lucky to still have a career? Anyone would think I was the one who was harassing him.¡±


    ¡°The Unity¡¯s never been selective,¡± David nodded, causing Lieutenant Baxendale to harrumph. ¡°I think back to the night Captain Mannam died, and he was up by the big lake. That¡¯s a long way from here. An inquisitive mind would wonder what took him there. Unfortunately, his notes don¡¯t offer anything by way of explanation.¡±


    Baxendale shook her head. ¡°They wouldn¡¯t. The Captain always had me write them up for him over coffee when he got back to the office.¡± But this time he didn¡¯t make it back to the office. David filled in the blanks. ¡°We actually had a few reports of stuff up there. Lights and things. The odd horrible wailing. All filed with different constables, so you¡¯d probably need to scour every bit of paper in this place to find all the reports. We put it down to silly stories, but apparently the General¡¯s girl got a spook. He came to speak to Captain Mannam, and the next thing you know we¡¯re all off to see what was going on up there.¡±


    It all sounded very mysterious. Fanciful, even. David¡¯s inclination would have been to dismiss it as risible, but Lieutenant Bennett had reported the same thing, up at Plateau Watch. Something was going on, clearly, even though it was almost certainly not the ghosts Lieutenant Bennett¡¯s soldiers seemed to think it was. David made a note to look for some of these reports later on. For now, he let Lieutenant Baxendale carry on.


    ¡°He went all the way up to the lake, him and half a dozen men, to set up a camp and keep an eye out.¡±


    ¡°And you weren¡¯t one of them?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°I was down the bottom. There¡¯s a bluff just alongside the river, easy to clamber up to, and it¡¯s got a pretty clear view of up there. You were there. You saw it.¡±


    David tapped on the microphone. ¡°My memory doesn¡¯t go in the case record. This recording does.¡±


    Baxendale nodded. ¡°He wanted me to watch out for anything unusual, so we could compare notes come the morning.¡±


    ¡°Just you?¡±


    ¡°No. There were ten of us in all, I think, including myself.¡±


    ¡°And did you see anything unusual?¡±


    ¡°Not a thing,¡± said Baxendale. ¡°Least, not until Captain Mannam fell.¡±


    David took a mouthful of scalding coffee, bouncing it around his mouth until it cooled to a bearable temperature, and burning his every taste bud to submission in the process.


    ¡°You should blow on it first, sir,¡± said Lieutenant Baxendale.


    ¡°Tell me who was with Captain Mannam. Any officers?¡±


    Lieutenant Baxendale nodded. ¡°That would be Corporal Rawlinson. Big bloke, fond of the vilsa leaf.¡±


    ¡°I know Corporal Rawlinson,¡± said David.


    In fairness, Harry Rawlinson was a hard man to miss. Big was underselling the reality. Rawlinson was the stockiest man in the Constabulary, and a whisker off being the tallest as well. He was the sort who¡¯d take a punch to the stomach without breaking stride, then hurl the culprit twelve feet across the room as though they were made of air. His teeth were stained crimson from the vilsa leaf, a habit he claimed to have picked up on the frontiers of Kelsiern. What he was doing on Kelsiern never came up in the conversation, but it was a famously lawless place. It probably wasn¡¯t Constabulary work.


    Before he received Corporal Rawlinson, David enlisted the help of the passing Beatrice Melly to bring in a heavy armchair from the nearest empty office, out of fear that the skimpy wooden one he normally used for his interviews would break under the weight.


    Rawlinson arrived sweaty and with a bandaged cheek. A purple stain traced the extent of the wound beneath.


    ¡°I cut myself shaving,¡± said the bearded Corporal Rawlinson, by way of explaining the bandage. Shaving with a stiletto, by the looks of it. David had his suspicions about the truth of the matter. It was a poorly kept secret that certain among the soldiers had developed what they called the ¡®knife game¡¯, in essence an excuse to get very drunk and very wounded. If David were to have proof that Rawlinson played the game, he¡¯d have to open a disciplinary. That wouldn¡¯t endear him to his new charges. So he kept silent, and nodded along to Rawlinson¡¯s excuse.


    Corporal Rawlinson declined David¡¯s offer of a hot drink. ¡°Caffeine doesn¡¯t play nice with the vilsa leaf,¡± he said, ¡°and I¡¯ve already been down to the hospital once with palpitations.¡±


    What fine physical specimens I¡¯ve inherited, thought David. As if to prove his point, the strong chair he¡¯d brought in groaned and squealed as Corporal Rawlinson sat down.


    ¡°Tell me about the night Captain Mannam died,¡± said David, his voice even.


    ¡°It was bloody cold is what it was,¡± said Rawlinson. ¡°And it had been sunny all day, so I didn¡¯t bother with a warm coat or gloves anything. My hands were pink.¡±


    ¡°But you were up by the Lake with Captain Mannam?¡±


    Rawlinson nodded an affirmation. ¡°Watching for funny lights or something.¡±


    ¡°Which would explain why Mannam wasn¡¯t carrying a torch on him. Is it possible that he got turned around and stumbled a little too far? I¡¯d have thought a man like him would have better sense than to go so close to the edge, when the drop is so severe.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not as easy as all that,¡± Rawlinson grunted. ¡°The lake cuts quite close to the edge¡ªit¡¯s not much more than a couple of feet in some places¡ªand it runs at least a mile in the other direction. Fact is, unless you want to lug a boat up there, the only way to get from one side to the other is to hug the edge.¡±


    ¡°So stick to one side.¡±


    ¡°That was the idea,¡± Rawlinson nodded. ¡°The Captain wanted to make camp on the west shore, near to that funny church, so we wouldn¡¯t waste time looking at the lights from there. Nobody told Wrack, though.¡±


    ¡°Wrack?¡± The name caught David¡¯s ear.


    ¡°Aye, the reeve. The one who came to chew your ear off about his wife¡¯s cook. Smug prick, always strutting around. He turned up an hour or so after sundown, wanted to talk to Captain Mannam. Of course, he went up the east side, so we had to go across to him.¡±


    David nodded. ¡°And who is the ¡®we¡¯ in this context?¡±


    ¡°The Captain and myself, and another. Colne. We went over to Wrack, left Giant in charge of the rest¡ªgood Matheld she needed the ego boost, frit little cub.¡±


    Oliver Wrack often acted as an errand-boy for the Governor. He wasn¡¯t a part of the Borrowood gang, and he never would be, but he so desperately seemed to want to be. It had actually taken David by surprise to see Wrack confronting him, rather than just meekly taking the Governor¡¯s word at face-value. He could always be relied on to take Chris¡¯ side, and pass messages on for Chris, normally. The assumption had to be made that he¡¯d gone to see Captain Mannam on Chris¡¯ instructions, though why Chris would suddenly feel the need to send an urgent message to the Lord Constable in the middle of the night was beyond David.


    Still, maybe Corporal Rawlinson would have the answer. ¡°What did Master Wrack want?¡±


    Rawlinson shrugged. ¡°I haven¡¯t a clue. The Captain wanted to talk in private, so he made me and Colne hang back.¡±


    Bugger.


    ¡°And how long were they talking for?¡±


    ¡°Again, I don¡¯t really know. Twenty minutes at least. It started to get really windy, so I took myself back. The grass up there got really slippery, and I wasn¡¯t exactly keen on a one-way ride to the bottom of the valley. Plus, it was fucking icy, and like I said I didn¡¯t have my overcoat with me. I had respect for Captain Mannam, he was a good bloke, but there¡¯s no way I was freezing to death for him.¡±


    So Rawlinson was a waste of time, pretty much. David was glad to see the back of the Corporal, and the intact chair he left behind. It would have been a real ball-ache if he¡¯d managed to exchange a broken chair for just the faintest sliver of useful information.


    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡°Wrack seemed kind of nervous if you ask me,¡± said Colne, when David asked him. ¡°Kept fidgeting.¡±


    ¡°Might that have been down to the coldness of the night?¡± David asked.


    Colne shrugged. ¡°It could have been. But if so, someone needs to teach the man how to warm himself up. That poncy hopping isn¡¯t going to do shit.¡±


    ¡°Was he talking to Captain Mannam for long?¡±


    ¡°Half an hour, tops. And a good thing, too. Rawlinson fucked off halfway through, so I was just stood there on my own the whole time. Do you know how boring that is?¡±


    A memory stirred. That bleak day on the Couldhaven moors, waiting outside a ramshackle old farmhouse for a superior officer who was too dead to come. Two hours David had waited in the yard, alone to his thoughts and the bleating of distant cattle.


    ¡°I was with Captain Mannam the whole time,¡± said Colne. ¡°Wrack wandered off back to the treeline eventually, and Mannam just stood there on his own for a little bit.¡±


    ¡°And then?¡±


    Colne shuffled in the chair. ¡°It was raining pretty heavy at this point. You know what it¡¯s like when it rains extra heavy. We could barely see more than five feet in front of us, and that was before you factor in all the squinting to keep the wind out.¡± Colne spat. A globule of bubbling saliva nestled on the corner of David¡¯s desk, and there it stayed, watching him. He paid it no mind. Colne was still talking. ¡°Mannam obviously saw some sense at this point, so he started to head back.¡±


    ¡°So you were with him when he fell?¡±


    Colne shook his head. ¡°Like I said, there was basically no visibility. One minute Mannam was right there behind me, the next he wasn¡¯t. No idea what happened to him. I looked for a little bit, but I couldn¡¯t see him. Course, by this point it was basically blowing a gale, and the lake¡¯s so big it just makes everything stronger. I thought if I lost my balance I might get blown off the edge, so I checked right out of there. He¡¯s always been slower than me, Mannam, so I just assumed he¡¯d fallen behind. Wouldn¡¯t have been the first time. He loved pushing us hard in exercises, but he never did so much as a jog unless he had to.¡±


    David frowned. ¡°And you didn¡¯t hear anything of Captain Mannam, after you lost sight of him?¡±


    ¡°Not a peep. None of us up top knew something had happened till Lieutenant Baxendale turned up in the morning.¡±


    Baxendale had mentioned the wind too. ¡°It was a real bitter one,¡± she said. ¡°Came out of nowhere, an hour or so after sundown. We tried to keep on the bluff for a bit, but the problem with being up on higher ground is there¡¯s nothing to break the wind.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s the cliffs, surely?¡±


    ¡°True. Sergeant Poulton went to the cliffs. Anderson, too, and Onslow. Problem is, if you¡¯re at the bottom of the cliffs you can¡¯t see a thing at the top. If there were any lights, we¡¯d miss them altogether. I thought perhaps I¡¯d be able to see something from my tent¡ªnot as well as up on the bluff, sure, but better than nothing.¡±


    ¡°Did that work?¡± David asked.


    Lieutenant Baxendale shook her head. ¡°The moment I pulled the flap open, the tent stopped acting like a windbreak and started acting like a windsock. I know how to put the pegs in firm, but that was a wind like none I¡¯ve come across before. For real, I thought there was a chance that the tent would get blown away, and me still in it.¡±


    ¡°What about when it died down?¡±


    She nodded. ¡°I started back towards the bluff as soon as the wind stopped.¡±


    ¡°And you saw nothing?¡±


    ¡°By then, there was nothing to see. Onslow met me halfway to the bluff, and she filled me in on everything.¡± She sniffed then, and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. A long strand of yellow snot rested there. ¡°He didn¡¯t fall. Not the Captain. He must have been pushed, or something.¡±


    Pushed?


    ¡°Whatever happened, I¡¯ll find the truth of it,¡± said David. He had no idea if he sounded reassuring or not, but he hoped he did. He hoped he sounded sincere.


    It was late when he finished his questions, and a shroud of darkness had enveloped the valley. None after Colne had been of much use. Onslow said much the same as Lieutenant Baxendale, without some of the details. Rippen revealed that half of the soldiers up by the lake had sheltered from the cold with a good deck of cards, and hadn¡¯t even realised that Captain Mannam had left the camp.


    Rather than head straight for the narrow confines of his bunk on the Eia, David climbed the spiralling staircase at the heart of the tower. It was a calm night, the air still, and it was perfect weather for sitting on the balcony. Why the Lord Constable¡¯s Tower needed a balcony was unclear, but whatever the reason, it was there. To not use it would be silly.


    He rested his arms on the wooden fence that ringed the balcony and gazed out eastward. From this vantage, he could see it all. The wide street down to the Eia had still seen little use, and it was as tidy as the day the last slabs had been laid. Nobody walked the street tonight. A few nocturnal birds fluttered around the shrubbery that had been kept in place as decoration, and all else was still. Beyond, he could see the plaza, the heart of the town, brightly illuminated as always. People were there, many people, just sticks from this far away, the sounds of their voices long snuffed out.


    It was easy to imagine the scene from up close. Young men and young women together, enjoying the night in each other¡¯s company. David could well recall the smell of these raging hormones. It was the same on Opteris. The same on Jenat¨¦, and Arvila, and Tol Manase. Pick a planet. It was a musky scent of desperation, and it made him sick.


    But then, the desperation might have been his. He¡¯d never shared the experience of young love. Sure, there was Freya Warlin¡¯s girlish infatuation, and the week Petra Manelan had been doggedly pursuing him, but they didn¡¯t count. David knew little of love, but it was supposed to be reciprocal. He was supposed to feel something for the girls who were going googly-eyed for him. That had never happened.


    If only it could happen, just the once. Perhaps then he might be able to understand.


    He sighed, a deep sigh, and looked up at the boundless heavens.


    It was as a courtesy that he went to Oliver Wrack¡¯s household, bright and early the following morning. He could have had Sergeant Poulton fetch Wrack to the Tower, and save himself the walk, but the man was a useful go-between and had a strange loyalty towards Chris. Those sorts were too useful to piss off.


    The ground had frozen hard in the night. Frost painted the valley white, and any exposed hands red. It made the air seem heavier, more serene.


    David didn¡¯t go alone¡ªthat would be folly no matter how much Chris trusted Oliver Wrack. His complement of three, picked out with the help of Corporal Rawlinson, followed on behind him. People gave them a wide berth as they passed in the streets. One woman, a prostitute from Lilly Losada¡¯s place, underdressed for the morning frost in a lace garter and silk cache-c?ur and with a rouged face, bolted into a side street when she saw David coming, pulling on her overcoat as she went.


    ¡°Can we have a go on the whores, sir?¡± said Colne.


    David didn¡¯t dignify the remark with a response. Typical, though, that prostitutes had already made their home on Essegena. So much for the stringent selection criteria. It was as if the Unity actively wanted their soldiers to be distracted.


    They were met at the gates of the Wrack household by a piece of private security. He was a pimply kid who needed a couple of years still to grow into his uniform, and yet he made to keep David out. ¡°I¡¯ve instructions not to let the Constabulary in,¡± he said. ¡°If you don¡¯t back off, I will have to shoot.¡± The kid gripped his rifle unconvincingly.


    Colne and Hoult exchanged looks. ¡°Brave for a pipsqueak,¡± said Hoult. ¡°Don¡¯t trip me up, Colne. I reckon I¡¯d crush the poor kid if I fell on him.¡±


    ¡°The Corporal definitely would,¡± said Colne, and the rotund Corporal Rawlinson tensed.


    David gave Colne and Hoult the most withering look he could. ¡°Grow up,¡± he told them. Then, to the kid, he put on a kindly demeanour. ¡°There¡¯s no need for you to get into trouble. I just want a chat with your reeve.¡±


    The kid shook his head. ¡°I have orders.¡± But he sounded as though he was beginning to waver. The way he comported himself suggested to David that he wouldn¡¯t actually have the nerve to follow through.


    So he took a step forward. The kid gripped his gun a bit tighter, but didn¡¯t aim it. David kept walking, until he was right up close to the kid, looming over him. A stroke of fortune that the lad on the gate hadn¡¯t yet had his growth spurt. He wondered for a moment if he¡¯d made a misjudgement, if the kid would prove braver than he¡¯d seemed. But then the youngster dropped his rifle, let it slide out of gripless hands.


    David nodded a thanks to the kid and walked on, unimpeded. The sound of boots on gravel behind him told him that the others had followed.


    Then the kid cried out. ¡°Lieutenant Sharp! Lieutenant!¡±


    David cursed silently, as another soldier came running from the house. This was one was older, grey in places, with firm cheekbones. He didn¡¯t flag, didn¡¯t show any signs of having aged. This must have been Lieutenant Sharp. What was a lieutenant doing in private security? Did the man have no ambition? Someone of his rank should have been in a far more prestigious position.


    ¡°Sir, you said to call you if the Constabulary came back.¡± The kid¡¯s insistence on crying to a superior earned him a punch in the ribs from Hoult. A bit harsh, David thought, but he couldn¡¯t reprimand Hoult here. That would be to show weakness, and to throw away any chance of getting answers out of Oliver Wrack.


    Lieutenant Sharp drew his own rifle. Unlike the kid, he didn¡¯t seem to have any fear of the weapon. He aimed it directly at Hoult¡¯s head, and Hoult baulked. ¡°You attack my men again and I¡¯ll blow your head off,¡± Sharp roared, ¡°and consequences be damned.¡±


    ¡°Easy, Lieutenant.¡± This wasn¡¯t supposed to be a big deal. David would have a hard time explaining to General Bradshaw that he¡¯d caused a civil war to erupt in the grounds of a reeve¡¯s house. ¡°I just need to ask Master Wrack some questions.¡±


    Sharp turned his attention to David. ¡°I know you,¡± he said. ¡°Captain Clifford. Master Wrack said you¡¯d been promoted. He had no love for the old Lord Constable, but forgive me if I don¡¯t think you¡¯re any better. Coming here in the dead of night, stealing Mam Argent away. And then denying him the right to even see her in her cell. I can¡¯t promise Master Wrack will want to speak to you.


    ¡°But I want to speak to him,¡± said David. ¡°And I am Lord Constable, so he¡¯d do well to receive me.¡±


    Lieutenant Sharp sighed. ¡°Then we can try. Not your men, though. They¡¯ll have to wait outside the gates, I¡¯m afraid, or the Lady will kick up a fuss.¡±


    David frowned. ¡°Does Lady Wrack have that much say?¡±


    ¡°She wants the Constabulary dead,¡± said Lieutenant Sharp. ¡°So best not mention where you¡¯re coming from.¡±


    The house, nestled as it was in the folds of a gentle foothill, bore thrice the luxury of the tenements around it. Large trees with reaching canopies grew either side of it, stretching across to touch one another and roof the front grass, and above them rose the house like a gabled pagoda. It had four stories, each a touch narrower than the one beneath it, crested by a bell roof of storm-grey slate with a frame of brown timber.


    A little blonde scrap was cleaning the hallway as they entered. She took one look at David, then became fixated on the patch of wall she¡¯d already surely scrubbed to cleanliness. Sharp indicated a door across the hall. ¡°Let me fetch Master Wrack. He¡¯ll talk to you in there.¡± Sharp made his way up the stairs, leaving David alone with the blonde girl.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t a trap for me, is it, girl?¡±


    She shook her head and blushed furiously.


    Shrugging, wondering where his judgement had gone, he walked through the door Sharp had indicated. The room beyond was empty altogether save for a handful of bulky death masks on the walls. Of all the odd things to collect...


    For five minutes, there was no sound. This room had no hearth, and on a frosty day like this it was cold enough that David could see his breath. It was enough for him to start to wonder if Oliver Wrack was going to be joining him. Lieutenant Sharp must have known which parts of the house were warm and which were cold, and it wasn¡¯t as if Wrack was immune to temperature. He¡¯d be just as uncomfortable as David was.


    But just as David was about to make his exit, the door opened.


    ¡°Lord Constable,¡± he said, with a broad smile. ¡°How can I be of assistance? Has the Governor got another errand for me to run?¡±


    David shook his head. ¡°Official business, I¡¯m afraid. I¡¯m looking into the death of Lord Constable Mannam. Your name¡¯s come up a few times in my inquiries¡ªnothing to be worried about, I¡¯m sure, but I do just need to clear up a few details. You understand, of course.¡±


    Oliver Wrack had started his Unity career as an administrative clerk, before he¡¯d been headhunted by Chris for a place in the Essegena colony. If anybody would appreciate the need to properly cross every ¡®t¡¯ it was him. He nodded. ¡°I¡¯m happy to help you out.¡±


    ¡°Excellent.¡± David smiled. ¡°Now, I¡¯m not going to waste your time or mine with questions we both know the answer to. You knew Lord Constable Mannam. You met him on at least one occasion. So I¡¯ll cut to the chase: you were seen atop the cliffs on the night of Lord Constable Mannam¡¯s fall. That¡¯s corroborated by two witnesses.¡±


    Oliver nodded. ¡°I went to see the Lord Constable on the night of his death, that¡¯s correct.¡±


    ¡°Why? It was the dead of night, a rainy day. Why would you feel the need to hike all the way up to the lake?¡±


    ¡°I had a message from the Governor. He sought me out and asked me to find Lord Constable Mannam as soon as I could. It just so happened that Mannam was up by the lake.¡±


    ¡°What message?¡± asked David. Oliver Wrack was Chris¡¯ messenger boy of choice, that was true, but David was normally kept in the loop about messages. They all were. If Oliver Wrack had somehow become a closer friend to Chris than David was... he clenched his fists, forced himself to think of happier things. The Borrowood group were all he had. Chris was the only one he was close to. He would not accept that an outsider had replaced him.


    Oliver Wrack shook his head, scratching his chin. ¡°It was for Mannam¡¯s ears only,¡± he said. ¡°That was the Governor¡¯s instruction.¡±


    ¡°We both know the Governor well,¡± said David. ¡°Whatever the message was, I can hear it.¡±


    Oliver shook his head again.


    That made David cross. ¡°Look,¡± he snarled, ¡°you were the last person to see Lord Constable Mannam alive. And don¡¯t act like you were sad to see the back of him, your Lieutenant Sharp¡¯s disavowed me of that. Your wife wants to see the Constabulary dead, by your own Lieutenant¡¯s testimony.¡±


    ¡°Yes, because you took away her cook,¡± David protested. ¡°That was your decision. Mannam was already dead, it¡¯s you she wants to kill.¡±


    David seethed. ¡°I could arrest you now, Wrack, and I will unless you justify the fact that you were speaking to Lord Constable Mannam just before he died.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve told you,¡± said Oliver, firmly. ¡°I was delivering a message from the Governor.¡±


    ¡°What message?¡±


    ¡°That was for Lord Constable Mannam to hear,¡± said Oliver. ¡°Not you.¡±


    His obstinacy was proving a difficult obstacle. David would be hard-pushed to arrest him, without backup. He could probably outmuscle Oliver, but the moment they left this room, he¡¯d draw the attention of all of Wrack¡¯s private security. There¡¯s no way he could get the better of all of them. Oliver knew it too. There was a smug grin creeping onto his face.


    And then an idea.


    ¡°What were the Governor¡¯s instructions?¡± said David


    ¡°I¡¯ve told you¡ª¡± Oliver began, but David cut him off.


    ¡°Not the message. The instructions relating to the message. What did the Governor tell you? Exactly?¡±


    Oliver paused for a second. ¡°He told me to pass the message to the Lord Constable.¡±


    David nodded, smiling. ¡°I¡¯m the Lord Constable,¡± he said. ¡°So tell me what the message was.¡±


    Oliver swallowed. Reluctantly, he spoke. ¡°He wanted Mannam to search for a bottle. Apparently somebody had thrown one into the woods there, a glass bottle.¡±


    ¡°A glass bottle?¡± Chris had put Mannam on the case to look for the bottle David had lost? How had Chris even found out that David had thrown it?


    Oliver nodded. ¡°It¡¯s important, apparently. It had the antidote in it.¡±


    ¡°Antidote?¡±


    ¡°For his wife.¡±

 41. Before The Reeves

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Tasha ~


    Tasha was cold. Honestly, she blamed the clothes. The other day, Sesi had gone to the dressmaker¡¯s, and returned with all the fine fashions she¡¯d ordered at Tasha¡¯s request. As it happened, the timing could not have been better. Oliver had come home sullen later the same evening and beckoned her into a room away from the prying ears of the staff. ¡°The Governor wants to present you to the Council,¡± he¡¯d said. ¡°I¡¯ve heard positive noises from a few of them about the idea of a figurehead queen, but there¡¯s no chance they commit to anything without asking you some questions first. Don¡¯t worry. It¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    She¡¯d been reluctant, resistant even. ¡°Why should I do as the Governor says? Mam Argent¡¯s in a cell because of him.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a separate matter,¡± Oliver insisted, ¡°and I¡¯m working on it. You want the Governor to throw us a bone here, don¡¯t you? If you embarrass him now, he¡¯ll only double down.¡±


    ¡°Tell him I¡¯ll do what he wants if he lets Mam Argent go.¡±


    ¡°We both know that won¡¯t work,¡± said Oliver, shaking his head. ¡°The Governor can always find somebody else to play your part. Turn him down and you get nothing. Play along and you might get Mam Argent back.¡±


    So she¡¯d conceded. Oliver was keen for her to make an impression, so he encouraged her to dress up in her finest. For that, Sesi would be a big help. Sesi, and the pile of brand new dresses tailored perfectly to Tash¡¯s figure. There was but one complication. The dresses had taken a month to sew, and Tasha¡¯s pregnancy hadn¡¯t halted. As a result they were slightly tight around the middle, enough to make Tasha a little bit self-conscious. In the end, she¡¯d vetoed the more elaborate outfits with their hooped skirts and bodices. The more she¡¯d need Sesi¡¯s help to dress, the more her showing pregnancy seemed incongruous.


    Eventually they¡¯d settled on a looser-fitting gown, teal charmeuse with a decorative bow sewn into the bust. The way it was cut drew attention away from her figure. Unfortunately it was far from the warmest, with sleeves that barely extended beyond the shoulders. She¡¯d paired it with a thick woollen coat for the walk to Government Hall, but that had been taken by an attendant as soon as she arrived, while a frog-nosed soldier ushered her into a tiny offshoot from the main building. So there she was, stood surrounded by dark wood panels in a dimly lit sideroom, bare-armed and shivering. There were cushioned benches running along three of the room¡¯s walls, but the cushions were scratchy.


    The Governor had been waiting for them. He¡¯d greeted them as soon as they stepped through the door, looking tired with a day¡¯s unshaved stubble dirtying his chin. His clothes were wrinkled and scruffy. Tash flashed annoyed¡ªshe¡¯d made all this effort to look nice, and stood here freezing her arse off in a dress ill-suited to the weather, and the Governor himself was rocking up looking like he¡¯d just done a full day¡¯s stint.


    ¡°Lady Tasha.¡± He bowed his head towards her. ¡°You look resplendent.¡±


    ¡°Be careful, Governor, that is my wife you¡¯re talking to.¡± Oliver was chivalrous as always, defending Tash¡¯s honour.


    ¡°You¡¯ll have to wait here for a little while,¡± said the Governor. ¡°General Bradshaw will kick off if he arrives and there¡¯s a stranger waiting for him. Is that okay?¡±


    She nodded. What else could she say, really? No, fuck you. I want to go into the council chamber now. That would be an entitled thing to say. She wasn¡¯t entitled. Oliver would vouch for that, Sesi too.


    ¡°Are you nervous?¡± asked the Governor.


    Tash shook her head. ¡°Should I be?¡±


    ¡°Everything hinges on you today,¡± said the Governor. ¡°If you don¡¯t give a good account of yourself today, your son will never be a king.¡±


    She looked at the Governor, stood scratching his nose, and thought of Stini. Poor Stini, cooped up in a cell somewhere. No doubt she was terrified. Confused. And it was the Governor¡¯s doing.


    ¡°I want assurances,¡± she said. ¡°Governor, you had your soldiers come into my house and take my cook away. She¡¯s done nothing wrong, and still you won¡¯t return her. Your Constabulary won¡¯t so much as let me see her. Why should I play along with your plans, if you¡¯re going to insist on keeping hold of what doesn¡¯t belong to you?¡±


    ¡°Now¡¯s not the time, Tash,¡± said Oliver sternly.


    She turned to him. ¡°Would you rather I hashed this out with the Governor in front of the whole Council? It needs to be said.¡±


    ¡°Tash¡ª¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± said the Governor. ¡°Lady Tasha, perhaps it seems from where you¡¯re standing that I¡¯m treating Mam Argent unfairly. I assure you I¡¯m not. She¡¯s in custody while an investigation is ongoing, as is the standard protocol. I¡¯d do the same for any suspected regicide.¡±


    ¡°Stini didn¡¯t do anything, Governor. This is all bullshit and you know it. If Stini was somehow guilty, why would you have been so desperate to find an antidote from the woods? The Lord Constable died before your wife got sick. How did you know she¡¯d be sick at all?¡±


    A taut smile flashed on the Governor¡¯s face, and was gone then in an instant. ¡°We¡¯ll forget you ever said that last part. My wife is in the hospital, critically ill. And she¡¯s not the only one. There¡¯s something of an epidemic there, and it all stems from whatever or whoever poisoned Caroline. That¡¯s not something I take lightly. I won¡¯t be skipping any justice here, and if that upsets you then tough luck.¡±


    Tash shook her head. ¡°Your wife¡¯s ill. That¡¯s very sad, Governor, and I hope she gets better, but I hardly see how that warrants the theft of my cook.¡±


    ¡°The theft of your cook? The theft of your cook? People aren¡¯t chattel, Lady Tasha. You of all people ought to be aware of that, considering where your husband came from.¡± The Governor¡¯s tone was acidic.


    Tash blinked. ¡°What do you mean, where my husband came from? He¡¯s not a slaver.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll talk later, Tash,¡± said Oliver. ¡°Governor, ignore her. She¡¯s just cross. Overtired.¡±


    The Governor shook his head. ¡°Perhaps she¡¯s the wrong choice. There¡¯s bound to be another, Wrack. I¡¯ll adjourn the meeting for now, let Mallender find somebody better.¡± He was heading for the door.


    Oliver started after him. ¡°No, Governor, trust me. Tasha¡¯s the one.¡± He turned back to Tasha as he reached the door. ¡°Stay there. I¡¯ll make this right. And when everything¡¯s finished, we¡¯ll talk.¡± And then he was gone.


    Oliver had promised to stay with her, but he¡¯d broken that promise to follow the Governor into the council chamber. Why had he done that? The Governor was the one being unreasonable. Oliver was supposed to take his wife¡¯s side, especially if his wife was the one in the right. But he¡¯d gone. Only Lieutenant Sharp kept her company here. His gun had been taken from him before he was allowed entry, so he was stood against the door to the sideroom tapping his fingers frantically on his legs.


    Tash watched him for a while. It was therapeutic. She could feel the clouds of anger burning away, as she focused her attention on something other than poor Stini. ¡°Are you alright, Lieutenant? You seem on edge.¡±


    Sharp gave her a smile that was probably an attempt to be reassuring, though it didn¡¯t come across that way. ¡°Quite alright, my Lady. Just making music with my hands.¡±


    ¡°I think you need a new music teacher, Lieutenant,¡± she said. ¡°That beat¡¯s all over the place. Here, let me show you.¡± Tash moved forward and took hold of Lieutenant Sharp¡¯s hands, holding them in front of him. ¡°Music¡¯s all about the tune. The heart. It¡¯s more than just sounds.¡± She moved behind Lieutenant Sharp, never letting go of his hands. ¡°Good music is born from passion. It¡¯s sensual.¡± She traced his palm with her fingers as she spoke, leaning forward. Her face was pressed almost flush against his hair, and she could hear his breathing. He¡¯d tensed, she noticed. She did too. She relinquished her hold, stepped back. Lieutenant Sharp sat himself on the benches, as far from her as possible.


    What had happened? She was pregnant, with Oliver¡¯s child, and she was loyal, as a wife should be. Any aberration, even something that was there and gone in a moment, was beneath her. It was the base demesne of somebody like Tema, half a dozen steps declined from true propriety. Tasha had reclaimed her nobility. She was better than this.


    Lieutenant Sharp looked uncomfortable. ¡°My Lady, perhaps I should seek out the Governor. It¡¯s poor form to leave you here for so long. Very poor form indeed.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a procedure,¡± said Tash. ¡°Oliver¡¯s with the Governor. He wouldn¡¯t keep me here waiting if there wasn¡¯t a good reason for it.¡±


    As if he¡¯d been waiting for his cue, a sallow soldier stepped in. ¡°The Council will speak with you now. Through the big wooden door. Your guard will wait here.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be accompanying Lady Tasha as far as the door,¡± said Lieutenant Sharp, stepping forward. The soldier laughed.


    ¡°You¡¯re not in charge here. Back away. No pissant security guard is going to make decisions in Government Hall.¡±


    Lieutenant Sharp scowled at the soldier. ¡°This feels like a trap, my Lady,¡± he said. ¡°You don¡¯t have to go anywhere on your own.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a trap, Lieutenant,¡± she said. Either Lieutenant Sharp was very nervous or he was embarrassed by the touch they¡¯d shared. This was where the Council met. Why would they want to lay a trap for her? The notion was laughable.


    The soldier tutted. ¡°You should hurry along. The Council don¡¯t like having their time wasted.¡±


    And Tash went to put herself on parade.


    Every eye was on her when she stepped into the chamber. She could feel them all, boring deep holes into her. The Governor seemed stony-faced, though she tried not to meet his gaze, while Oliver had a genial smile. The others, the ones she didn¡¯t know so well, were all regarding her with expressions of interest. She kept her head up. Look forward. Don¡¯t get distracted. She was suddenly incredibly nervous. What if she fucked it all up?


    Even in the privacy of that sideroom, when only Oliver and the Governor had her ear, she¡¯d nearly blundered it all away. Perhaps it would happen again. Perhaps it was destiny. Being a queen was her dream. Father had strong views on dreams. ¡°A dream is something that cannot coexist with reality,¡± he always insisted. ¡°It is incompatible with the waking world.¡± He told her off whenever she dwelled on her dreams, and mocked her infantile expressions of ambition. He nearly laughed himself into a heart attack when she told him in all earnestness that she wanted to one day rule.


    He¡¯d be laughing again if she tossed it all away. So she would not. She would play the good girl, easily browbeaten, and go along with whatever the Council said. Even if it was plain bullshit. Even if it pained her. Nothing could outweigh the pain of proving her father right.


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    The Council Chamber was panelled with dark wood, varnished so much it all looked like it had been glazed. Bright candles at regular intervals kept it well lit, and made the whole room smell vaguely of smoke. An open bottle of chartreuse sat in pride of place upon a crenelated wooden sideboard, carved in a gaudy approximation of a castle but looking as capable as a canvas tent of withstanding a siege. The spirit which had once been contained within the bottle had been divvied up into a dozen glass tumblers, one laid before each seat on the long oval table in the middle of the room. The men of the Council watched her from their seats.


    ¡°You must be Tasha Wrack,¡± said a man at the end of the long table. His chair seemed to be raised above the rest. It was backed in green velvet, the fabric held on by round brass bolts. Something was carved into the wood of the chair. From this far away, she could see it only as a vague blur. A heavy gavel with a square head lay across the table in front of him, its handle resting on a hardwood sounding block an inch above the rest of the table. He had the handle in a light grasp in his enclosed fist.


    She nodded an affirmation at the man.


    ¡°We¡¯re all familiar here with your husband,¡± said the man. ¡°He briefly bid to be the Speaker of the Council. He was unsuccessful, as you can no doubt tell. George Prendergast.¡±


    Tash would have had some choice words for George Prendergast, in normal circumstances. Who did he think he was to impugn Oliver as unsuccessful? Tasha would never have married an unsuccessful man. But now was not the time to be picking fights. With the image of her father laughing at her firmly planted in her brain, she swallowed the vitriol she¡¯d built up and instead offered George Prendergast a demure smile. ¡°No doubt you¡¯re a man of great talent, Master Prendergast, if my husband failed to defeat you.¡±


    ¡°Are we going to be sickened by this flattery all evening?¡± said General Bradshaw, a man who Tasha did know. Oliver had never had a nice word to say about Bradshaw, and much as it was wrong to judge the man by how he looked, his appearance gave Tasha no reason to doubt Oliver¡¯s impression. Bradshaw had a hooked nose and a mouth that curled into a snide grin, and a voice that broadcast impatience. ¡°Why don¡¯t we get to the point? The Governor has set out a very unusual plan, Mistress Wrack. Another Council would have laughed his suggestion away at the first mention, but we prefer to listen. I hope our time won¡¯t prove to have been a waste.¡±


    ¡°I hope so too,¡± said Tash.


    Bradshaw fixed her with a stare, his beady grey eyes unreadable. ¡°If I were a cynical man, I¡¯d suggest that this was a ploy by the Governor to consolidate power in his grubby hands. It wouldn¡¯t be the first time he¡¯s tried it.¡±


    ¡°How would that be, sir?¡± She kept a soft tone, plead innocence.


    ¡°Your husband is well known as one of the Governor¡¯s most loyal allies. A lapdog, some might argue. Your sister has been named as Caroline Ballard¡¯s successor, suddenly thrust into a position of great importance, and over far more qualified candidates. Is it possible you¡¯re less than impartial? A co-conspirator, perhaps, in some scheme of the Governor¡¯s?¡±


    Tash shook her head.


    General Bradshaw wasn¡¯t done. ¡°A few weeks ago, a short while before the Governor first floated his notion of a figurehead sovereign, you attended a dinner at his chambers. What might you have talked about, I wonder?¡±


    ¡°The things a person talks about at a dinner,¡± Tash replied. ¡°The Governor invited my husband and I to join him. He¡¯s the Governor, so of course I accepted. It¡¯s an honour.¡±


    ¡°And why would the Governor invite you to dine in his chambers?¡±


    Tash gave Bradshaw a blank look. ¡°He didn¡¯t specify.¡±


    ¡°If I might, General, I¡¯ll answer this,¡± said the Governor, rising. ¡°Caroline had been down. I thought perhaps she was lonely. Female company¡¯s never been something she¡¯s had a lot of, though I know she needs it.¡±


    Bradshaw turned trenchantly to the Governor. ¡°As I recall, I was asking Mistress Wrack. Are you married to Oliver Wrack, Governor? If so, please accept my congratulations on your recent nuptials. But I suspect that isn¡¯t the case. The question was not addressed to you. Speaker, I must insist that you reign the Governor in, before he derails this whole interview.¡±


    ¡°The Governor provided pertinent information that Mistress Wrack didn¡¯t have,¡± said Prendergast. ¡°He was entitled to speak.¡±


    Bradshaw swung his head back to Tash, clearly put out. ¡°Just a day after that dinner, your house was raided by Constabulary soldiers, under the orders of the new Lord Constable¡ªwho interestingly is a long-time ally of Governor Ballard. Your cook was arrested, and unless the situation¡¯s changed in the last hour she¡¯s not yet been released. Now, the Governor wouldn¡¯t be using her wellbeing as a crutch to ensure your compliance, would he?¡±


    Tash swallowed. She hadn¡¯t expected to have to answer any questions about Stini, and now her throat had dried. She glanced at Oliver, who was steadfastly avoiding eye contact.


    She must have taken too long to speak. Bradshaw leaned across the table towards her. ¡°You don¡¯t need to be afraid to tell the truth, Mistress Wrack, not in here. If the Governor¡¯s leaning on you, now¡¯s the time to say it. We can intercede. You won¡¯t get into any trouble.¡±


    Why would she get into any trouble? She¡¯d done nothing wrong. ¡°The Governor believes Mam Argent had something to do with Mistress Ballard¡¯s illness,¡± she said.


    Bradshaw smiled. ¡°Clearly you disagree.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s not a killer,¡± said Tash, her voice raising. ¡°She wouldn¡¯t poison anybody. It¡¯s unthinkable. The Governor¡¯s just¡ª¡±


    She caught sight of Oliver, glaring at her, and shut up.


    Bradshaw was watching her with great interest. A couple of the others were too. ¡°Well, don¡¯t leave us hanging,¡± said Bradshaw, his voice like silk. ¡°The Governor¡¯s just what?¡±


    ¡°Uh.¡± Tash gulped. ¡°The Governor¡¯s just making sure to follow due process. When they¡¯ve investigated Mam Argent, they¡¯ll let her go.¡±


    ¡°And do you believe that?¡±


    ¡°General, I must protest,¡± said Oliver. ¡°These questions have no merit. You¡¯re just trying to goad my wife into a slip of the tongue, in the hopes she¡¯ll say something you can use against her.¡±


    ¡°These are absolutely important questions, Master Wrack, and that this woman is your wife has no bearing on the matter.¡±


    ¡°And yet it is a fact,¡± Oliver brayed. ¡°We don¡¯t ignore facts here.¡±


    Bradshaw shook his head, fists clenched on the table. ¡°You¡¯d take no issue if it was my daughter being questioned, Master Wrack, and don¡¯t pretend you would. I daresay you¡¯d even be foremost in asking these questions. You just don¡¯t like somebody daring to take your wife down from that pedestal you built to find out who she really is. The Governor¡¯s already siphoning more and more power into his own hands. Note how his good friend Captain Clifford has still to relinquish his position at the head of the expeditionary force. Frankly, it would be a failure on my part if I sat by and let the Governor invest such significant power as a monarchy in a puppet, through the kind of dishonest political sleight of hand he so professes to love. I have to be satisfied that Mistress Wrack is more than a pawn.¡±


    ¡°And are you? Satisfied?¡± The greying Ian Fitzhenry spoke up for the first time. ¡°Because Captain Munro has never seemed enthusiastic about your congress. I hope you¡¯re not blinkered by pent-up frustrations.¡±


    Master Prendergast rose at the head of the table, and bashed his gavel down hard on the wooden knob, the resulting noise driving Tasha momentarily to distraction. It drew every eye in the room to Prendergast. ¡°We¡¯re meeting to debate the Governor¡¯s proposal that Mistress Wrack be our nominal queen. This is not the time or the place for personal insults. You know that, Master Fitzhenry.¡±


    Bradshaw nodded, a smug grin on his face. He supped from his glass of chartreuse and set it down with a satisfied sigh. ¡°Thank-you, Master Prendergast. Now, as I was saying¡ª¡±


    ¡°This isn¡¯t your own personal interview, General,¡± said Prendergast. ¡°There are others with questions to ask. I suggest you be silent now to let them.¡±


    Bradshaw¡¯s face was ruddy, but he didn¡¯t make a noise in protest. He took another sip of his drink and shook his head privately.


    Tash glanced to Prendergast, and then around the room, waiting for the next man to speak. They were all men. She¡¯d not noticed it earlier, but now she had it seemed obvious. No wonder Oliver had been so keen that she toe the line. Half of these men were probably resistant to her coronation simply because she was a woman, and they unused to the idea of a woman having even ceremonial power over them.


    The next to speak was the oldest. What little hair he had left was wispy and snow white, and his face was heavily rumpled. One frail hand clutched tightly to a spindly wooden cane. This must have been Edward Ruddingshaw, the great legalist of a long-past generation who Oliver often spoke reverently of. He looked the sort to be doddery and rambling, but his voice was powerful. ¡°The old kings and queens took great pains to keep their ancestry strong. With few exceptions, they claimed descent from the Mother herself, and those exceptions rarely sat long upon their thrones. It was even said that the great throne of Belaboras was itself a phantom who brought death to the unworthy, and that the throne hall was floored in heretics¡¯ blood. What would happen to you, on such a throne? Would it be your death?¡±


    Tash frowned, her toes clenching in her shoes. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said, shifting her feet, ¡°I don¡¯t understand what you¡¯re asking.¡±


    ¡°Do you have the Emerald Blood?¡± said Master Ruddingshaw.


    ¡°He wants to know who your parents are,¡± said another man beside him, with piercing dark eyes and a firm brow.


    Ruddingshaw nodded along. ¡°Quite. Thank-you, Master Dombric.¡±


    Tash looked to Oliver, who was himself nodding, then faced Master Ruddingshaw again. ¡°My father is Nicolas Caerlin, Lord Reeve of the Caerlin Barrows. My mother was a milkmaid, until their marriage.¡±


    Master Ruddingshaw smiled, apparently impressed. ¡°The Caerlins have a long history. If there is such a thing as the Emerald Blood¡ªif the Mother was ever real, and if her descendants still live¡ªthen undoubtedly it lingers in the Caerlin line. Well done, Governor, you¡¯ve chosen well.¡±


    ¡°You understand the scope of what¡¯s being proposed? The limitations?¡± That was Master Dombric again. ¡°This will not be queenship as Marguerite enjoyed, an unrivalled right to make decisions. Think of it more along the lines of Frevisse of the Wrend, or Catherine the Aguehearted, or another of the latter-day queens.¡±


    ¡°There will be titles and grandeur,¡± said Master Prendergast, ¡°but the decisions will rest here, with the Council.¡±


    Tash nodded. ¡°When I was a girl, I used to dream about being a queen one day. What girl doesn¡¯t? The part where I had to make decisions seemed like a chore. I¡¯d sometimes wish I could have all the fun parts of being a queen, even though all the queens were dead, but without the boring bits. This is my dream.¡±


    The Governor rose to speak. ¡°I¡¯d counsel you that this isn¡¯t going to be a storybook. There will be responsibilities, and you won¡¯t be able to hide from them. Not ever. If you are declared queen, your life becomes an object of public record. Forever. The life you used to enjoy will be lost to you, even if you decide you want nothing more than to go back to how things once were. Once the bottle¡¯s opened, no hand can push the contents back inside.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve come here,¡± said Tash. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t, if I didn¡¯t know what I was in for.¡±


    ¡°And the child is yours?¡± said a greying man with a beefy neck. Tash looked at him like he was insane.


    In fairness, so did the rest of the council. A couple burst into laughter. ¡°She¡¯s carrying the child inside her,¡± said Fitzhenry. ¡°I hardly think her motherhood is in doubt.¡±


    ¡°I took you for a biologist, Stockton,¡± said Bradshaw. ¡°Was I wrong?¡±


    Master Stockton averted his gaze, but stayed resolute. ¡°I¡¯m well aware of the fundamentals of reproduction,¡± he said. ¡°My question was for her husband.¡± He pointed a stubby finger at Oliver. ¡°It would be embarrassing if we proclaimed Mistress Wrack as queen, for her infidelity to come to light later.¡±


    ¡°What are you implying?¡± Oliver shouted.


    Tash felt like shouting, too. But she thought of her father laughing at her, the way he had when she told him she¡¯d met a man and left the medical academy, calling her a ¡®stupid girl who can¡¯t even see her dreams through¡¯. The thought kept her voice calm. ¡°I¡¯ve been a faithful wife,¡± she said. ¡°My son is Oliver¡¯s.¡±


    Master Stockton nodded. ¡°Very good. In that case, I have no cause for concern.¡±


    More questions followed, until Tash began to grow dizzy at the constant looking left and right to whoever had decided to speak. Her throat was dry, and the chartreuse bottle emptied, when at last the questions ran out.


    ¡°Right then,¡± said Prendergast at last, bringing down his gavel to break a prolonged silence. ¡°We move on to the next business. Mistress Wrack, this is where you leave us.¡±


    ¡°Jon will see you home safe,¡± said Oliver, rising to accompany her out of the room. ¡°And I¡¯ll come to you as soon as I¡¯m done here.¡±


    ¡°What did they all think?¡± Tash had no idea where the Council stood on the proposals. She¡¯d been under the impression that her monarchy would be ratified today, but she was none the wiser.


    Oliver looked at her. ¡°It¡¯s too soon to say,¡± he said, softly. ¡°There¡¯ll be more arguments, more votes. It might be a week before we have clarity.¡±


    ¡°A week?¡±


    ¡°Or more.¡± He looked across to Prendergast, who was watching with an expression of displeasure and his gavel poised in the air. ¡°Look, Tash, you do need to go now. It¡¯ll only prejudice the Council against you if you stay. Whatever they decide, at the moment you¡¯re just the wife of a reeve.¡± He blew a kiss her way, and she caught it in her hand.


    Lieutenant Sharp was waiting for her outside the door. ¡°How did it go, my Lady?¡±


    She looked blankly at him. ¡°I wish I knew, Lieutenant. Well, I hope.¡±


    Sharp kneeled before her suddenly, his head bowed. Tash froze. What was he doing? But he looked up to her with an earnest smile. ¡°If it went well, let me be the first to congratulate you. My Queen.¡±


    My Queen. The address was so nice in her ears, like a loving kiss, but strange, like a love¡¯s first kiss. She¡¯d be hearing it far more, if the Council approved, but she felt now like she didn¡¯t need their approval. They were just a group of old men who thought their bluster had substance. What did it matter what they thought? She was a Queen. Queen Tasha the First.

 42. Conditions of Departure

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Macel ~


    They carried his body in a deathly-slow procession, dressed up in a freshly starched uniform and covered over by a white linen sheet. Speke the horsemaster brought Robert Bartley into town on the back of a wooden spindlewheel cart, pulled by Claine the gelding dray. A dozen soldiers followed in sombre formation. Day had been breaking when they left Plateau Watch. It was near noon when they came down the slope and into the town.


    Lieutenant Bennett had sent somebody on ahead as a herald. The dusty streets were empty as they passed, but crowds of people gathered at the sides to watch. As the procession moved through the plaza, shopkeepers gathered on their doorsteps. The goodwife who ran the Tavern dipped her head in solemnity.


    Captain Clifford met them at the Lord Constable¡¯s Tower, at the foot of the great carved steps. He was joined there by General Bradshaw, and some others Macel didn¡¯t recognise: a man wearing a puce doublet and a wine-red felt hat, with his eyes painted the same colour as his clothes; a greying soldier with a patch over his left eye; a gaunt woman in Constabulary green-and-yellow. The Governor stood to one side, his face unreadable. Beside him, the Corrack¡¯s face was like thunder.


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t look too happy,¡± Sam whispered.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think anybody does,¡± said Macel. Nobody was smiling. Even the sky had greyed today.


    The guard on the gate had scoffed when Macel said he¡¯d found Bartley¡¯s body. Sam had been the first one to believe him. Both Macel and Bess were soaked through by the rain by the time they returned to Plateau Watch. Sam had lit the fire in the grand stone hearth of the dining room, and Macel and Bess dried there in front of it. By the time the chill and the damp had been excised from his clothes, Sam had gathered a couple of others¡ªTucker and Venneden, Shroot and Scobie. Bess had fallen asleep; she¡¯d not said a word since they¡¯d found Bartley¡¯s body. They left her sleeping. She¡¯d gone before they brought Bartley back, off to her own bed in Speke¡¯s cottage.


    Speke himself was one of Sam¡¯s few, owing to his access to the horses, and some perceived fraternity with the soldiers. One of his stablehands back in the valley, Bessily¡¯s friend Inge, had married a soldier from the Constabulary, a man called Yarwood, in a marriage without courtship.


    Speke took two of the drays as far as the small valley, and there waited while Macel and Sam and a couple of the others went forth to retrieve Bartley¡¯s body. The storm had begun to subside by then, but there was a tepid drizzle, and dusk was quick arriving.


    Strangely, the ground was dry around Bartley¡¯s body. They found it easy enough, pinned in place by pointed branches above a pool of dried blood. The grass there seemed as though it hadn¡¯t seen rain in a week or more, even though the canopy was porous enough to let water through everywhere else in these woods.


    Getting the body from its arboreal rest was a chore in itself, and one they¡¯d not really come equipped for. In the end, Sam had shinnied up a nearby trunk and cut loose the branch which had Corporal Bartley in its grip. The poor Corporal fell with a thud to the ground, less a few scrapes of gristle which nobody fancied pulling out of the trees. His eyes were glassy, and his mouth contorted in fear. Macel hoped he¡¯d not lived long with the tree cutting at his innards. Blood was all around the dead man¡¯s mouth, though, and Venneden reckoned that meant he¡¯d suffered.


    Lieutenant Bennett had insisted that they go to Captain Clifford at the first breath of morning. Macel had hoped to catch Bess before they left, but there was no sign of her on the yard. He wondered how her nightmares had been last night¡ªor if she even cared a jot for him anymore. There¡¯d have been no cause for complaint if she didn¡¯t. He¡¯d been rude to her, dismissive, and she¡¯d been right after all. He should have known she would be. How many nights had he spent with her, talking for hours? She deserved a bit of trust. Even if she¡¯d been wrong about Corporal Bartley, Bess wouldn¡¯t have mentioned him unless she truly believed he was there. Yet Macel had immediately jumped to berating her.


    It was wet, he told himself, over and over again in the half-drowse that had been his night¡¯s sleep¡ªit was wet, and he was tired. As if that excused him. Bess deserved better.


    Did she even know where he¡¯d gone? She may well have woken to find him gone, and assumed he was avoiding her.


    Lieutenant Bennett, leading the procession, gestured to the group to stop. For once, she¡¯d worn her own uniform according to the standards, boots and all. At the Watch, she liked to walk around barefoot. The wooden floors must have given her many splinters. Talk around the fort was that Sergeant Donnelly would visit her in her office each evening, and pick the splinters out.


    She stood with her arms clasped behind her back as the Governor approached her. ¡°Thank-you for returning him, Lieutenant,¡± he said. ¡°He¡¯ll rest with the others.¡±


    Others. Macel felt his blood chill. Had they found Warner and Cailie? Were they dead too?


    General Bradshaw hopped down the steps. He whispered something terse in the Governor¡¯s ear, then stepped away, a broad and false smile plastered on his face.


    ¡°And now the General¡¯s beaming like he¡¯s just been made king,¡± Sam moaned, loud enough that one of the Constabulary guards at the roadside took notice and glared at him. ¡°Is today supposed to be happy or sad? I can¡¯t keep track anymore.¡±


    ¡°Delie would make a joke about that,¡± said Macel, and Sam concurred.


    ¡°She¡¯ll make a joke about anything, so long as it¡¯s at my expense. Droll bitch.¡±


    ¡°You know she doesn¡¯t like that word,¡± Macel chided.


    Sam shrugged. ¡°There¡¯s a lot of things she doesn¡¯t like. She has to get used to them.¡±


    General Bradshaw took over custody of Bartley¡¯s body, leading a handful of his own soldiers away with it, and the gathering dispersed. Lieutenant Bennett spoke for a short while with the Governor and Captain Clifford, stopping to look at Macel more than once while she did so. Neither man seemed impressed with the conversation.


    ¡°They¡¯re not happy with you,¡± said Sam.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be an idiot.¡± Macel knew what they were talking about, well enough that he fancied he could transcribe their conversation without hearing a word. The Governor would want to know who it was had the misfortune to find poor Bartley, and naturally Lieutenant Bennett would point out Macel.


    He knew what they were talking about, but that didn¡¯t stop him from fearing the worst when the three of them suddenly started walking directly towards him. Bennett came first. The grim expression of mourning she¡¯d worn since they laid Bartley at her feet was gone, replaced by the sour irritation which she always displayed.


    ¡°Donea,¡± she barked, ¡°Captain Clifford wants a word with you.¡±


    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to be waiting long. See you¡¯re quick back,¡± she said, ¡°else I¡¯m sure Mistress Rice would appreciate some help with the scrubbing.¡±


    They walked from the Lord Constable¡¯s Tower, down the western road towards the Plaza. Captain Clifford marched briskly with lengthy strides. Macel was moving almost at a jog, and barely keeping pace. Clifford crossed the grassy hexagon at the heart of the plaza, and led Macel into the Tavern.


    At this time of day, the Tavern was fairly full. Several tables were taken up by men in fancy suits and extravagant cravats, and women in lace-bodiced dresses with their faces covered in yellow powder. Elsewhere, workmen were eating. The flaxen-haired waitress was scurrying from table to table, setting plates down and removing empty ones.


    ¡°The Lieutenant tells me you¡¯re the one who found him.¡± Captain Clifford set two mugs of steaming coffee down on a table in the corner and sat down across from Macel.


    ¡°I am,¡± Macel nodded.


    ¡°Terrible business. Still, it¡¯s always better to have closure. Corporal Bartley was just as dead a week ago, we just didn¡¯t know it.¡±


    Macel said nothing. He wasn¡¯t really sure what he was expected to say to that. He took a sip from his coffee. The taste was bitter, but he didn¡¯t mind it. ¡°I expect Lieutenant Bennett already told you everything I know about it,¡± he said. ¡°We found him in a tree.¡±


    Captain Clifford nodded. ¡°Yes, she did say. A curious business. Look, Donea, I haven¡¯t brought you here to talk about Corporal Bartley.¡±


    ¡°You haven¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°That was just an excuse to get you away from Lieutenant Bennett. News may not have travelled as far as the Watch yet, but we¡¯ve had a tragedy or two of our own down here in the valley. Captain Mannam is resting with Tal¨¦a, may the Gods treat him kindly. I¡¯ve taken over as Lord Constable.¡±


    ¡°So who do we report to now?¡±


    Clifford swallowed a mouthful of coffee. ¡°For the moment, I¡¯m still the expeditionary captain, so I¡¯m still in charge of the forts. For the moment. The General has tasked me with finding a replacement.¡±


    Macel understood. ¡°You¡¯re thinking of promoting Lieutenant Bennett?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s in consideration,¡± said Captain Clifford, dropping a cube of sugar into his coffee and stirring it with a little spoon. ¡°Sugar?¡±


    Macel shook his head. ¡°With all due respect, sir, I don¡¯t think Lieutenant Bennett¡¯s ready.¡±


    ¡°Oh? And why is that?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s a joke, Captain. Every night there¡¯s someone on punishment duty because they had a laugh behind her back and she heard. There¡¯s far more as well that she doesn¡¯t hear.¡± Macel swallowed, wondering how much he should be saying. Captain Clifford was an officer like the Lieutenant, after all.


    Captain Clifford didn¡¯t seem to have taken offence from Macel¡¯s words. He smiled. ¡°That¡¯s interesting. Lieutenant Bennett was very proud of her punitive system. She told me it had made her feared.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t fear her,¡± Macel said, wondering whether it would be appropriate to laugh or not. ¡°Only her punishments. I was always taught that a good captain had the respect of the soldiers under him. Nobody respects Lieutenant Bennett.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± Captain Clifford¡¯s face said that Macel hadn¡¯t given him the answer he was hoping for. ¡°Truth be told, I wasn¡¯t holding out too much hope for her. There¡¯s a certain decorum she doesn¡¯t seem to have.¡± Clifford picked at some dirt trapped in his fingernails. ¡°Donea, tell me a bit about yourself.¡±


    ¡°Myself, sir?¡± That gave Macel cause to hesitate. What interest did Captain Clifford have in him?


    Clifford nodded. ¡°Yours is an old name, I believe. The Doneas are old Belaboran blood. A good family with a good history. Your ancestors served as the reeves of Tallaske for a time, if I¡¯m not mistaken.¡±


    Macel shrugged. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know, Captain. I¡¯ve never looked into it.¡±


    ¡°Then let¡¯s just say they were. It might well be that you¡¯re what the Governor¡¯s after.¡± Captain Clifford leaned across the table, so close Macel could smell his breath. He tried not to recoil. ¡°Tell me, is there some special lady or gentleman?¡±


    A surprisingly tough question. His first instinct was to say no, a reflex from a lifetime as a bachelor. But Bessily came to his mind. Did she count? He supposed it depended on what Clifford meant by ¡®special lady¡¯¡ªand, of course, what Bess thought of him. He¡¯d felt empty since the last time he¡¯d seen her, and felt empty whenever he wasn¡¯t around her, but what difference did that make if she didn¡¯t feel the same way? Love was a two way street. Bess had to agree, and he didn¡¯t imagine she saw anything ¡®special¡¯ about their relationship right now. Even the kiss had been a mistake.


    The kiss. Things had spiralled since then, and his mind had not had time to take it all in. It really had happened. He was sure of that. Even here in the eatery, the scent of pine needles and sweet geranium musk seemed to waft through, and it smelled of Bess. He smiled at the memory, and his loins began to stir. Think ugly thoughts, and make it go away.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    What could he think to take away the memory of the kiss? He¡¯d not wanted it to stop. If only the day had ended there...


    They hadn¡¯t even had an argument, not a proper one. Corporal Bartley had impinged on that. Their row had been extinguished just as it reached its peak.


    She was right. That was the worst thing. He hadn¡¯t just blown his shot with Bess. He¡¯d blown it by accusing her of lying, when she was telling the truth.


    ¡°There is a girl,¡± he said, his mouth apparently deciding that his brain was taking too long to formulate an answer. ¡°Her name¡¯s Bessily.¡±


    ¡°Bessily.¡± Captain Clifford sounded out the name. ¡°Uncommon. Something from the stories, if I¡¯m not mistaken. And are the two of you..?¡±


    ¡°She hates me,¡± said Macel. ¡°Or if she doesn¡¯t, she¡¯s stupid.¡±


    Clifford laughed knowingly. ¡°A lover¡¯s tiff. A pity. The Governor¡¯s on the lookout for young lovers.¡±


    ¡°Would it be out of place for me to ask why, sir?¡±


    Captain Clifford shook his head. ¡°We need to populate the seeding parties. The valley¡¯s beginning to thrive, and a colony is more than just one valley. We¡¯ll be sending groups out to settle elsewhere. Young, capable men and women. You¡¯d get to live life on the frontier, be the founding father of your own home town. Wouldn¡¯t that be something to tell the kids?¡±


    Macel nodded. ¡°And the Governor wants young lovers because he hopes they¡¯ll breed?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a smart man, Donea. And if you have marriage papers, I can probably guarantee you leadership of one of these parties. If you and your Bessily patch things up, come and find me.¡± He leaned back and poured the rest of his coffee down. ¡°Now, hadn¡¯t you best be running along? Lieutenant Bennett¡¯s waiting, after all.¡±


    They walked back to Plateau Watch without the cart to follow. Speke had taken that back as soon as Bartley¡¯s body had been unloaded, despite Lieutenant Bennett¡¯s remonstrations.


    She gave up on enforcing formation before they¡¯d got out of the valley. The group became ragtag, clusters of two and three wandering at their own paces while they had conversations. Sam was keen to know what Captain Clifford had had to say.


    ¡°Nothing,¡± Macel assured him. ¡°He just wanted to know about me and Bessily.¡±


    ¡°You and Bessily? Why would Captain Clifford care about something like that?¡±


    Macel shook his head. ¡°If you manage to work that one out, I¡¯ll give you five bushels.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t afford five bushels.¡±


    Atop the cliffs, where Speke¡¯s cart had gouged deep ruts in the soft ground beside the lake, they spied a bird. It was a majestic thing, with sleek white plumage and a bill of the brightest crimson. It was perched on a log, pecking at its feathers. Macel had seen other birds on Essegena¡ªnot many, but they were definitely there. None were as splendid as this specimen.


    Dana Shroot and Craig Armitage had stopped to watch the bird. Shroot was crouched down, sleeves rolled all the way up, tiptoeing towards the bird, which was carrying on with its ablutions wholly oblivious to her. Armitage was hanging back.


    ¡°I hate birds,¡± he moaned, as Macel and Sam reached them. ¡°I¡¯ve been working on Dana for months, and just when I¡¯m finally getting somewhere, she sees this thing.¡±


    ¡°Hold up,¡± said Sam, ¡°what do you mean by ¡®working on Dana¡¯? She¡¯s twice your age.¡±


    ¡°Not to mention she¡¯s popped out three kids already,¡± Macel added.


    Armitage shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t want kids. It¡¯s risk free.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s married,¡± Sam said. ¡°It won¡¯t be risk free when her husband finds out.¡±


    ¡°And even if she wasn¡¯t married, it isn¡¯t exactly a solid foundation for a relationship when you can¡¯t stand the thing she loves the most,¡± said Macel. Dana Shroot was well known as the birder of the Watch. According to Issy Cutler, her bunkroom was filled with pencil sketches of every bird imaginable. She spent her free time alone, watching the forests with a pair of binoculars.


    They were disturbed by a sudden cawing. The aftermath of the scene revealed the full story. The white-feathered bird was flying away, raising hell at Shroot as she sat sprawled on her arse, feathers all over her. She saw them laughing and scowled. When she¡¯d got to her feet, cheeks flushing, Armitage was practically bent double. Shroot strode towards him with her hands on her hips.


    ¡°Do I amuse you?¡± she asked, a feather dangling from the end of her nose.


    Armitage nodded.


    ¡°Well, at least that¡¯s something I¡¯m good for,¡± she said. ¡°When you find something you¡¯re good for, come and find me.¡± And off she went, after Lieutenant Bennett and the others. Armitage ran after her. The two disappeared over the horizon and all was suddenly still. Across the water, a great white structure stood looming over the western shoreline. A pointed tower pierced the skies and scraped the floors of the heavens.


    ¡°That¡¯s got to be a church or something,¡± said Sam. ¡°Have you seen it there before?¡±


    Macel thought back. He couldn¡¯t remember seeing anything, but then it wasn¡¯t often he came this way, and when he did it was normally with a hundred other preoccupations than that specific spot on the other side of the lake. ¡°I can¡¯t say it rings a bell,¡± he said, ¡°but it must have been there. You couldn¡¯t put a building like that up in a day.¡±


    ¡°I dunno,¡± Sam shrugged. ¡°There are some damned quick builders here. I swear they put up those first tenements in a week.¡±


    ¡°A week¡¯s longer than a day,¡± Macel said.


    ¡°It¡¯s really something, don¡¯t you think? Almost makes me want to walk across to it.¡±


    Macel glanced sidelong at Sam. ¡°Across the water? You¡¯d drown.¡±


    ¡°Okay, swim then.¡±


    ¡°Can you swim?¡±


    Sam fell silent for a little while, as they turned back to follow Speke¡¯s trail. Macel tried to keep up a respectable pace. If they dawdled for too long, Lieutenant Bennett would definitely come up with some chore for them to do.


    Eventually, as the lake passed them by and they moved into the wooded patches around the Watch, Sam spoke again. ¡°I can trust you, can¡¯t I, Macel?¡±


    Macel nodded. ¡°Course.¡±


    ¡°And you won¡¯t say a thing to Delie?¡±


    ¡°Not unless you want me to.¡±


    Sam sighed. ¡°I¡¯m thinking of moving on. I¡¯ve put in a request for one of the seeding parties. Hortense reckons they¡¯ve found a coastline a way to the south. They¡¯re gonna build a fort there and everything. She wants to go, and I think I¡¯m ready to settle down.¡±


    That raised an eyebrow from Macel. ¡°You? Ready to settle down? You¡¯re a reformed man, Sam.¡±


    ¡°It had to happen one day,¡± said Sam.


    ¡°What happened to completing the set?¡±


    ¡°That dream died the day you fell for Bessily,¡± said Sam. ¡°In any case, it doesn¡¯t seem fun anymore. I had a row with Delie the other day. It got ugly. She doesn¡¯t like that I¡¯ve got my eye on someone else, that¡¯s all it is. Jealousy, plain and simple. But it got me thinking, what do I want? You¡¯re with Bessily more than you¡¯re not, and half the other lads are complete dicks. If I¡¯m not careful, I could get left behind by everyone. Hortense is a nice girl. I could be happy with her.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll still visit from time to time?¡± Macel had stopped walking now. ¡°I¡¯d hate to think I couldn¡¯t have a cider with a good mate every now and then.¡±


    ¡°Of course I will,¡± said Sam. ¡°And anyway, it won¡¯t be for a few weeks. Longer, perhaps. That¡¯s if we even get approved, and there¡¯s no guarantee there. Just... I know it¡¯ll upset Delie, even if she pretends it doesn¡¯t. I¡¯ll tell her when the time¡¯s right. But not before.¡±


    Macel slapped Sam¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Your secret¡¯s safe with me. One condition.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Cider in the kindling shed, you and me, the last night before you leave.¡±


    Sam nodded. ¡°As if I¡¯d miss a thing like that.¡±


    A cold breeze was beginning to kick in as they crossed the threshold of Plateau Watch. Wilding was stood at the perimeter line to wave them through, shivering in his boots. ¡°Bennett¡¯s locked herself in her office,¡± he said, ¡°so you¡¯ll have an easy evening. I wouldn¡¯t mind a scarf or something if you get a moment.¡±


    By the time Macel had visited his bunkroom, Wilding would need more than just a scarf. The cold had turned bitter. A drizzle had started, which threatened to turn into something heavier, and which brought with it a light fog. The Easterwood was completely invisible from the rear door of the Watch.


    The yards were empty, both the Watch side and Speke¡¯s part. Macel could see a couple of the stablehands through the stables, trying to herd some wayward horses indoors without much success. None of them looked like Bess. He bore left towards the farriers¡¯ cottage.


    It was Catherine Holyoke, Speke¡¯s resident maid-in-training, who came to the door to let Macel in. She had tired, bloodshot eyes, which she hid behind black-framed spectacles. ¡°Bessily is in her bedchamber,¡± she said, in a bored monotone. ¡°Speke isn¡¯t about, so you needn¡¯t creep around.¡± Macel thanked her and went on through. It might have a unique exterior, but the cottage¡¯s inside was designed to the same specifications as most of the Unity¡¯s pop-up housing. Once you knew your way around one, you knew around them all, and Macel had lived in Unity housing for a year and a half on Belaboras.


    He made his way to the back of the cottage, to the door he knew belonged to Bess, and found it ajar. He could see her inside, gazing out of the window as she fiddled with her hair. A candle on her bedside wafted cloying honeysuckle through the room.


    Macel entered unnoticed. Bess was singing softly to herself, and the voice that came out was pure saccharine. ¡°See the maid with hair of gold, by the fire to warm the cold.¡± It was an old children¡¯s song. Macel hadn¡¯t heard it in a long, long time.


    ¡°I love it when you sing,¡± he said.


    Bess jumped. ¡°Macel. I didn¡¯t hear you come in.¡± Her face was red. ¡°I¡¯m terrible,¡± she said. ¡°Can¡¯t hold a tune.¡±


    She was wrong on that count. ¡°Your voice is tune enough,¡± he said. She tittered. Her face had been set hard since she turned around, but he saw it began to soften.


    ¡°The song always makes me sad.¡± Bess turned her back to him, looked out of the window again. Outside, Speke¡¯s stone yard had become a pool. A cross-looking bloke waded through it, shin deep in water. ¡°My mother used to sing it for me, when I was very small. I think she actually cared about me once upon a time. When Elly was born, I had to join in.¡± Bess chuckled at the memory. ¡°Elly wouldn¡¯t nod off at naptime unless I sang the last verse for her. I was sick of the last verse.¡±


    ¡°See the sun shine on the keep, see the dark old dungeons deep, wave goodbye but please don¡¯t weep, see the castle while you sleep. I know it well.¡±


    Bess span around to look at him again, a grimace on her face. ¡°Mother made me sing it at Elly¡¯s funeral. I hated it. It was such a silly song, and I had to get up there in front of hundreds of relatives and sing it like it wasn¡¯t just for little babies. And for why? Elly wasn¡¯t dead. I told mother, I told her over and over, ¡®we can¡¯t bury Elly, she¡¯s still alive,¡¯ until one day she hit me. She called me a liar. Father called me a murderer. They said it was my fault she was dead, and the least I could do was show some contrition.¡±


    Macel said nothing. He didn¡¯t know what he was supposed to say. Silent, he let her words hang in the air. She stifled tears. For a while there was no sound but the heavy sound of rain. Bess pulled shut the curtains, which served only to muffle the noise. And eventually, interminably later, she spoke. It was barely more than a squeak. Her voice was smaller than he¡¯d ever heard it. ¡°It wasn¡¯t me.¡±


    ¡°Well, of course it wasn¡¯t.¡± Macel moved closer to Bess, still not sure quite where he stood. ¡°You¡¯re not a liar.¡±


    Tears welled in her eyes, and she blinked them away. ¡°I thought you¡¯d given up on me,¡± she said. ¡°I said things I shouldn¡¯t have done, when I was upset. And when I woke up, you weren¡¯t around. Delie said you weren¡¯t about at breakfast this morning.¡±


    ¡°I had to take Corporal Bartley down to the valley,¡± said Macel.


    ¡°You¡¯re here now.¡± She sat on the edge of her bed. There was a space beside her, and she beckoned Macel to join her. ¡°I should have been honest with you from the start. How are you supposed to believe what I say when I won¡¯t tell you the truth?¡±


    He sat with her. ¡°Yesterday, before it all went pear-shaped, I wanted to ask you something,¡± he said. ¡°I was going to ask you to be my girlfriend.¡±


    Bess looked to him. ¡°I wish you had,¡± she said. ¡°I would have said yes.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t have to start from the beginning again, do we?¡± Something had shifted between them, he could tell. Bess wasn¡¯t sitting as easily in the quiet as she had. How far had that tiff set them back?


    She shook her head. ¡°How could we? I can¡¯t even go a day without talking to you. I need you in my life, Macel.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t want me to leave and never come back?¡±


    Bess squeezed his hand. ¡°I don¡¯t want to dwell on yesterday. Let¡¯s pretend it never happened.¡±


    ¡°I need to apologise¡ª¡±


    ¡°No.¡± She cut him off. ¡°I accept your apology. Any apology. Whatever you want to say sorry for, it doesn¡¯t matter. Macel, I¡¯ve been in this room since the morning, and you¡¯re the only person who¡¯s come to see if I¡¯m okay. If I hold a grudge against you, I hold a grudge against the only friend I¡¯ve got. I¡¯d die all alone. That¡¯s not going to happen.¡±


    She leaned against him. Her hair brushed against his arm, settled in his lap. She was lucky it was him she¡¯d met. Others wouldn¡¯t have come to see her now, or ever again. Fentiman would have killed her, if she¡¯d told him she was a Foresleeper.


    ¡°Would you follow me?¡± Bess asked. ¡°If I went away, would you come with me?¡±


    ¡°Went away where?¡±


    ¡°Anywhere. Just me and you, in our own corner of the universe.¡±


    Macel shook his head. ¡°That would make us deserters. It¡¯s a nice idea, but somebody would catch us eventually. And then we¡¯d be for it.¡±


    Bess shook her head. ¡°You would be for it. Speke would never raise a hand to me, I¡¯m like the daughter he never had. I¡¯m not bound to this place, any more than I¡¯m bound to the valley. My spirit hasn¡¯t settled yet.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d be on your own. I¡¯ve worked my arse off to get a posting like this. I¡¯m not giving it up to be a deserter and run away with a girl who won¡¯t even admit she¡¯s in love with me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not in love with you.¡±


    ¡°See. There you go again, refusing to admit it.¡±


    She batted him away with the back of her hand. ¡°Stop it.¡±


    ¡°There is an option. A seeding party.¡±


    Bess lifted her head. ¡°That sounds dirty.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just your mind. In a seeding party, we could go where we like. Settle where we choose. I spoke to Captain Clifford, and he can make the arrangements. The thing is, we¡¯d have to be married. Nothing fancy, we just need the paper.¡±


    Bess looked at Macel, and she smiled at him, a tiny smile confined to the corners of her mouth, and her eyes didn¡¯t give a thing away. Why was the woman so damnably unreadable? Then she spoke. ¡°I don¡¯t want to marry for the sake of a piece of paper. It¡¯ll be when I¡¯m ready, and to a man who loves me. Neither of these things are true.¡±


    ¡°One of them is.¡± He wasn¡¯t sure what had prompted him to speak. Bessily had been the girl in the bar who reminded him of Flossie Mayborn, that was the only thing to it. And yet... ¡°Bess, when I¡¯m not with you I want to be with you. When I am with you, I don¡¯t want to leave. I don¡¯t really know what love is, but that¡¯s got to be something close.¡±


    She peered at him with eyes shining like beacons. ¡°We didn¡¯t do that kiss properly yesterday, did we?¡±


    He shook his head.


    ¡°Let¡¯s fix that,¡± she grinned. Their lips met for the kiss, and this time she didn¡¯t pull away. Stars were born and died, empires rose and fell, the breadth of space lived its whole life in their shared kiss, and when at last they broke apart Macel was warmed to the bone. ¡°This doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯ll marry you,¡± said Bess. ¡°I¡¯m not ready for anything like that. But I will be your girlfriend, if you¡¯ll still take me.¡±


    Macel reached for her hand, beaming. ¡°I could never have it any other way.¡±

 43. Into Lockdown

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Tema ~


    ¡°Keep your breathers on whenever you¡¯re with a patient.¡± Doctor Maynard had issued the instructions to all the staff on the day Olwen Kennady collapsed, and confirmed that whatever disease had stricken Caroline, it was contagious. Tema had been winding down her shift when it happened; she was on her way to take a shower when Barbara Flower called out to her from the main entrance. Olwen had fallen, suddenly, as she was arriving to work.


    By the time they¡¯d got her onto a bed, she¡¯d developed deep welts all over her arms, ringers for the one on Caroline Ballard¡¯s thigh. Olwen¡¯s condition degenerated quickly. While Caroline was still clinging to her sensibilities a full fortnight after falling ill, and if anything seemed to be lightening up a little, Olwen was induced into a coma almost immediately. She¡¯d have died then and there otherwise. The pockmarks spread, and with them a terrible fever. To calm the younger nurses, Tema had a curtain put up around Olwen¡¯s bed, keeping her secluded. Only the senior staff were to treat her. Lily Day led the junior nurses in a series of hopeful songs, so they wouldn¡¯t dwell on Olwen.


    They¡¯d been wearing gloves whenever they handled Caroline or her effects, thick single-use things which were summarily dumped deep into the trash when they were done with. It hadn¡¯t been enough to keep Olwen from being sick, useless just like the rest of the precautions. So new orders had come along. It might be an airborne disease, Doctor Maynard had reasoned, and they were best off wearing masks if they entered the contaminated wards.


    In theory that was what should have been happening from the start, but for one reason or another most of the staff didn¡¯t like it. Both of the models that met the Unity¡¯s standards had their disadvantages. The standard ones, the old-school cloth, were lightweight and relatively unintrusive, but it was difficult to talk with one on and they always left a bitter taste around the mouth when they were removed. In contrast, their ergonomic equivalent, a newer design specially made to allow communication by shaping itself to the wearer¡¯s mouth, was heavy and clunky and somehow tasted even worse.


    With Maynard¡¯s directive, not wearing a mask was enough to get a person struck off. If the taste of the masks was unpleasant, the idea of being unemployed was worse. Dissent in this regard dried up almost immediately. The few quarters where laziness prevailed were silenced when Olwen Kennady passed away. It came on slowly over the course of one night. Tema hadn¡¯t been there herself for much of it, but Doctor Staniforth relayed the key facts. One of the sores on her arm had burst and festered unnoticed until the infection made for the heart. Antibiotics had stayed the infection for a time, Staniforth said, but not long enough. By the time Tema arrived for her shift, Olwen was just clinging on to the last vestiges of life; she was gone before Tema was done in the shower. In the end even a ventilator couldn¡¯t keep her breathing.


    They held a brief memorial for her, in a little chapel off from the mortuary. There so grieving visitors could pray for their ailing loved ones, it had seen no use. The accoutrements, all the holy books and hassocks, were still taped into boxes stacked at the sides of the room, in front of the portraits of the Seventeen. It had the feel of a meeting with the Gods in a warehouse somewhere. Somebody lit some candles, and the junior nurses wept softly, and Olwen Kennady was consigned to the frigid confines of the mortuary¡¯s cold storage.


    By this time the sick numbered four. Caroline was declining again, though fighting valiantly. The nurses Brigstock and Huston had caught it on successive days, as had an unfortunate cook in the employ of the wealthy Fiouharts who had been receiving treatment for a severe burn. The poor woman would have been better off taking some salve and bearing the pain at home.


    That had been a week ago. The cook was dead too. She¡¯d been lapsing in and out of consciousness for three days, begging with every waking moment to be allowed to die, before she got her wish. Nobody had been in to visit her, which made Tema sad. A day after she¡¯d died, the Lady Fiouhart came by to ask when her cook would be returning. Told that the cook was unlikely ever to return, on account of her being dead, the Lady Fiouhart wrinkled her nose and muttered something about the cost of hiring somebody new.


    In place of the cook, a soldier recovering from a gunshot wound had contracted the same sickness. The lad had been brought in the same day as Caroline, and by now he¡¯d have been released. But ill fortune had given him an infected wound. The quick actions of Doctor Fleming had staved off sepsis, but set back the soldier¡¯s recovery by a few days. Those few days had been enough for him to become sick.


    Tema had tasked Delphine Janley with transferring the soldier to Caroline¡¯s ward. It was better to keep this disease contained to as small a space as possible, so that the rest of the hospital could run smoothly. If things carried on, the time might come for Tema to split the workforce. She¡¯d need half of the staff to commit their full focus to fighting this disease, putting themselves in harm¡¯s way without respite, and finding enough volunteers would be a bitch, but it was better than risking everybody. For now, things proceeded as normal. She left Viola Watling to disinfect the bed that the soldier had been housed in, and made her way to her office. The soldier¡¯s commanding officer, one Lieutenant Sharp, would want to know that his man wouldn¡¯t be returning to duty for a little while. Tema scribbled a letter of courtesy for Lieutenant Sharp.


    As she was finishing, she heard approaching footsteps.


    ¡°Miss Tema.¡± That could only be Janna Davis calling. What was the matter now? Janna meant well, but she¡¯d grown increasingly flustered as the days were passing by. Tema often had to step in to fix what Janna had done wrong. It didn¡¯t help that she was staying past the end of her shift every day. The very idea of leaving others to do the work seemed anathema to her.


    Tema turned. As expected, Janna was there.


    ¡°Oh, Miss Tema, you need to come at once.¡± Janna¡¯s lip was quivering. She raised a finger to hold it in place.


    This feels bad.


    She followed Janna through empty corridors, until they came to what had come to be known as the Olwen Ward, the room where Caroline Ballard and all the others had been kept, where Olwen Kennady had died. A hand-drawn sign on the door reminded ¡®all staff¡¯ to put their masks on, and included a lovely illustration of what strongly resembled a man giving cunnilingus to a midget squid.


    Tema¡¯s mask had been dangling around her neck. She fixed it in place as she entered the room. Two nurses¡ªat a guess, Delphine and Colin, though she could only see their backs¡ªwere crouched over a woman with a stained dress lying still on the floor.


    Emmeline.


    There was no mistaking Doctor Maynard. The stain was the result of her using the wrong sort of chemical to try and clean off some spilled coffee; Emmeline Maynard wore it proudly, to show that anybody can make a silly mistake. It was a lesson better suited to the classrooms of first year students at Raconesta, but the time for debating its applicability here was not now. Now was the time to take charge.


    She sprang into action on autopilot, parting the two nurses with a single word. ¡°Get a bed made up,¡± she said, pointing at Colin. He trotted off dutifully to find one while she turned to scream at Delphine. ¡°Morphine.¡± And then at Janna, who had hung back and was lingering in the doorway. ¡°I want an ECG. Get the monitor hooked up.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Caroline Ballard spoke suddenly in a parched whisper, like a ghost in her bed. Tema looked at her, but she didn¡¯t seem to see. Her eyes were glazed over. ¡°Tessa... Tessa, I¡¯m drowning.¡±


    Delphine had stopped to watch. Tema snapped her fingers. ¡°Get moving, Doctor Maynard needs morphine.¡±


    With Delphine gone, Maynard was alone on the floor. She was a piteous sight. Her eyes, barely open, were brimming with tears and mucus. Her breathing was shallow, rattled. The skin had jaundiced. She wasn¡¯t long for this world. With the right treatment, perhaps they could hold on to her for some time¡ªweeks at most, in all probability, though there was no point trying to take an accurate guess before she¡¯d been stabilised. Without treatment, she might not even last the day.


    Not so smug now, Tema thought. Emmeline Maynard was Mother and Father, Lightness Gilkes from the church, the Unity correspondent who always showed up at her front door asking loudly for ¡®Mister Caerlin¡¯. She was Harry Baldwin, pinning Tema down on the floor with a pair of pliers at her groin, threatening to pull her penis off if she hated it that much. Emmeline Maynard¡¯s crimes were bureaucratic, but they carried the same evil spirit.


    It would almost be sweet to see her die. It wouldn¡¯t be difficult to arrange, either. Tema was in charge. If she sent the wrong orderlies to do the wrong jobs, Maynard might just pass away. Catharsis.


    But no. That wasn¡¯t what she¡¯d signed up to do. So what if Emmeline Maynard was a bitch? She was still human.


    Tema crouched down beside her and wiped a line of drool away with her little finger. Half-shut eyes followed her from an unmoving head. Eyes in pain. ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± she said, softly-softly. ¡°The pain will stop soon. I¡¯m here to help you.¡±


    Maynard groaned weakly.


    Why was she in such a bad way? None of the others had gone down quite this quickly. Few had even reached this stage after a few weeks of treatment. Could the disease be evolving, the quicker to banish its hosts to the demesne of the dead? She reached for her face, searching for the feel of her mask, just to check that it was still on. It was.


    A cough. Emmeline Maynard was riven with bile, which she brought up in a sour dribble that ran over cracked lips. ¡°Tema.¡± Her voice was so faint, so hoarse, that Tema wasn¡¯t sure she¡¯d heard anything.


    ¡°Here.¡± She grabbed a flask of water from the table beside Caroline¡¯s bed, and upturned it into Emmeline¡¯s mouth. The prostrate doctor choked and gagged, and finally swallowed. Red splotches covered her throat.


    She grabbed Tema¡¯s dress by the hem. Tema nearly toppled straight onto her, but managed to just about maintain her balance. Emmeline didn¡¯t let go. For someone so feeble to look at, there was a considerable grip in her fingers. ¡°I don¡¯t want to die,¡± she said, speaking a little stronger now. ¡°Don¡¯t let me die.¡±


    ¡°You aren¡¯t going to die,¡± said Tema. She didn¡¯t believe a word she was saying, but it would be worse to tell the truth. Did Emmeline know? Could she see the hopelessness behind Tema¡¯s eyes? After all, she¡¯d been doing it for years, making the same comforting promises to moribund inpatients. She knew the words.


    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    Emmeline coughed again. She hacked up more bile, and with it clots of mulberry blood, everything merging together on the lilac canvas that was Tema¡¯s skirt. ¡°Doctor Staniforth...¡±


    Staniforth couldn¡¯t help more than Tema could. Why was Emmeline calling for him?


    Emmeline exhaled slowly, a crackled sigh. Her eyes drooped shut. Where¡¯s the bed? The morphine? What¡¯s taking them so long? She stood by Emmeline¡¯s side until the woman was unconscious and, at last, on a bed.


    It was in a haze of her own broiling thoughts that Tema set off walking from the hospital, looking a hot mess with sticking-up hair and red marks on her face from a mask. She hadn¡¯t even taken the time to put on her coat. She was somewhat aware of the biting cold of the evening¡¯s air, but she didn¡¯t let it bother her. All through the town she ran, her destination Government Hall.


    Did she have the right to leave the hospital?


    She was the senior doctor. Two doctors were out for the count. It was irresponsible, in a way, to just leave. What if the situation materially changed while she was gone? Only Staniforth remained in the hospital premises and conscious, and he was likely locked away in his office. The nurses would have to handle things.


    The nurses aren¡¯t idiots. Half of them will be doctors themselves, one day.


    Tema had spent four years on placements, working as a nurse herself. The only difference between Tema the nurse and Tema the doctor was a piece of paper, confirming that she¡¯d achieved the requisite qualifications. She was still the same person. The hospital was furnished with great nurses at all levels. If there was something they couldn¡¯t handle, her being there or not was unlikely to make a difference.


    And on top of that, the situation wasn¡¯t going to be tenable forever. Things were escalating, and at a rate that was beginning to alarm her, but right now she could still barely afford to take her leave for a few minutes. Wait a day or two and it might be too late. If she became overwhelmed, everything could very quickly spiral. The disease might break free of the hospital, into the valley. That would be calamity.


    But people are still going to need a hospital. What will they do if the hospital¡¯s locked down? Where will they go?


    Sometimes there were no easy answers. Sure, accidents won¡¯t ever stop. Even with the best will in the world, someone somewhere will find a way to break an arm or tear a tendon. Those people needed a hospital, really. But how long could they keep the disease confined to a single ward? Tema wasn¡¯t sure how it was spreading. For all she knew, it was already all over the hospital, just waiting for new hosts to come too close. Keeping the hospital open for everyday purposes was running the risk of letting the disease into the valley.


    And if it got into the valley, there¡¯d be nowhere else to run. Most of Essegena would get sick, before there was time to stop it. They might even die. For all Tema knew, the disease could be unique in its lethality.


    There was always Peseltane. It wasn¡¯t the nicest place to be, but it had basic medical facility. It would do for a stopgap. If nothing else, it was better than a horrible death at the hands of an unknown sickness. Because those were the options. And Barbara Flower still had a key for Peseltane, from her short time there. Barbara wasn¡¯t on duty tonight. She¡¯d be spared.


    Suddenly, she saw Government Hall looming into view, its pargeted walls towering over the plaza. The time for doubting was done. The decision had to be made. She was here now. She took a deep breath, and headed up the steps towards the entrance.


    At once, a soldier with a black band around his kepi stepped forward to block her path. ¡°The Council are meeting,¡± he said. ¡°Nobody¡¯s to be allowed in.¡±


    She gave him a withering look. ¡°It¡¯s an emergency.¡±


    The soldier laughed. ¡°Sure it is. Look, if you go somewhere out of the way to wait you might catch a glimpse of the Governor when the meeting¡¯s over. If you keep bothering me, maybe I¡¯ll arrest you instead.¡±


    ¡°I need to go inside,¡± said Tema. ¡°Every minute you keep me waiting is another minute that everybody¡¯s in danger.¡± Truth be told, it was unlikely to be so serious yet that she was clawing for every minute. But it didn¡¯t hurt to ramp up the drama.


    The soldier looked side-eye at her. ¡°Nobody¡¯s going to buy your funny herbs, and I don¡¯t care what fancy stories you try to tell. Now clear off. Flog your madness elsewhere.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m the Chief Doctor,¡± Tema shouted, only half a lie. ¡°I have a right to sit at the Council¡¯s meetings. Let me pass.¡±


    The soldier scowled at her. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you bloody say, you dull wench?¡± But he stood aside, leaden-footed, and opened the door for her. She didn¡¯t bother thanking him.


    Nobody on the Council seemed to notice her at first. They talked of tax rates, and stuff she didn¡¯t really understand, while she stood in the corner of the room looking like she¡¯d just escaped from ground zero. In a way, she had.


    In the end, it was the Governor¡¯s deputy who spotted her first. Ian Fitzhenry was midway through replying to something one of the others had said when he stopped in the midst of a sentence. ¡°It appears we have a visitor,¡± he said, pointing at Tema. All of the others turned to her then.


    ¡°Can we help you?¡± said the pompous General Bradshaw.


    ¡°I¡ª¡± She hadn¡¯t bargained on it being quite this difficult to say what had to be said. When it came to it, the words caught in her throat. Who was she to make this decision, after all? Here she stood in the presence of these men, experts, chosen specifically to make the tough decisions. And she was but an upstart¡ªtechnically the Chief Doctor, but only through happenstance, only because Caroline had taken a shine to her. She was anything but qualified to tell these people what was going to happen.


    General Bradshaw¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°Well?¡±


    ¡°Are you alright, Tema?¡± Oliver Wrack was looking at her with some concern.


    ¡°You may take a seat, if you wish,¡± said an oily-haired man at the head of the table. ¡°Though in future you should try to arrive in advance of the meeting, rather than halfway through it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not here for the meeting.¡± Her head was ringing. It was the sudden pressure of all these eyes on her. ¡°I need to speak to the Governor.¡±


    The Governor offered a thin smile. ¡°Speak away, then.¡±


    ¡°In private.¡±


    General Bradshaw was shaking his head. ¡°The Council is in session. You don¡¯t get to pull the Governor aside and whisper in his ear, not until the meeting is over. If you have something needs saying, it can be said in front of all of us.¡±


    For a moment she felt like backing away, running back to the hospital and muddling through for a little longer, and hoping the Governor wasn¡¯t long in coming to visit his wife again. It was a decision borne of fear, but it was better than making a fool out of herself in front of the Council. Then she caught sight of Edward Ruddingshaw out of the corner of her eye. He was clutching the tip of his spindly cane as he sat, running gnarled fingers over the bumps. His words came running back to her. It¡¯s human nature to fear. You have to put that fear aside to be great. It was easier said than done, but that didn¡¯t mean it couldn¡¯t be done.


    ¡°Things are bad at the hospital,¡± she said. She wasn¡¯t sure who she should be aiming for as she spoke, so she focused on a little knot in the wood on the far wall. ¡°Doctor Ballard¡¯s sickness is spreading to the rest of the staff,¡± she told that knot, ¡°and we¡¯re finding it hard to contain.¡±


    ¡°A bit of sickness shouldn¡¯t cause any worry,¡± said one of the men around the council. ¡°Ply them with antibiotics and wait.¡±


    ¡°Medicine¡¯s more complicated than that, Master Mannion,¡± General Bradshaw barked.


    ¡°Then what?¡± Master Mannion looked directly at Tema as he asked the question.


    Whatever you do, people will judge you for it. Do the right thing, and do it for you.


    ¡°I¡¯ve made the decision to put the hospital into lockdown,¡± she said, remaining razor-focused on that knot. She heard various noises of discontent from the Council. It was all she could do to ignore them. She had to carry on speaking. ¡°As acting Chief Doctor, the hospital¡¯s my responsibility. I can¡¯t in all good conscience let things continue as normal. As soon as I¡¯m done here, I¡¯ll be returning to the hospital, and I¡¯ll be locking the doors behind me.¡± She breathed in one last time, then opened her ears to the reactions of the Council.


    Unsurprisingly, they weren¡¯t best pleased. ¡°You can¡¯t do that,¡± thundered one thick-necked fellow. ¡°How will people get medicine?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a satellite clinic in the town,¡± said Tema. ¡°Two score staff will be outside the hospital for the duration of the lockdown, and able to do whatever¡¯s necessary.¡±


    ¡°All of the outer forts are equipped with basic medical supplies too,¡± added General Bradshaw. ¡°Plateau Watch excepted, they¡¯ve small-scale hospitals of their own. I see no reason why they can¡¯t be adapted for the civilian population too, should the need arise. The Governor need only give the word.¡±


    ¡°How long will this lockdown last, Doctor Caerlin?¡± Ian Fitzhenry spoke with a friendly lilt.


    Hopefully not too long. ¡°I really couldn¡¯t say. It could be days, it could be months.¡± It could be forever. ¡°As long as it takes to get it under control¡ªassuming that happens. Worst case scenario, it spreads to everybody in the hospital.¡± Tema swallowed. She hadn¡¯t said it out loud before. ¡°If that happens, the disease should burn itself out before it has a chance to get to the outside world.¡±


    ¡°So might it be on your person right now?¡± As soon as General Bradshaw asked the question, every chair scooted a few feet away from her.


    She shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s possible.¡±


    ¡°Then what if we get infected? If you¡¯ve passed this disease on to the entire leadership...¡±


    ¡°If you feel sick, isolate yourself. Don¡¯t leave your house until you¡¯re back to normal. I wish there was a pill to give you, just in case, but if it was as easy as all that we wouldn¡¯t be having this conversation now.¡± She dabbed away at a tear forming for Caroline. ¡°General, it would be a great help if you could spare some soldiers to stand guard outside the hospital doors. Half a dozen at a time, just to make sure the lockdown¡¯s obeyed. It¡¯s easy enough for someone to override the door locks, if they¡¯re determined to do so.¡±


    General Bradshaw nodded. ¡°You¡¯ll have the soldiers you need.¡±


    ¡°What about Caroline?¡± asked Ian Fitzhenry. ¡°Is she alright?¡±


    Tema turned to him. ¡°She¡¯s not in a good way, but she¡¯s stable,¡± she said. ¡°That¡¯s probably the best we can hope for until we know what this disease actually is.¡±


    Master Fitzhenry took that information in, stroking the stubbly beard he had growing in.


    ¡°This can¡¯t have been a decision taken lightly,¡± said the Governor, rising. ¡°And to come here for the first time and announce it as fact? I have to respect your conviction, even if I don¡¯t think it¡¯s the right call. Caroline has always had nothing but good things to say about you, Doctor Caerlin. For her sake, I¡¯ll trust your judgement. I will endorse the lockdown.¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t find any dissent here,¡± said General Bradshaw. ¡°I¡¯ll defer to the wisdom of the expert.¡±


    The others said words to the same effect, and as Tema turned to go she saw Master Ruddingshaw beaming at her. Despite the situation, she couldn¡¯t help but grin a little to herself.


    She left buoyed by the support of the Council, but worried too by the prospect of the coming weeks. Twilight was thick in the air by the time she departed Government Hall. Distantly she could see the sun¡¯s spectre disappearing over the horizon. It made her strangely sad. There was a finality to this sunset, like she might not see the glory of the sun again. Her last trip to Fr¨¦reves¡¯ grove flickered back to the forefront of her mind. It had been a terrifying one. The birds and the sunlight had been replaced by ink-black shades, which lurked behind the treeline and watched silently. She¡¯d forgotten that dream the moment she woke up, sweating, in the night.


    She wished it hadn¡¯t come back to her memory now. The final words Fr¨¦reves spoke to her crept up on her with an eerie feel of foreboding. <You see the woman running from the wind, sealing herself away in her little prison? She¡¯s scared. She won¡¯t emerge into fresh air.>


    And as Tema breathed the last breath of air before she stepped aboard the Eia, those words fell into sharp focus. She could think of worse places to die, though, than the hospital. All her friends would be there with her. Viola Watling and Janna Davis and all the other young nurses, still in the summer of their youths. They¡¯d be with her to die together.


    No. That¡¯s not going to happen, and it¡¯s monstrous even to think about.


    Tema entered the hospital. Betsy Clanackan was sat at the front desk, and Tema smiled at her. Then, with trembling hand, she pressed a button on the wall, and the thick shutter doors of the hospital slid down behind her. There was no walking back the decision now. She just hoped that it wouldn¡¯t be too long she¡¯d see those shutters rising once more.

 44. The Powder

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ David ~


    ¡°Uh, Lord Constable?¡± Apparently six times was the most Lieutenant Baxendale would knock on David¡¯s door without reply before she got concerned and forced her way in to check he was still alive. Satisfied that he was, she took a seat at his desk, and poured herself a glass of water from the jug there.


    David gave her a look. ¡°Please come in, Lieutenant,¡± he said.


    ¡°Sorry, sir. You asked me to come to you if I found anything? Well, I have.¡±


    Lieutenant Baxendale had been charged with combing through the old Lord Constable¡¯s notes. Captain Mannam had kept meticulous records, partly due to Baxendale¡¯s willingness to do all the writing. She made very liberal use of shorthand, and had a peculiar way of writing certain letters that nobody else could read. Fortunately, reading old notes was a good way to distract her from her melancholy.


    She was looking for references to a strange black powder. She¡¯d sworn there¡¯d been something, early on when they¡¯d just arrived on Essegena. The details had been forgotten, and David wanted to know. Needed to know. It was important, for Caroline¡¯s sake.


    His interest in such a powder had been precipitated by the Governor¡¯s arrival at the Tower on the day he¡¯d questioned Wrack. Chris had work that needed doing. He had Government Hall to conduct his business, but it seemed he preferred the vibes of the Tower, or the smell of his office there, or some other bullshit. Whatever the reason, he¡¯d usually come to the Tower, hole himself up in his upstairs office, and stay there until the early hours of the morning. Trying to come up with a reason for this had stumped David. For him, an office was an office. As long as he wasn¡¯t disturbed, he could get his work done anywhere that had a desk and a comfortable chair.


    David had followed Chris to his office, ignoring Sergeant Marris¡¯ attempts to intimidate him. Marris was the head of Chris¡¯ security retinue. David found him thoroughly unlikeable. Marris was two ranks removed from the entry-level, yet he walked as though he was a king. He skulked around behind Chris and leered at anyone of a superior rank. And his was a horrible wide grin, designed to show off the rotted black teeth in his mouth. Platt, who had once served alongside Marris, swore that it was Marris¡¯ foul breath that had killed old High Commissioner Porlick. That Porlick had vanished into thin air a year before Marris signed up to the Unity, was a wrinkle in this story, but David was inclined to believe it anyway. He didn¡¯t remember Porlick, so he felt no guilt making up his own story for her apparent demise.


    Sergeant Marris protested, as always he would, when David walked by. But David told him where he could shove his protest, and Marris¡¯ stubby hand never grabbed at him.


    Chris, for what it was worth, didn¡¯t seem surprised to see David. He didn¡¯t even seem annoyed. ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re here, David,¡± he said. ¡°I did want a word with you.¡±


    ¡°Wrack spoke to you?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Chris shook his head, straightening up. He¡¯d been slouched in his chair when David entered, very clearly not doing any work. ¡°No, I¡¯ve not heard a peep from Wrack today. David, I¡¯d like to talk business. In particular, I¡¯d like to talk the business of your Constabulary absorbing my personal security.¡±


    ¡°You know that¡¯ll piss Marris off,¡± said David.


    Chris shrugged. ¡°Let him be pissed off. He¡¯s my head of security because he¡¯s a big bruiser who hates people. I want some fucker who¡¯ll happily lean on anybody who¡¯s causing me danger. What I don¡¯t want is a friend. I¡¯ve got plenty of those.¡±


    ¡°Wrack,¡± David muttered.


    ¡°Oliver Wrack, yes,¡± Chris nodded. ¡°And you, and Ian, and the rest of the Borrowood lot. Shit, even Petra Manelan was good for a laugh.¡±


    Petra Manelan had moved with her family to Borrowood when she was just turned eighteen, the same age as Armand. By then the glory days of the Borrowood Dynasty were passed. The group had no vacancies. Still, she tried to befriend them. She propositioned David once, and got a bloodied nose for it, and at last she¡¯d taken the hint. She¡¯d never again attempted to insert herself in the gang. And good riddance.


    ¡°There¡¯s a reason for this.¡± David sat himself down.


    Chris nodded. ¡°Of course there is. Bradshaw thinks he¡¯s got one over on me. He¡¯s moved you to the Constabulary, and who is it he¡¯s put in your place? One of his cronies, I bet.¡±


    ¡°As far as I know the position hasn¡¯t been filled,¡± said David. ¡°It¡¯ll probably go to someone senior¡ªDunleavy or Tastock or someone like that.¡±


    ¡°Whoever it is, I doubt I¡¯ll be able to rely on them if push comes to shove. But here¡¯s the thing: if my security retinue is folded into the Constabulary, the Lord Constable¡ªbeing yourself¡ªthen becomes the commanding officer of my security retinue. And that means I retain the link. It¡¯s funny, really. Bradshaw thinks he¡¯s split the Borrowood Dynasty up before we can consolidate, but what he¡¯s actually done is reinforce my strength. Now, through you, I have the entirety of the Constabulary at my beck and call.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not as straightforward as all that,¡± said David. ¡°There are rules and there are regulations, and process that has to be followed. Just because you aren¡¯t frozen out of the command structure doesn¡¯t mean you have absolute authority. I intend to do my job. If there¡¯s cause, I will investigate you.¡±


    Chris had raised his eyebrows then, in amusement at the prospect. ¡°David, you¡¯re a great friend, but you¡¯re a loyal dog. You won¡¯t investigate me.¡±


    ¡°Tell me about the antidote.¡±


    ¡°I beg your pardon?¡±


    ¡°The antidote that was in the bottle you gave me. The thing you needed so badly you sent Wrack up to the lake to find it. Before Caroline was sick.¡± David leaned over the desk. ¡°Did you poison Caroline?¡±


    Chris denied it, as of course he would. David was even inclined to believe him. There was no way he could be convinced that Chris Ballard would harm his wife. His love for Caroline was something transcendent, bordering on the obsessive. ¡°I don¡¯t know what Wrack¡¯s told you,¡± he said. ¡°But I would never harm Caro. Never.¡± He pierced David with a stare. ¡°Do you think so little of me as to believe I would?¡±


    ¡°I just need to do my job,¡± said David. ¡°That means asking the questions. If you¡¯ll look me in the eye and tell me you didn¡¯t have anything to do with Lord Constable Mannam¡¯s death, I can get back to focusing on my investigations.¡±


    ¡°Well, here¡¯s me looking you in the eye and saying that.¡± With a single finger, Chris beckoned David to lean in ever closer. ¡°Between you and me, Oliver Wrack was half right. I didn¡¯t poison Caroline. I¡¯d never poison Caroline. But there was an antidote in the bottle I gave you. Don¡¯t ask me why I had an antidote, it was Caro who told me to bring it. You know how she has her dreams... She must have seen something, knew she was going to get ill. Wanted to make sure she survived.¡±


    They never talked about Caroline¡¯s dreams. Her family¡¯s gift was an unspoken secret, and there was an understanding that it would always go unmentioned. It wasn¡¯t her fault she was a Foresleeper, and Chris had been quite plain that he¡¯d not hold with anybody putting her at risk. For years, nobody had dared to bring it up. David had almost forgotten. ¡°She still dreams?¡±


    Chris nodded, sombre. ¡°I didn¡¯t realise it would spread. I don¡¯t think Caro did either. We thought she¡¯d get ill, and then she¡¯d get better. No harm done, and perhaps we¡¯d be able to put out word that she was a survivor ordained by the Gods. People have died. More are likely to follow. It¡¯s only a matter of time before Caro is one of them.¡± He pinched the skin between his eyebrows. ¡°It¡¯s a black powder¡ªwhat, I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s defied analysis. Find it, David. Search through Mannam¡¯s records if you have to. Perhaps it¡¯s already been turned in.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t with any expectation that he¡¯d put Lieutenant Baxendale on the case, but more out of respect for Chris. A small part of him would have been... not happy, if Caroline Ballard died, but not upset either. She was no more than an acquaintance. If her own hubris killed her, it wouldn¡¯t be worth mourning. But Chris would be devastated. And if he learned that David hadn¡¯t even tried to retrieve the bottle, he¡¯d excise David from his plans.


    And then David would have nobody.


    He looked at Lieutenant Baxendale, sat in front of him with a wallet of brown card in her hand and a smile on her face. ¡°What have you found, Lieutenant? Tell me.¡±


    ¡°Several things.¡± She slipped the wallet across the desk, and opened it to reveal a dozen or so sheets of paper within, each taken from a page of the files. ¡°First off¡ªand this is going way back, mind. The first thing Captain Mannam did was take statements from the Advanced Party, regarding the missing soldiers Bartley, Cailie and Warner. Most of them are irrelevant, but have a look at this.¡± She pointed at a paragraph halfway down the first sheet. This, according to the heading at the top, was the statement of Sergeant Nathan Malleston.


    ¡®Under Lieutenant Bennett¡¯s instruction, myself and Wilding retrieved the stranger from the site where he¡¯d been found,¡¯ the statement read. ¡®Upon our return to the camp, we found that our hands were covered in some black substance, dry like powder.¡¯


    ¡°Wilding says the same,¡± said Lieutenant Baxendale, turning to the next page. ¡°And Rice mentions there being a black residue on the blankets left over when the man was brought to the hospital.¡±


    ¡°So this powder¡¯s been on Essegena all along?¡±


    Lieutenant Baxendale shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s possible. Hard to be sure, though, there¡¯s a lot of things it could be. Captain Mannam never took statements from the hospital staff, and obviously we can¡¯t go traipsing in there now. Even if we did, there¡¯s no saying they¡¯d remember anything so far removed.¡±


    ¡°Obviously,¡± David agreed. Things would be a lot easier if there wasn¡¯t a damned lockdown.


    ¡°There¡¯s a couple of other references to something black, but nothing specific enough that I think it¡¯s linked in any way. When Comestine Argent was brought in¡ªshe¡¯s the one who¡¯s suspected of poisoning the Governor¡¯s wife¡ª¡±


    ¡°I know who Comestine Argent is,¡± David snapped.


    Baxendale nodded. ¡°Well, she doesn¡¯t mention any sort of powder¡ªblack or not¡ªin her questioning. But have a look at this.¡± She was pointing at a section of Comestine Argent¡¯s arrest report, filled in presumably by Corporal Rawlinson. The handwriting was thick and blocky. This section was given over to a description of Argent at the time of her arrest, detailing her height and weight and hair colour and all sorts of other things. Including, apparently, traces of black powder on her fingertips. This particular detail had been written in with a different pen, for some reason, a steel grey rather than the black ink used for the rest of the form.


    ¡°Now this is curious,¡± David muttered. On one hand it seemed to tally perfectly. It was too much of a coincidence that the cook who¡¯d tried to kill Caroline was arrested bearing the same substance as had been earmarked as a cure for Caroline¡¯s ails, without there being an explicit connection. Comestine Argent was still imprisoned. On the surface, this was the evidence that would ensure she¡¯d remain imprisoned. But it didn¡¯t sit right. If she¡¯d meant to kill Caroline, why would she bother with an antidote? Presumably she didn¡¯t want Caroline to live, else why put her own position and her own liberty at risk to poison her. ¡°Who filled this out? Rawlinson, was it?¡± he asked. Whoever it was, they hadn¡¯t brought the report to David to sign.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t say, sir,¡± said Baxendale. ¡°I was taking a leave week at the time.¡±


    ¡°See if you can find out.¡±


    Lieutenant Baxendale rifled through the pages until she came to another, this one bearing a greyscale photograph of a man with a bloodied face. Corporal Bartley hadn¡¯t been made more attractive by the camera.


    ¡°This is the autopsy of Robert Bartley,¡± said Baxendale. ¡°Can I take it you know who Robert Bartley is?¡±


    ¡°Take it that I know who anybody is, unless I tell you otherwise.¡± He was beginning to tire of Lieutenant Baxendale acting as though it was his first day on the job.


    ¡°I¡¯ll try my best, sir,¡± she said, in a tremulous voice. ¡°The autopsy was Curlie¡¯s doing, nothing special.¡± Curlie Bonnybrook, so named for his elaborate choice of facial hair¡ªthe sort of sweeping moustache that needed an hour or so¡¯s grooming and a jar of wax every day to ensure all the twists held¡ªhad emerged as the Constabulary¡¯s de facto pathologist. He¡¯d volunteered to look over Captain Mannam¡¯s body, and stitch Anderson back together as well as he could, citing his experience in the field. This experience, it transpired, was some books he¡¯d read and a talk by a leading pathologist that he¡¯d attended once. Still, that made him better qualified than anybody else here. Naturally Corporal Bartley¡¯s body had ended up on a slab in Curlie¡¯s office.


    Not telling Curlie when he arrived for his morning¡¯s work had been a cruel joke, though.


    ¡°Let me guess,¡± said David. ¡°Curlie mentioned some strange black powder?¡±


    ¡°More than that, sir,¡± said Baxendale. ¡°Corporal Bartley¡¯s blood was full of the stuff, according to Curlie¡¯s notes. Apparently he was able to get a jar full of it sent off to Master Stockton for testing.¡±


    ¡°And did we ever get any results from that testing?¡±


    Lieutenant Baxendale shook her head.


    ¡°Well then,¡± said David, rising. ¡°Can you guess where we¡¯re headed now?¡±


    They actually headed first to Curlie¡¯s office, where he was working his way through a heaping mug of cocoa. ¡°Gracie¡¯s clearly taken a shine to you,¡± David quipped, prompting Curlie to redden. When David mentioned Corporal Bartley¡¯s autopsy, Curlie reiterated what had been written in the report, but with the added detail that the skin around each of Corporal Bartley¡¯s wounds had been blackened by the same powder.


    Once they were done with Curlie, they headed for Master Stockton¡¯s laboratory.


    The laboratory was a sepulchre of aquamarine amidst the sea of grey and white walls that was the Eia. The hospital¡¯s lockdown had cut off the quickest route, and in its stead a more winding path had to be taken to reach the lab. It was silent. Deserted. More than the hospital was tainted, in the eyes of Essegena¡¯s people. The whole ship may as well have been given over to the sickness. The guard stood at the head of the entrance ramp, one of Bradshaw¡¯s with a chipped tooth and a shield of amaranth on the breast of his surcoat, gave David an awful side-eye as he made to go past. ¡°This place is sick. You watch you don¡¯t catch your death, Lord Constable,¡± he said.


    ¡°You mind your business and I¡¯ll mind mine,¡± said David.


    The guard had some choice words for David after that, but he muttered them under his breath and David pretended not to hear.


    They didn¡¯t pass anybody else on the way to the laboratory, him and Lieutenant Baxendale. The heavy bulkheads that shut off the hospital were a surreal sight, and he had to resist the urge to reach out and touch them¡ªtouch history. But that would be putting himself at risk. They skirted around the hospital, all the way around, and then up a narrow staircase. There, the words ¡®Welcome to the Pit¡¯ had been painted haphazardly on the wall. This was Master Stockton¡¯s section alright.


    The corridor that led to the laboratory was grubby and smelling faintly of urine, but the laboratory itself couldn¡¯t have been cleaner. The walls with their blue paint seemed to shimmer, and the air seemed to get immediately fresher. A long metal box was laid out on a gurney in the middle of the laboratory, a scarlet cloth draped over it. A body lying in state.


    Stockton himself wasn¡¯t here. A handful of youngsters in protective goggles were gathered around some small device in the corner, burning away fiercely. One of them switched the device off when she spotted David. ¡°Can I help you, sir?¡± She had a touch of Dani Carrigan about her, a shared long face and conical jaw, but the youthful exuberance in her voice was something Dani Carrigan had never possessed. David had sometimes joked that Dani was an old soul in a body too young for her, that she was really already in her sixties when she was born, and she¡¯d be lucky to live to twenty-five. Well, she hadn¡¯t lived to twenty-five. Maybe his jokes hadn¡¯t been off the mark.


    ¡°I¡¯d like to speak to Master Stockton, if I may.¡±


    The youngsters whispered among themselves for a bit, and then the one who looked a bit like Dani disappeared through a door at the back of the laboratory. She returned a minute or so later in the company of a jovial man who was losing the battle against grey hairs. Master Stockton held his hand out for David to shake.


    ¡°And what might bring the Lord Constable himself to my door? None of my students have been getting up to mischief, I hope?¡±


    David shook his head. ¡°If they have, it¡¯s not been reported to me.¡±


    ¡°You hear that, kids?¡± Stockton yelled across to the gathered group. ¡°The Lord Constable hasn¡¯t caught you yet. So you can keep doing whatever it is you¡¯ve been doing.¡±


    ¡°Actually, Master Stockton, I¡¯ve come to enquire about the samples we sent your way. Is there any chance you¡¯ve had a chance to look through them?¡±


    Stockton looked blank. ¡°Samples?¡±


    ¡°As I understand it, several samples were sent to your office, taken from the body of Robert Bartley,¡± said David.


    ¡°Black powder,¡± added Lieutenant Baxendale.


    Master Stockton shook his head. ¡°This is the first I¡¯m hearing of it, I¡¯m afraid.¡± He turned again to bellow at the students. ¡°If anybody¡¯s accepted samples and not told me about it, now¡¯s your chance to come clean. You¡¯ve got amnesty for the count of five.¡± He raised five fingers, and lowered them in sequence. None of the students said a word. Next, he turned to the girl who looked like Dani, who was still stood beside him. ¡°How about you, Ella? Taken something on as an extra project for yourself?¡±


    Ella shook her head. ¡°I¡¯d have told you first, Master Stockton.¡±


    ¡°Course you would,¡± said Stockton, mussing her hair.


    ¡°You must have received the samples,¡± said Lieutenant Baxendale. ¡°Curlie swore he sent them.¡±


    Stockton raised his palms. ¡°The Mother bears witness to the fact that I didn¡¯t,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯d be happy to help the Constabulary out, but I can honestly say that we¡¯ve received no samples¡ªnot a thing. I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°So Curlie lied?¡± Baxendale¡¯s voice had risen to a shout.


    ¡°Lieutenant Baxendale,¡± David cautioned.


    ¡°Who the fuck is Curlie?¡± Stockton shook his head. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. All I can tell you is what I¡¯ve already told you: we received no samples here, not in many months.¡±


    Baxendale shook her head. ¡°This is ridiculous,¡± she yelled, moving towards Stockton. ¡°What are you hiding?¡±


    David pulled at her collar, before she could get close enough to strike Stockton. ¡°Step off, Lieutenant. The sample isn¡¯t here. Let¡¯s leave it at that, eh?¡±


    David sent Lieutenant Baxendale home to rest for the day, and returned to Curlie¡¯s office to ask him if he was sure the sample had been sent to Master Stockton. Curlie seemed irritated to have been disturbed twice in a single day, but he assured David that the sample had indeed left the office. ¡°I had Onslow deliver it,¡± he said. ¡°She even signed the form to confirm it.¡± He rummaged in the ring-binder on his desk, and pulled out a piece of paper bearing Katy Onslow¡¯s signature.


    So why hadn¡¯t she delivered the sample?


    ¡°I did,¡± Onslow insisted, when David put the question to her. ¡°I left it on one of the worktops in the middle of Master Stockton¡¯s laboratory. There was a bloke there. Short, brown hair.¡± A helpfully vague description.


    David left her to it, and returned to his office. If Onslow had delivered the sample, but Master Stockton hadn¡¯t received it, then it was lost. There was nothing to be done to that end. He¡¯d just have to go up to the lake and rummage around in those trees until he found Chris¡¯ bottle¡ªand hope it hadn¡¯t smashed when he threw it.


    He was halfway through a frothing cup of Master Ellavon¡¯s special brew to steel himself for a lengthy search when Corporal Rawlinson knocked on his door. He knew it was Corporal Rawlinson from the way the door buckled with each knock. ¡°Enter.¡±


    ¡°I understand you¡¯re having issues getting one of our own to talk,¡± said Rawlinson, no beating around the bush. ¡°Sir, I can get Onslow to open up to you.¡±


    David set his brew aside, before it spilled. ¡°Need I ask how you found out that I¡¯d been talking to Onslow?¡±


    Rawlinson smiled broadly, showing off his reddened teeth. ¡°You can ask, sir. But my sources are confidential.¡±


    ¡°Well, you can thank your sources for feeding you accurate information, but it¡¯s out of date. I¡¯ve spoken to Onslow. She answered my questions. The matter¡¯s done.¡±


    Rawlinson¡¯s lip twitched. ¡°With respect, sir, if Onslow was sober she probably wasn¡¯t telling the truth.¡±


    David frowned. ¡°None of my soldiers are liars, Corporal, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re implying.¡±


    ¡°Not at all, sir,¡± said Rawlinson. ¡°Onslow can be a joker and a loudmouth, but she¡¯s guarded. Oh, but you must have seen that yourself, sir? She¡¯s the first to talk shit about someone, but she won¡¯t say a word about herself. Not when she¡¯s sober. The moment she switches to tipsy it¡¯s like a whole different person comes out. Drunk Onslow¡¯s ridiculously honest, and she doesn¡¯t hold back, either.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m only going to say this once, Corporal, so be sure to listen: you are never to get any Constabulary soldier drunk on these premises.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t do that, sir,¡± said Rawlinson. ¡°Do you give me no credit at all? No, I¡¯ll invite her to the Tavern this evening. Trust me, sir. Whatever you want to know, you¡¯ll find it out at the Tavern.¡±


    Which was why a dubious David found himself stepping out of the cool evening¡¯s rain and into the warmth of the Tavern. A blazing hearth had superheated the air, and all around men and women were getting raucously drunk and having a great time of it. As promised, Corporal Rawlinson was already there, in a booth with Onslow. Both had changed out of their uniforms, Rawlinson into a plain jacket and trousers and Onslow into a pair of overalls that looked designed to withstand vomit. She was well-dressed to go hard tonight.


    As planned, David passed them by to head to the bar. He ordered a drink from the waitress¡ªa soft-spoken blonde who seemed to have difficulty understanding that he wanted his coffee without any alcoholic additives, because he didn¡¯t like the taste¡ªthen moved away, ostensibly in search of a table.


    ¡°Lord Constable!¡± That was Onslow. Just as Rawlinson had said she would, she¡¯d noticed David and called him over. ¡°Sit with us, sir. We won¡¯t mind.¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re sure.¡± David feigned reluctance, and gave Rawlinson a knowing glance.


    Rawlinson had put a lot of effort into getting Onslow drunk already; the pair of them had huge steins of cider before them, the real strong scrumpy. David could smell it before he sat down. Both steins were more than half empty. ¡°Mine was only half-filled to begin with,¡± Rawlinson whispered, ¡°but Katy¡¯s was to the brim.¡± So she must be at least a little tipsy already.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen you in here before, sir,¡± said Onslow.


    ¡°I¡¯ve not been often,¡± David replied. ¡°I hope you didn¡¯t feel like I was browbeating you earlier, Onslow. I don¡¯t like it when I need to question one of my own, but it had to be done.¡±


    She gave him a verecund smile. ¡°It didn¡¯t offend me, sir.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s good to hear. I was actually at Master Stockton¡¯s laboratory today myself¡ªmy first time there. It¡¯s a stunning place, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Onslow nodded. ¡°It¡¯s magnificent.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I was impressed by the colours. Marigold, for a laboratory. It¡¯s a natural choice, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like marigold myself,¡± said Onslow, ¡°but it really worked.¡±


    At once, David dropped the smiling act. ¡°Master Stockton¡¯s laboratory is painted blue,¡± he said. ¡°Marigold¡¯s a shade of yellow. Onslow, I don¡¯t like being lied to. You¡¯ve never been to Stockton¡¯s laboratory. You didn¡¯t deliver the sample for Curlie. Why not?¡±


    Onslow shirked back. ¡°This is a trap,¡± she said. She looked hurt, betrayed.


    But then, she¡¯d betrayed David by lying.


    ¡°Why did you hide the sample? Onslow, this is a serious matter. I¡¯m wondering if I need to have you relieved of your duties. Maybe count you as a suspect in the attempt on Doctor Ballard¡¯s life.¡±


    She paled. ¡°No, sir, please. I didn¡¯t do anything.¡±


    He spoke firmly. ¡°Then why didn¡¯t you deliver the sample?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a simple question, Katy,¡± added Rawlinson.


    Onslow hesitated for a second, then sighed, then stifled a sob. ¡°I lost it,¡± she said.


    David blinked. ¡°You... lost it?¡±


    She nodded.


    ¡°How could you lose a sample?¡±


    ¡°I stopped to talk to Redlips before I went¡ªwe¡¯d arranged to walk to the Plaza together after our shift, and it was going to be up by the time I¡¯d got to the Eia, so I wanted to tell her to just meet me there. I put the sample on the side before I found her, and afterwards I couldn¡¯t find it. I looked everywhere, sir. I had all the cushions up on all the chairs, just in case. Someone must have taken it.¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you report it?¡± asked David.


    Onslow was cowering from him, he could see. Her neck seemed to have receded into her body a little. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to get into trouble,¡± she said. ¡°I thought if I just said I¡¯d delivered it, nobody would notice.¡±


    David sighed. ¡°You must be honest,¡± he told her. ¡°You won¡¯t get into trouble for being honest. Mistakes happen. But when you cover things up, when you hide your mistakes, you just make things harder for everyone. You¡¯ll take the rest of the week off, Onslow¡ªunpaid. And next week we¡¯ll start again. And you¡¯ll be honest with me. Okay?¡±


    Onslow nodded. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, sir,¡± she said. ¡°I won¡¯t do it again.¡± She looked on the brink of tears.


    He put a hand on her shoulder. ¡°Don¡¯t be upset,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s done now. Enjoy your drink.¡± She recoiled.


    ¡°What¡¯ll you do now, sir?¡± asked Rawlinson.


    ¡°Bartley¡¯s body¡¯s still kicking about,¡± said David. ¡°Tomorrow we¡¯ll have to dig it up and hope Curlie didn¡¯t take all the powder off for the first sample. There might well be enough left on his body for Master Stockton to work with.¡±

 45. The Enigmatic Molly Bradshaw

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Ian ~


    For one wishing to avoid throngs of people, there was only one way to get across the Clearwater. The bulk of traffic passed over the trestle by Hultry¡¯s farm, or the majestic bridge which Master Holden¡¯s builders had lavishly constructed a half-mile upstream of it. Not many people knew of the third bridge. It had been built by an old farmer called Mullings, a crusty bugger who had been appointed to farm wheat on the large plot of arable land along the river¡¯s western bank. Mullings was fed up of his hired hands spending an entire day on a journey into the town, held up waiting for people to stand by and let their cart cross the big bridge. So he¡¯d built his own.


    Ian crossed Mullings¡¯ bridge tentatively, cursing the farmer¡¯s choice of location. Through disconcertingly wide gaps in the planks, it was easy to see that the Clearwater was at its strongest here. A misstep would mean death. If he was lucky, he might escape with only broken bones and horrible grazes from the rough rocks on either side of the river.


    ¡°The trick is not to pay attention to what¡¯s beneath you,¡± said Sergeant Pratley, leading the way with confidence.


    ¡°That sounds like a good way to lose my balance,¡± said Ian.


    ¡°Yeah, you want to try to not do that.¡±


    The sun was a furious blaze on their backs. A fine morning it had turned out to be, after a drizzly start. Ian had emerged from the Tavern clad in a coat he didn¡¯t need. They¡¯d been to speak with Keith Bartlock, husband of Goodwife Sara. Bartlock often visited the church. He was a self-described ¡®day congregant¡¯, one among a not insignificant portion of Lightness Skerrett¡¯s flock who attended the sermons but hadn¡¯t committed themselves to the life of an acolyte. They were the laity. Some had jobs that precluded them from taking residence in Skerrett¡¯s pasture, some were drawn to Skerrett¡¯s voice more than the words he said. Bartlock was of a group who had families outside the Faithful. His wife wouldn¡¯t hold with him taking permanent residence within the church. He hadn¡¯t even told her he was a regular. If he wished to preserve his marriage, he had to stay in the town.


    Ian couldn¡¯t really fathom a love that strong. He¡¯d not said anything to Bartlock, but he suspected the bloke would be happier if he went and gave himself to the Lightness.


    As a regular visitor, Bartlock had great familiarity with the way the church functioned. The moment Ian had mentioned the name ¡®Molly Bradshaw¡¯, Bartlock had nodded, smiled a toothy smile, and said ¡°I know where she¡¯ll be¡±.


    For a week, Ian had been thinking about Molly Bradshaw. She was apparently resolute in her conviction that the Gods had come to her. If she was insane, it would be hard to take joy in the anguish it would cause her father. Back on the Eia, before they reached Essegena, his circle and Molly¡¯s had briefly intersected. They¡¯d talked a few times in passing. Yes, Ian had projected his distaste for General Bradshaw onto Molly, and yes, Molly had thrown her weight and her father¡¯s name about like she was something special, but the more he thought about it, the more he realised that she had never done anything to warrant hatred. And even if she had, she was still just a child really. Madness would not be justice for her.


    If, on the other hand, she was deceitful, embracing the Church of Lightness for the benefit of some scheme of her father¡¯s, Ian wanted to know. And know he would. Millie seemed nice enough, but she had a woman¡¯s heart¡ªa child¡¯s heart, in some ways. She wasn¡¯t equipped to see deception. Not in the way Ian was.


    The trick had been finding Molly Bradshaw. He daren¡¯t go striding into Skerrett¡¯s own pristine palace, not without the support of Sergeant Pratley¡ªand the Sergeant wouldn¡¯t even entertain the idea of heading up the hill. But when Molly left the church, if ever she did, was a question hard to answer. Ian could only guess at the schedules Lightness Skerrett kept.


    Even her father hadn¡¯t known what she was up to. Ian had caught General Bradshaw after one of the more temperate meetings. ¡°I had an encounter with your daughter the other day,¡± he said, trying to convey nonchalance. ¡°She¡¯s looking well.¡±


    Bradshaw¡¯s response had been gruff. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know. Molly comes to me on her terms. I don¡¯t get a say in when I see my daughter.¡±


    Bartlock, on the other hand, had been able to say exactly where Molly Bradshaw would be. ¡°Molly¡¯s very into the maidenries,¡± he said. ¡°The acolytes sew together on fine days, the women, next to the river.¡± And as it happened, today was a fine day.


    So there was Ian, traipsing around the edge of Mullings¡¯ farm and trying not to nick himself on the prickly bushes the old farmer had planted to mark his land. Away from the rush beneath the bridge, the Clearwater was peaceful. Water breezed softly by. Some birds were making a ruckus as they glided along the surface, kicking up fine fingers of spray behind them.


    The acolytes were easy to find. There were at least a dozen of them, all wearing the same tan smocks. The pallored Boneskin Bets walked between them, hands tightly bandaged, skirts trailing on the grass, blonde hair pulled tight beneath a starched escoffion. Every now and then she¡¯d stop to talk to one of the girls.


    Ian watched this from a shaded knoll at the boundary of Mullings¡¯ property. Beside him, Sergeant Pratley was leaning on the stile that at present made up the entirety of the fence, picking at the leaves of a nearby tree and shredding them between his fingers. ¡°Can you see Molly? Is she there?¡±


    It was difficult to say. All of the acolytes were wearing plain white bonnets, and all were facing in the other direction. There was only so much Ian could glean from their backs. Several did have dark hair like Molly¡¯s, stretching partway down their backs in elaborate braids, and some of these shared Molly¡¯s tanned white skin. Whether she was among them was impossible to tell.


    ¡°Only one way to find out,¡± he said, walking forward and beckoning Sergeant Pratley to follow.


    Pratley hesitated. ¡°I¡¯d rather wait for you here, sir, if it¡¯s not too much trouble.¡±


    Ian gave him a withering look. ¡°At some point, you¡¯re going to have to tell me what your problem is with the Church.¡±


    ¡°At some point,¡± Pratley agreed. ¡°Not today.¡±


    With a sigh Ian moved alone. He was not more than a dozen feet from them when one of the acolytes happened to catch a glimpse of him. The girl gasped, and turned to look forward, head cast down, hands hanging at her side. The rest followed suit, one by one, as they noticed him. He tried to ignore them as he walked between their ranks. At the front, Boneskin Bets looked at him with an expression of curiosity.


    ¡°Master Fitzhenry. The Lightness did not say to expect you.¡±


    He shook his head. ¡°Lightness Skerrett didn¡¯t send me,¡± he said. ¡°How¡¯s your hand?¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Boneskin Bets seemed flustered. She touched her bandaged palm with a thumb, but did not answer the question. ¡°It¡¯s not customary for men to be present during maidenry lessons. These girls must learn to overcome carnal temptation, if they are to let the Lightness in. You understand, of course?¡±


    Ian nodded. ¡°I¡¯m ignorant of your customs,¡± he said. ¡°May I humbly apologise for causing offence?¡±


    Boneskin Bets smiled thinly. ¡°You wanted something.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t a question. ¡°Indeed I did,¡± said Ian. ¡°A word with Molly Bradshaw, if it¡¯s not too much trouble.¡±


    ¡°Molly Bradshaw is not here.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I am,¡± said a voice behind Ian. He turned to see Molly, trembling slightly, stood.


    ¡°This is the maidenry, Molly,¡± Boneskin Bets hissed. ¡°Lightness Skerrett will have to hear of this. It¡¯s forbidden to talk with men during the maidenry, as you well know.¡±


    Ian turned to Boneskin Bets. ¡°Lightness Skerrett doesn¡¯t need to know I¡¯ve been here. You see my man over there?¡± He nodded a head towards the stile where Sergeant Pratley was watching. ¡°He has ways to ensure your silence. Though I¡¯m sure that won¡¯t be needful, will it?¡±


    Boneskin Bets glanced fearfully over to Sergeant Pratley, then shook her head. ¡°You will be allowed five minutes with Molly,¡± she said, ¡°but you cannot come here again.¡±


    Ian smiled. ¡°You have a deal, Matron.¡± She didn¡¯t have to know that Sergeant Pratley was the last man to come over here and arrest her.


    He took Molly to the very waterline, where he hoped not to be heard. There was a breeze blowing, towards the water; sound shouldn¡¯t be able to carry as far as Boneskin Bets.


    Molly was barefoot, he noticed; the wounds had healed slightly, though they still looked painful. The smock she wore was too long and dragged on the floor. The bottom was skirted green with grass stains.


    ¡°You needn¡¯t have threatened Matron Bets,¡± Molly complained. ¡°You¡¯re supposed to be a friend to the faith.¡±


    ¡°It was an empty threat, Molly,¡± he said. ¡°But needful, to convince her to let me speak with you.¡±


    ¡°How can I be of service?¡± She curtsied before him, which took him aback.


    ¡°I just wanted to ask a question or two. If I may.¡±


    Molly smiled a broad smile. ¡°Anything to help you, Master Fitzhenry.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m curious to know how you came to be faithful,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯re clearly very devoted. This isn¡¯t the girl I met on the Eia.¡±


    ¡°That girl was blind,¡± said Molly. ¡°I saw her. The goddess, Fr¨¦reves. It sounds silly but it¡¯s the truth. Master Fitzhenry, she spoke to me. She told me things. Secrets.¡±


    ¡°What sort of secrets?¡±


    Molly leaned in to whisper. ¡°We¡¯re not the first. There have been others here, so many others. Some of them are here still.¡± Ian wondered how she¡¯d known about Arthur Balkett¡¯s colony. Who else knew? Chris was probably deep in the shit already.


    She was crying, he noticed. The tears had nestled around her eyes. ¡°She showed me things. I saw my father fighting in the church, screaming to burn it down. And I saw my mother, rotting in her grave, but alive. She was scratching to get out, but the stone was too heavy. Imagine how it would feel to be trapped there, in the dark, and to not know what happened. Fr¨¦reves said I could talk to my mother again, explain to her what¡¯s happened. That way she could move on. But I had to go to the church. I had to read the books. And do you know what?¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    Molly looked at him with big round eyes, earnest in their determination. ¡°It¡¯s true. Every word. I could feel it. There¡¯s stuff out there that science alone can¡¯t explain, Master Fitzhenry. Wouldn¡¯t it be rude to ignore the Gods when they come to us with answers?¡±


    ¡°Your father misses you, Molly,¡± said Ian. ¡°Why don¡¯t you go to him?¡±


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    ¡°Why should I?¡±


    ¡°Back aboard the Eia, he told me all about you,¡± Ian recalled. It was the one conversation he¡¯d had of any length with General Bradshaw. He couldn¡¯t remember what had led to the two talking, but he was holding a glass of something, that much he knew. ¡°¡®Molly and Megan¡¯, he said, ¡®they¡¯re my real joy. They¡¯ll have good lives.¡¯ Your father would put anything on the line for you. Anyone you fell in love with, he¡¯d pull the strings and make sure you could marry. He told me he wanted to see his daughters on top of the world.¡±


    Molly laughed. ¡°Every morning when I wake up, I look out of my window and my father is below me. Here in the valley. How can I choose not to live above the rabble? I love him, really I do, but I¡¯m not him. I¡¯m a person in my own right. I have my own life to live, and I want to live it in reverence. That¡¯s my choice to make.¡±


    ¡°You should at least speak to him,¡± said Ian, wondering how he¡¯d ended up defending Mark Bradshaw¡¯s rights as a parent.


    Molly shook her head. ¡°I hope I see you at the church again,¡± she said, her ruby lips shining. ¡°Now, if you¡¯ll excuse me, I have maidenry.¡±


    Ian was alone when he made his way up the steps to the Lord Constable¡¯s Tower. He¡¯d not been afraid, or worried. He¡¯d insisted that he go alone¡ªSergeant Pratley was becoming enjoyable company, but Ian needed to speak to Chris. He could do without extra ears to be listening. Entering that tower, to be greeted at once by uncertain stares from half a dozen eyes, he felt less sure of himself.


    Nobody had quite been able to explain why Chris was so often found in the Lord Constable¡¯s Tower. He had an office of his own¡ªthe best part of a whole building, in fact, in the form of Government Hall. And he had his suite on the Eia. But since Caroline had been taken ill, he¡¯d started working in the tower. His security staff had been merged with the Constabulary. It was soldiers from a mixture of these groups who were staring at Ian.


    ¡°Can I help you?¡± said a huge corporal with gruesome scarlet stains on his teeth, sat behind the main desk of the tower¡¯s marble antechamber.


    Ian nodded. ¡°I¡¯d like to speak with the Governor, if I may. It¡¯s only me.¡±


    The corporal grunted. ¡°Disley will accompany you.¡±


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s fine.¡±


    The woman who Ian presumed was called Disley stepped forward. She was a good deal shorter than Ian, but had an authority imbued in her face that made it quite plain that she was the one in charge here. ¡°With me,¡± she said, ¡°and keep up. If you lag behind you might find yourself killed.¡±


    Ian laughed at that, which made Disley furious. The soldier didn¡¯t say another word to Ian as she led him up a flight of stairs and down a sparse hallway, which suited him just fine. He hadn¡¯t come to speak to her anyway.


    ¡°The Corrack is here to see you, Governor,¡± she said, arriving at Chris¡¯ door.


    A muffled voice on the other side bade him entry, and Disley begrudgingly let Ian through.


    Chris looked tired, but he was smiling. ¡°Ian. What brings you here?¡±


    ¡°Do I need a reason to find you? I thought we were friends.¡±


    ¡°We are, of course,¡± said Chris. ¡°But it¡¯s late nonetheless. If you¡¯re here seeking an apology, now isn¡¯t the time. Perhaps it was a misjudgement not to tell you about the Balkett colony, but it¡¯s a misjudgement I stand by. It wasn¡¯t relevant. Still isn¡¯t.¡±


    Ian waved him away. ¡°I¡¯m not here about that,¡± he said. ¡°Don¡¯t get me wrong, I¡¯d have preferred it if you¡¯d kept me in the loop, but what¡¯s done is done. Holding a grudge isn¡¯t going to change the past, is it? No, I just wanted to talk to you. I¡¯ve been talking to Lightness Skerrett.¡±


    ¡°Lightness Skerrett?¡± The look of confusion on Chris¡¯ face seemed to suggest that he¡¯d never heard of the Lightness.


    ¡°From the church up on the hill,¡± said Ian.


    Chris laughed. ¡°Somebody mentioned a church. Sergeant Poulton, I think. I must admit, I¡¯m not familiar with it. I obviously didn¡¯t study Master Holden¡¯s plans well enough.¡±


    ¡°Knowing you, you definitely didn¡¯t study Master Holden¡¯s plans,¡± said Ian, ¡°but the church won¡¯t have been on them anyway. Lightness Skerrett¡¯s been siphoning materials from the main supply to get it built. All above board, too. Master Holden signed off on the material transfers.¡±


    ¡°He just didn¡¯t tell me about it,¡± Chris finished. ¡°I¡¯ll have to have a word with Holden. But first I¡¯ll be speaking to this Lightness... Sorry, did you say his name was Lightness Skillet? Isn¡¯t that a pan?¡±


    ¡°Skerrett. Chris, you¡¯ll make his day if you pay him a visit. He wants to talk to you¡ªreckons the Unity¡¯s always tried to suppress the Faith, and wants to see if you¡¯ll be any different. He asked me to talk to you about it.¡±


    Chris nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll take some soldiers up with me.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s a trap, Chris. Their beliefs are genuine.¡±


    ¡°And their beliefs might prescribe my dying,¡± said Chris. ¡°I can¡¯t take the chance, even if it¡¯s a vanishingly small one. I¡¯m the Governor, Ian, and whether or not I like it there¡¯s a target on my head. Someone¡¯s already got to Caroline. If anything happens to me, Bradshaw will get to crow on about how the Ballards don¡¯t have the strength to be leaders. That¡¯s the dynasty over. Dead. The soldiers are getting paid whatever they do¡ªwhat does it hurt to bring a few along with me?¡±


    He raised some fair points. Ian couldn¡¯t exactly judge Chris for bringing security with him; he had, after all, been walking around with Sergeant Pratley at his side more often than not since he came to Essegena. And General Bradshaw was exactly the sort to harp on about any slight weakness he saw in the Governor¡¯s actions. No doubt he¡¯d see dying as an incredible show of weakness.


    Though losing your favourite child to the Faith was probably just as much a weakness in Bradshaw¡¯s book. ¡°You know the best bit?¡± he said. ¡°Bradshaw¡¯s girl is one of Skerrett¡¯s new acolytes. She¡¯s gone all in. Living on site, doing all the maidenries. Hasn¡¯t spoken to her father in weeks¡ªmonths, maybe.¡±


    As expected, that news brought a smile to Chris¡¯ lips. ¡°Molly?¡±


    Ian nodded.


    ¡°I always thought she was too pretty,¡± said Chris. ¡°How can a flower like that come from a man like Bradshaw? Apparently at the expense of any of her father¡¯s brains. You say she¡¯s really converted? It¡¯s not just some plan of Bradshaw¡¯s?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Ian, ¡°she¡¯s genuine. I had Millie cosy up to her, and I¡¯ve spoken to her myself. The Gods came to speak to her, so now she¡¯s a believer.¡±


    Chris snorted. ¡°Gullible bitch. Does she not know they¡¯re just stories? This Lightness Skerrett¡¯ll probably fuck her ¡®for the Gods¡¯, and it¡¯ll be what she had coming.¡±


    Ian took a step backward. Molly Bradshaw had seemed so happy that morning. So what if she hadn¡¯t really seen the Gods? Clearly she believed she had, and clearly that belief had been the better for her. He couldn¡¯t agree that it made her gullible. It certainly wouldn¡¯t justify Lightness Skerrett assaulting her.


    Not that Skerrett would. The preacher emanated honesty; he was probably weaned on the code of chivalry. Molly was safe in his company. And if it ever seemed she wasn¡¯t, Ian would make it his business to get her out of danger. That was how to appease Dani¡¯s shade.


    ¡°Will you stay, Ian?¡± Chris stood and moved towards a crystal decanter. ¡°David¡¯s due soon. A couple of others besides. It¡¯ll be like the glory days, back in the Gleaming Scabbard.¡± Except it wouldn¡¯t be¡ªit wouldn¡¯t even come close. The Gleaming Scabbard was Borrowood¡¯s main boozing hall. They¡¯d spent their evenings drinking there, in the glory days. Armand was always there. Nick Aspian too. And the girls¡ªCaroline and Tessa, Dani, Freya, Elise. Back then Elise had been fun company. And Ian hadn¡¯t been broken.


    It would be nice to go back and pretend that those days had never ended. But he was broken. He was broken into little bits, held together by sinews of contrition, and Chris wasn¡¯t the man to help him mend.


    He shook his head. ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± he said. ¡°Next time, maybe?¡±


    Chris nodded. ¡°Of course. Next time.¡±


    Ian looked back towards Chris when he reached the door. Already the Governor had returned to his seat, immersed himself in whatever work he was doing. He didn¡¯t notice Ian shutting the door behind him.


    Ian took to his chambers, in the company of a dram of straight chartreuse and the Testimony of Eia. What else was there to do? Millie was unavailable. It seemed Mistress Snyder had been spooked by word of the sickness in the hospital. The seamstress had shut up shop and wouldn¡¯t let Millie leave, oblivious to the fact that the hospital was locked down, and thus the disease contained within.


    He¡¯d been there just a few days before they closed their doors, to visit Caroline. He¡¯d needed to speak to her. To come clean. Even then, there had been a sombre cloak of fear. One or two had died, though Doctor Caerlin on the front desk had seemed upbeat about the chances of keeping it contained. Doctor Caerlin had been less optimistic a few days later, bursting into Government Hall to announce that the hospital was about to be locked tight. As council debuts go it was spectacular. What had happened in those few days to cause this change of tack?


    Whatever it was, it left Ian alone. Sergeant Pratley had offered to accompany him to the Tavern, but that wasn¡¯t a great idea. Ian would likely drink half his bodyweight in cider, and too much cider made him maudlin. Better to entertain himself somehow.


    On top of it all, he hadn¡¯t spoken to Caro. He¡¯d visited her, yes, but she was unconscious at the time. He sat by her bedside, watching one of the nurses tying a ribbon to the foot of Caroline¡¯s bed¡ªand long before she woke to realise he was there, he¡¯d talked himself out of making his confession. Now he couldn¡¯t. The ghosts weighed heavy tonight, and he could not release the pressure.


    So once again he found himself in the world of the Mother Eia. One page in particular had caught his eye as he picked up the book; the corner had been folded back, and someone had written in the margins. ¡®READ THIS FITZHENRY¡¯, it said, in red ink. The scrawl was spidery. Even in block capitals it had the feel of somebody writing in a scratchy half-remembered cursive. The handwriting didn¡¯t look familiar.


    Caroline used to leave notes in books, he remembered. She marked all her favourite passages, the bits that had made her laugh, and when Ian came to borrow the same books later on he¡¯d be treated to a second narrative¡ªthe evolving picture of Caroline¡¯s humour, and the glimpses it offered into the woman beneath her warm exterior. He used to cherish every note. Used to imagine her thinking of him as she scribbled in the pages.


    This one couldn¡¯t have been Caroline¡¯s. She was in the hospital, barely lucid, shut away on the other side of the lockdown.


    Was it a message from Lightness Skerrett? It didn¡¯t make sense that he¡¯d not noticed the folded-back page before, but who else was there for it to be? He must just have missed it before. Shrugging, he¡¯d decided to obey the strange message. What harm could a bit of reading do?


    The Mother Eia had just arrived in a small town somewhere in once-proud headlands, and¡ªstaying in an inn there¡ªrelayed the story she learned of the town¡¯s history. Berengue was the hero of the tale. Berengue the warrior-maiden, who wove lilac petals into her hair and swore she was twice the fighter any of the boys she spent her days with were.


    Berengue who, travelling to fetch water from a well among the celandines, was set upon and attacked by those very same boys. They were jealous of her, and embarrassed that she had shown them up. They beat her. One by one they kicked her. Somebody stabbed her, and laughing they left her in the dust. The Mother Eia took a detour at this point to emphasise that she would have hunted down any who would do this to her daughter¡ªthat she hoped her dear Matheld might come to embody even half of the courage of Berengue of the lilacs.


    Because Berengue hadn¡¯t given up. She¡¯d not lain there to die. Instead, she¡¯d forced herself to her feet, walked all the way back to her little town even though she had barely the strength to stand. At last, inches from death, she had come upon the inn which so many years later the Mother Eia had come to. Berengue forced her way through the door of the inn. There she begged the young innkeeper for shelter. A dozen pairs of eyes turned to her, to watch her as she bled. Only the innkeeper¡¯s wife stepped forward. She tried to tend the wounds and stem the bleeding, but Berengue of the lilacs passed away on the wooden floor of the inn. ¡®No kiss of love could wake that maiden thereafter,¡¯ the Mother Eia wrote, ¡®for the lifeblood had drained away; and as Berengue had in life loved and laughed, so in death, on that oaken bed, the martyr bled¡¯.


    They could never clean the bloodstains out. The Mother Eia recorded that she¡¯d laid eyes on that dried blood in a dark patch just inside the door. Word was that the trail of spots leading from the well, marking the last journey of Berengue of the lilacs, still endured too. The Mother didn¡¯t mention if this was more than just rumour.


    Years passed, said the Mother, and Berengue was forgotten. The girl she had been in life passed out of memory, and only the sensation of her bloody murder survived. And then a plague came to the town. One by one, the town¡¯s residents fell sick. In a day or in a week, all died, and a painful death. The only physician¡ªwho by chance had been one of the boys who had attacked Berengue¡ªwas the first to lose his life. As the pestilence spread, so people began to take flight, stocking up their carts and riding for safe ground. All fell ill on their journey, and no pilgrims from the town ever made it to the neighbouring villages.


    But the innkeeper and his wife did not flee. One night, sweeping the floors of their inn after the patrons had gone, they were visited by the spectre of Berengue, a pale-faced harbinger who to them swore that the inn was consecrated ground. By her blood it had been cleansed. The protection of the Gods was with them, and no harm would come so long as they remained.


    And so for half a year plague ravaged the town, and when at last it subsided, only the innkeeper and his wife remained. Berengue had been true to her word. The plague had not entered their inn.


    The story seemed fanciful to Ian, a slightly morbid morality tale of some sort for parents to read to children. The Mother Eia was earnest in her vouching for it. That same innkeeper and his wife were the elderly couple who had offered haven to the Mother, and given her rest and board. In time the town had returned to life. Berengue¡¯s name had become that of the town, she herself had become venerated by its residents, and the Mother Eia had been sad to report that the headland town of Berengue offered no sign of her dear Matheld.


    In the morning the Mother Eia had moved on, continuing to the next town along, and Ian had left her there. He closed the book and returned it to its shelf.


    Dani¡¯s ghost was with him tonight. He could feel her, but he dared not look for her. He didn¡¯t want to see her. She wouldn¡¯t be the Berengue of the modern age, come to tell Ian that he was safe here. She was the martyr. She had bled¡ªnot in the literal sense, maybe, but in the heart. And she had come as she always did to mock Ian with that reminder.

 46. Whispers

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Tasha ~


    It¡¯s the weak woman who gives up. Was it Mother who had said that? Aunt Danyer? One of her lectors at Rindehall? Whoever it was, their words had left an impression. Tash had no intention of letting the Ladies beat her. Even if she was a nobody, she would have kept trying until they got it into their stupid heads that she was just as good as they were. But she wasn¡¯t a nobody¡ªnot now. She was the queen.


    Okay, so it wasn¡¯t official yet¡ªbut it was going to be. And that meant she was better than all the Ladies put together. So they simply had to take her seriously now.


    As always, she¡¯d had Sesi dress her in her finest, and the make-up had taken an hour. She¡¯d even bought a new caul just for the occasion. It had been a special order from Madame Dravis¡ªwhite gossamer adorned with an apple-blossom broderie. She¡¯d also put on her mother¡¯s gold band. It was simple and vaguely tarnished, not strictly a piece of high fashion, but then she was their queen. Why shouldn¡¯t she set her own trend? Especially when it was such an elegant piece of jewellery. Tash would be the envy of them all, and no doubt about that. And there was already a great wide smirk on her face just in anticipation.


    Mother had bought the ring from a merchant in Preco, before Tash had been born¡ªbefore the war. Once, when Tash was fifteen, the family had travelled to Preco for a short stay. It was unrecognisable from the paradise it had once been. The dead outnumbered the living, even three years removed from the end of the slaughter. The hotels and eateries that lined the beaches were hollow, blackened shells. They¡¯d found the merchant¡¯s stall. The merchant was not there. He was dead, a victim of the bloodshed. Him and twelve thousand others.


    Had the first Caerlins on Tol Manase built their home on a different spit of land, Tash might well have ended up the same way as the merchant. It was said that, in places, nobody was left alive for miles around.


    Sesi must have sensed that she was dwelling on the past. The ladiesmaid squeezed her shoulder, and the old times were washed away from her mind. The air was fresh today. The sun bright. Why live in the dark times?


    Tash found the Ladies in their usual gathering place, in the grove on the western bank of the river. It had changed a bit since last time. The previously-unkempt trees had been pruned back to a whisper of their full glory. Behind the trees, the Ladies¡¯ territory was marked by a wall of hazel hurdles, and whitewashed planks had been placed along the length of the river. Because far be it for anybody of noble birth to ever get their feet wet, of course. Those were precious feet.


    Sesi was right behind her as she walked into the grove. ¡°Head up high,¡± she whispered¡ªnot that Tash needed the advice. Any higher and her head was like to fall off the back of her neck.


    There were at least a dozen of these noble Ladies gathered, most sat beneath the shade of trees or parasols or sitting effortlessly demure on the water¡¯s edge. Fiouhart appeared not to be here¡ªbut Tash recognised plenty of others, horse-faced Judith Sorrell and Eleonore Roberwood with her tightly coiled hair, and of course Felicity Peulion too. Just once, let me come to the grove and not have to see that big-nosed bitch.


    It was Eleonore Roberwood who was first to spot Tash. A smile formed on Roberwood¡¯s beamish face, and for just a second Tash dared to hope that at last she¡¯d won their approval. But other heads turned to face her. Scowling faces. Peulion, Holden, Morningay, all the usual suspects. Pereneth Aster and her whore daughter Allyce glowered at Tash.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t a place for you,¡± Peulion sneered. ¡°You were told.¡±


    ¡°And to bring your servant with you?¡± Taya Morningay collapsed into phony giggles, apparently forgetting that it was her own cook who¡¯d been stewing apples when last Tasha had been to the grove.


    Sesi gripped her shoulder. ¡°They¡¯re testing you, Lady,¡± she said, softly.


    ¡°And who are they to test me?¡± Tash pulled Sesi¡¯s hand free. ¡°I am the queen.¡±


    A couple of the Ladies raised eyebrows. Sorrell snickered into her hand.


    Tash strode into the midst of them all, arms outstretched. ¡°Did you hear me? I am the Queen of Essegena. Why, I have more right to be here than any of you.¡±


    ¡°Queen? You¡¯re just a commoner¡¯s whelp,¡± said Peulion.


    ¡°And what does that make you?¡±


    Peulion shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t think you understand. You¡¯re not a queen, not even if the Governor says so. That¡¯s not how it works. But even if you were, it would change nothing.¡±


    ¡°You still wouldn¡¯t be welcome here,¡± said Morningay.


    ¡°We don¡¯t like you,¡± said Roberwood. ¡°And it¡¯s not because we think we¡¯re better than you. It¡¯s because you¡¯re rude, and arrogant, and downright unpleasant.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Tash shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m not the unpleasant one. You thought you could kick me out because my father worked in a coal mine.¡±


    ¡°None of us said that,¡± said Peulion.


    A lie, surely, but Tash couldn¡¯t be bothered to replay the whole conversation in her mind. The highlights were more than enough. ¡°You called me a bitch,¡± she said, pointing a finger at Peulion directly.


    ¡°Because of how you talked about your family. The things you said... about your parents, your husband, your sister.¡± Peulion shook her head slowly. ¡°Your birth doesn¡¯t make you better than anybody. And it doesn¡¯t matter how many times you tell yourself it does¡ªit will never become true.¡±


    Tash could only laugh. ¡°I think you¡¯re a jealous bitch,¡± she said. ¡°Here¡¯s the truth: you don¡¯t like me, you¡¯ve never liked me, and now you¡¯re trying to think of ways to discredit me, because you know I¡¯m better than you are. And I am better. I¡¯m the Queen.¡±


    ¡°What if we don¡¯t accept it? Nobody asked me if you should be queen,¡± said Roberwood.


    ¡°You have to accept it. It¡¯s a fact.¡± Tash folded her arms, satisfied. Peulion¡¯s lies had been a miscalculation. She¡¯d overplayed her hand, and the other Ladies were turning on her. Tash could feel them coming round.


    A couple of the Ladies shared glances, Peulion among them. Then Peulion looked to Tash. ¡°If we¡¯re to accept you as queen,¡± she said, ¡°then you must be gracious enough to let us observe the traditions.¡±


    ¡°You can kiss my feet if you¡¯d like,¡± said Tash, confused.


    Peulion pulled a face. ¡°Those disgusting things? No, I don¡¯t think so. Let us raise you aloft.¡±


    ¡°Yes, let us,¡± added Allyce Aster, bringing the chorus.


    ¡°High in the air, to show we are beneath you,¡± said Judith Sorrell.


    Tash had never heard of the tradition. She turned to Sesi for confirmation, but found one of the Ladies right behind her. They closed on her from all directions. Each had an evil grin on her face, each had reaching arms, and Tash didn¡¯t even have time to hope for escape. They grabbed hold of her¡ªand held her high in the air. And it was as if she was flying. She bounced on their raised hands and basked in their grovelling proclamations.


    ¡°Queen Tasha,¡± they said, almost as one. And she felt thoroughly stupid for ever thinking that they meant to harm her.


    And all of a sudden she was flying through the air. She had barely a second to react before she hit the water and plunged beneath the surface. It was like ice¡ªand like a fool, she gasped and inhaled it. Her feet touched the silt at the bottom of the river, felt the probing fingers of weeds that thought to grip her. She pushed and kicked.


    And then, at last, she was on the surface again. At once she set to coughing and spluttering, bobbing up and down and letting in as much water as she was getting out. Her arms splashed feebly at her sides. On the shoreline, the Ladies laughed. Briefly, she caught a glimpse of Sesi pushing to get past them.


    But they were all getting further away.


    She¡¯d never given much thought to the river¡¯s current before, but from where she was she had no alternative. It was far stronger than she¡¯d anticipated. She¡¯d learned to swim¡ªFather had insisted. But even appropriately dressed she¡¯d have struggled. Imprisoned by petticoats and fabrics made heavy by the water, she didn¡¯t stand a chance. It was all she could do just to keep her head above.


    And all the while, her only hopes of salvation laughed at her from a safe distance.


    The river only seemed to get wider the further it pulled her. More weeds came to cuddle her feet with every passing minute, and so she kicked at them and hoped they wouldn¡¯t grab hold of her. There was nobody to see her from the shore here. If she slipped below she¡¯d be dead.


    At places, its meandering path suddenly changed direction. On three or four occasions, she was buffeted hard against the shoreline by the current¡ªbut before she had chance to reach for something solid to grab onto, she¡¯d been whisked away again.


    ¡°Help me!¡± It was unbecoming of a queen to scream so helplessly, but it would be more unbecoming of a queen to drown. She screamed it a few times, until the water poured into her open mouth and set her on another fit of coughing. If anybody heard, they didn¡¯t show themselves.


    Tash was getting tired now. Her arms burned. Even if she somehow stayed afloat, rode the river until it broke out to a sea, what would she do? Rivers ran for miles, often hundreds of miles. She couldn¡¯t walk that far, even if she knew the way.


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    And there was nobody else. Not on this whole planet. If she couldn¡¯t find her way to the valley, she would never see human life again. And if by some miracle she lived long enough to bring Jem to term, what then? She¡¯d have to give birth to him alone. Face all the pain. And then raise him, alone. She wasn¡¯t ready for that.


    She tipped her head back and caught a glimpse of the sky. This early in the afternoon, the faint shapes of Essegena¡¯s moons had barely made themselves visible. The stars would be hidden for hours to come. Hours she probably didn¡¯t have.


    She¡¯d never realised before just how lonely this world was.


    And now she had, just in time to die. She splashed gamely towards the shoreline, making no progress as the current kept pulling her on. It wasn¡¯t with illusions of somehow fighting the current. It was just something to do. She had to try to fight. Even if the river was destined to win.


    Mercifully, a jutting rock split the river in two, and a fallen tree lay across one half of the surface. Tash kicked as best she could, kicked and hoped. And the currents were kind. She drifted that way, into the welcoming arms of that dead tree. It was half-rotted, and its branches jabbed her painfully, but it was at least a stop. She reached for it with her hands. The first branch she grabbed snapped away as she pulled on it. The second held firm.


    Here, the river bank was shallow, and grass rather than rock. If she could just get over there, she could probably lever herself out of the water and onto dry land. If she could get over there. Through some contortion, she was able to pull her feet up onto the outcropping rock without letting go of the branch. It had her sideways, her ear just a fraction above the surface. The rushing water sounded from such a close vantage point somehow even scarier than when she was fully submerged.


    She kicked hard from the rock and reached her free arm towards the bank. And reached it. The damp earth was unpleasant as it seeped between her fingers, but at least it was solid ground.


    At least today wasn¡¯t the day she died.


    She scrambled up onto the riverbank, soaked through from head to toe, and lay in the grass for a bit. She must have looked a mess. Her make-up was surely washed off¡ªand Sesi had put so much effort into it.


    Sesi. No doubt the poor woman was frantic right now, racing downstream to try and find Tash. The scene as she fell was etched into her brain, and only Sesi hadn¡¯t been laughing. All the Ladies had been in fits. They wouldn¡¯t have found it so funny if Tash had drowned. A life imprisoned beneath the Lord Constable¡¯s tower was nothing to laugh at. But Tash would have laughed, or at least her ghost would have.


    As it was, she hadn¡¯t drowned, so the point was moot. And she certainly wasn¡¯t laughing. She was panting, and she was shivering, and she was absolutely drenched.


    She¡¯d grasped shore on the narrowest strip of sandy grass, with water on one side and thickets of thorn and bramble on the other three. These spiteful bushes whispered in the day¡¯s gentle breeze. A bird sung sweetly from somewhere nearby. And there was another sound, too. Voices.


    Tash tensed. She¡¯d been carried quite a ways downriver. This bit of the valley was a fair step beyond the edge of town, and it wasn¡¯t even a pleasant place to sit¡ªcertainly not from her vantage point. Why come here to talk?


    She crawled as close as she dared to the thorn-bushes. They were just sparse enough that she could make out bits and pieces through the gaps. On the other side was a field of wild grasses and knobbly trees, the ground uneven and carpeted with gorse. Two men stood in the shade of one of the trees. One was a head taller than the other, and both were just obscured enough by various bits of branch and leaf that Tash couldn¡¯t make out a single identifying feature.


    Still, a voice in the back of her head told her it was best not to make herself known.


    ¡°The incident at the hospital is unfortunate,¡± the tall man was saying. ¡°The loss of life is of course regrettable, but so is the delay.¡±


    ¡°I figured the incident had somehow been orchestrated,¡± said the other, a man with a gruff voice.


    ¡°No. Not by us, in any case. It¡¯s something of a headache for the Ealdor.¡±


    ¡°I see. And the bottle¡ª?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s too soon to say for sure,¡± said the tall man. ¡°Though it¡¯s certainly not of local origin. Fitzlionel all but confirmed it.¡±


    ¡°So it¡¯s definitely come from off-world?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the implication. Though I daresay the vast majority of items on this planet came from off-world.¡±


    ¡°I bet it¡¯s come from that reeve, the one who¡¯s always following the Governor around.¡± Tash¡¯s mind couldn¡¯t help but jump to Oliver. She tensed. ¡°I don¡¯t trust him one bit, I¡ª¡±


    ¡°Enough about that,¡± the tall man snapped. ¡°Your focus is the girl. Her continued safety is imperative.¡±


    ¡°Well...¡±


    ¡°Well, what?¡±


    ¡°There have been unforeseen complications,¡± said the gruff man. ¡°The girl is safely under observation, and much too scared to speak out¡ªthe Ealdor need not fear in that regard. But the sister¡¯s here too. That was not expected.¡±


    ¡°No doubt the Ealdor has planned for this,¡± said the tall man.


    ¡°How could he plan for this? There was no warning. If they were to come into contact¡ª¡±


    ¡°Have they? Already?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not aware of it,¡± said the gruff man. ¡°But it can¡¯t be ruled out.¡±


    There was a brief pause. Tash tried to shift across a little, to better see the two men. The sodden dress caught on a twig as she crawled and rode up, exposing her midriff. Her bare belly brushed a nettle. Ouch. She stifled the exclamation, just barely.


    ¡°I¡¯ll make sure the Ealdor is aware,¡± said the tall man. ¡°We shouldn¡¯t act without his approval.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t be certain,¡± said the gruff man, ¡°but the sister has struck up a friendship with Caroline Ballard. At least, that¡¯s what my sources are telling me.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no need to worry on that front. Caroline Ballard is dead.¡±


    ¡°Dead?¡±


    ¡°Or dying. What does it matter who¡¯s befriended some moribund physician?¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re sure,¡± said the gruff man, though he himself sounded uncertain. ¡°But is it not at least worth mentioning?¡±


    The tall man scoffed. ¡°The sister is ancillary at best. There are enough moving parts in this already, there¡¯s no need focusing on her any more than we have to. Who she¡¯s friends with is irrelevant.¡±


    ¡°Even the Governor¡¯s wife?¡±


    ¡°Even the Governor¡¯s wife. Forget about the sister. Just try to keep them apart, at least until the Ealdor can make a decision.¡±


    The two men moved away from the trees, and Tash ducked down in case either of them chanced to look her way. From her new position flat against the floor she could only see their legs.


    ¡°You¡¯ll wait a good while before starting back,¡± said the tall man. ¡°It¡¯s important we arrive separately in town. And don¡¯t seek me out, unless it¡¯s an emergency. We¡¯ll be in touch with you.¡±


    ¡°What about the farm?¡±


    ¡°Keep on as you have been. The game should be payment enough.¡±


    ¡°I just worry. My wife is getting suspicious, I fear,¡± said the gruff man.


    ¡°Then make her unsuspicious. Feed her some cock-and-bull story, lie low for a few days, whatever you have to do. I¡¯m sure you can figure something out.¡± The tall man strode away, disappearing quickly from view. Tash became acutely aware of a pressure in her bladder¡ªbut she dared not move, not until the other man was gone too. And he took ages going.


    At last, just when she thought she might burst, the gruff man decided he¡¯d left it long enough, and followed the other away. North, that must be. Towards the town.


    Tash relieved herself in the cover of the undergrowth, her mind going at a million miles an hour. She¡¯d definitely heard them talking about her husband. If Oliver was in danger... But then the men had mentioned someone called the Ealdor. The name was unnervingly familiar. Where had she heard it? A memory stirred in the bottom of her mind, but it stubbornly refused to rise to the surface. All she had was the certainty that she¡¯d heard something she very definitely wasn¡¯t supposed to hear.


    When her bladder was empty, she started home, and she ran the whole way there.


    Millington was on the front gate when she arrived, idly tapping on the butt of his rifle. He looked her over, wide-eyed. ¡°Lady Tasha. We were so worried. Lieutenant Sharp¡¯s been searching for you all over.¡± Millington turned back to the house. ¡°She¡¯s here,¡± he yelled.


    His yell had alerted the household. Tash was greeted at the front door by Eva, who jumped up to hug her, and Emmy, who didn¡¯t. She smiled and wriggled free of Eva¡¯s grip, only to find Goodwife Mabeth stood in the hallway. ¡°You don¡¯t all need to rush to me,¡± she said.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be so daft,¡± said Goodwife Mabeth. ¡°Of course we did. Sesi said you¡¯d fallen into the river¡ª¡±


    ¡°I was pushed.¡±


    Goodwife Mabeth nodded. ¡°Well, Master Wrack has been apoplectic. He¡¯s been out with half the household guard, searching the riverbank for you. And if I may say, we were beginning to fear the worst.¡± Goodwife Mabeth¡¯s fussing lasted for the best part of ten minutes. Maybe she¡¯d never married Aunt Danyer, but she¡¯d certainly learnt all of Aunt Danyer¡¯s favourite grandmothering tactics. Tash was grateful when she could finally get away. Even if it did mean pretending she needed a nap.


    She did lie down on her bed, when she had at last clambered up the stairs to her chambers. And she changed into her nightdress too¡ªnot because she was sleepy, but because her clothes were soaked through and it seemed silly to put on a nice outfit just to lie down. Millington had sent Quant to fetch Oliver. Her husband would be here soon, and she could tell him everything. And that would make it better. Telling him always made it better.


    She dared not go to the Constabulary. The Lord Constable would laugh at her for wasting his time again¡ªall while Stini was rotting in a filthy cell somewhere far beneath his feet. There¡¯d be no help from the Constabulary, none at all, and she¡¯d only end up angry again. But Oliver would know what to do.


    What was taking so long? Tash stared up at the ceiling, the dull white ceiling. It had been a habit when she was a little girl¡ªwhenever Tema had cheated at their game, or cried foul and got Tash sent to her room, she¡¯d lie on her back and gaze up at the plaster sky. But the ceiling back home was more interesting. It was hundreds of gilded roundels, all overlapping each other. She always used to try and work out which was the top roundel. She¡¯d never figured it out. They all seemed to underlap another at some point.


    At last, perhaps half an hour later, she heard footsteps on the landing. Oliver. He would be happy to see her safe and well, and she would just melt in his arms.


    The door creaked as it opened.


    ¡°Lady, they said you were home safe.¡± That wasn¡¯t Oliver¡¯s voice. That was Sesi. Tash looked away from the ceiling, turning her head to the door. Sweat had clearly covered Sesi¡¯s face, smearing her make-up and making her look about as hideous as Tash felt. Strands of copper hair stuck to Sesi¡¯s cheeks. And yet she still looked elegant as ever. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, Lady, I should have jumped in after you.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± said Tash.


    Sesi shook her head. ¡°No. No, it isn¡¯t fine. You might have been hurt, and I wasn¡¯t there, because I did not learn to swim. And I was raised beside the sea¡ªI should be a fine swimmer.¡±


    Tash smiled weakly. ¡°You¡¯re hard on yourself, Sesi, and I love you for it. Why don¡¯t you talk to Nickie? Have her bake some biscuits?¡± Anything to get Sesi to leave her for two minutes. She just wanted to be alone¡ªbecause what if Oliver were to come back now? He mightn¡¯t realise just how much Tash needed him. Needed to talk to him.


    Where was Oliver anyway? Why did it always have to be Sesi who was on hand? Tash felt her lip quivering. No, I will not show weakness. Not in front of my ladiesmaid.


    She could never have hoped to hide it. Sesi saw. ¡°What is it, Lady? What¡¯s the matter?¡±


    ¡°Oh Sesi... I heard some things.¡± Despite herself, Tash found herself reaching out for Sesi, and the ever-faithful maid was there to offer the consoling hug. And that was it. Everything came spilling out then, in a disgusting mix of talk and tears. Tash told her all about the riverbank, and the two men, and Sesi listened tentatively. And she held onto Tash all the time. It didn¡¯t seem to matter that Tash was a thorough embarrassment not worthy of calling herself ¡®queen¡¯.


    Eventually Tash fell asleep, still being cradled by Sesi, and it was like she was a little girl again. Oh, but why couldn¡¯t things be as easy?

 47. Viola

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Tema ~


    Who knew white walls could be so infuriating?


    For ten minutes now, Tema had been stood in the nearest bathroom, sharing a lonely congress with the stubborn mirror on the wall. She might stay another ten. It had been too long since she¡¯d shaved, twelve hours or more. Dark hairs speckled the flaking foundation above her lip. And she stared at them, her thoughts racing faster than the stars which the Eia had burnt past on its long voyage. Her lips were dry. Her hand shook. She wanted to take a fist to the mirror, scrape the offending flesh away with the shards. But that would do no good.


    For sanity¡¯s sake, she had to shave twice daily. Make-up too. Some of the others liked to mock her for it, Mary Ellen Tolcross and Soraya Cisel and their like. ¡°You should spend more time worrying about your patients and less on your face,¡± they said. ¡°Are you going to hide from the sick in case they cough and mess up your perfect look?¡± She always shook off the mockery. She knew she was good at her job. And she knew there would always be make-up on her face. As much as she could muster, anyway¡ªthe kohl around her eyes was the last she had, and her only concealer was the little compact in the pocket of her peacoat. Sooner or later it would run out. And when it ran out, she would cover every mirror she saw. She would not allow him to show through.


    Everything about the hospital was growing irritating now. The lockdown had stretched on for a week already. She thought it was a week, anyway. It was difficult to tell. Trapped within these walls, she was losing track of day and night. Shifts ran on longer than they were supposed to, blended into one another seamlessly. In between there was nothing to do but find a quiet corner and try to get some sleep. Nowhere offered a respite from the noise.


    Doctor Maynard was in a bad way. The infection had reached her veins, and it had spread throughout her body. She¡¯d lost conscious yesterday. Now, angry red pustules snaked up her neck and onto her face, pulsing, tracing the course of her bloodstream. Betsy Clanackan had spent an hour bagging her at the worst of it, when Maynard stopped breathing. It had been a tense hour. A day later, the bag valve remained by her bedside. A ventilator was standing by.


    Two of the nurses were tending to her. Tema was watching them. Her shift had finished an hour ago, but she was too tired to crawl into an empty ward, so she stayed bleary-eyed to look over the younger workers.


    These were the greenest of girls. Martha Salcombe had practically walked directly from her graduation to the Eia. Viola Watling hadn¡¯t even finished medical school. They were following the same ineffective procedures. What else was there to do?


    Tema hadn¡¯t come across a disease like this, at least not outside her textbooks. Doctor Maynard would have known what to do, and Doctor Ballard would have too, but they¡¯d both gone down sick. Doctor Staniforth had locked himself in his office the instant he found out about the lockdown, self-protection in the guise of research. And the others, Sinclair and Fleming and Warburton, they¡¯d been elsewhere when the doors were locked. Tema was alone.


    Maynard had been hooked up to one of the vitals monitors. The machine liked to beep every time one of the numbers changed. Beep. Beep. In her semi-asleep state, Tema had tuned out the noise. It was just a constant high-pitched drone, the soundtrack to her subconscious. Beep. She heard it all the time even in her dreams.


    As Viola moved around the bed, her shoe slipped off her heel. It bent and caught beneath her foot as she walked, causing her to stumble. She screamed in anger as she kicked out. The offending shoe flew across the room. Viola¡¯s bare foot hit the foot of the bed, and she cried out again. Tema was only idly aware of the young nurse walking out of the room, her eyes rimmed red with tears.


    A minute or so later, her brain got around to processing the events she¡¯d seen. Martha Salcombe was tending to Doctor Maynard alone. Tema got to her feet, letting out a low sigh as she did so. Her legs were stiff and cramped from sitting awkwardly; one had gone to sleep, and she hobbled through pins and needles to the door.


    At first she couldn¡¯t tell where Viola had gone. Certainly the corridor was empty. But then she caught a flicker of movement, and a door swinging shut. The storerooms. There were several scattered throughout the hospital, some housing medical supplies and some housing food. The planners weren¡¯t stupid. A lockdown could never be an option if a lockdown was guaranteed starvation. Combined, the stores had enough tinned goods and dehydrated produce to feed a hundred people for half a year.


    It was one of these stores that Viola had entered.


    Tema followed her there, feeling the relief as blood flowed back into her legs and restored her to pain-free mobility. Opening the door to the storeroom rewarded her with a waft of stale air. The girl was stood at a row of shelving upon which were several glass bottles, the contents running the gamut from lilac to aureolin. Her arms were full of these bottles, and she had her head tipped back, pouring the contents of one down her throat. When it was empty, she threw it to the ground. It flew past Tema to smash into the wall, making Tema yelp in shock, and then Viola noticed her.


    ¡°Viola,¡± Tema began. Before she could say anymore, the girl pushed past her. Her eyes were saucers. ¡°Viola, you need to put those back.¡±


    ¡°Fuck off,¡± screamed Viola. She hurled another bottle at Tema. It sailed harmlessly over her head, making contact with one of the shelves on the far wall. The impact decapitated the bottle. Shattered hunks of glass and sweet chartreuse blood sprayed everywhere, soaking several large sacks of flour.


    In the time it took Tema to notice this, Viola had gone, the door slammed shut behind her. Tema picked up the broken bottle. Booze. At least Viola hadn¡¯t downed poison. Her hand was bleeding, she noticed¡ªshe must have nicked it on the jagged glass. She pulled a wad of tissue from the bag around her waist, and formed from it a makeshift bandage, tying it several times around her hand.


    Viola was sat on the floor outside, her back against the wall and her head in her hands. A couple of bottles lay on the ground next to her, the stoppers out. She didn¡¯t look up as Tema approached.


    ¡°Miss Watling?¡±


    The girl didn¡¯t respond. Tema cleared her throat.


    ¡°Viola? Can I sit here with you?¡± Viola grunted, which she supposed meant ¡®yes¡¯. She sat down slowly, tucking her thing back out of the way and smoothing the skirts of her tunic. ¡°Are you okay?¡±


    Viola nodded her head. ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡±


    She found her hand on Viola¡¯s shoulder, and a gentle smile on her lips. ¡°It¡¯s okay to be upset, you know.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not upset,¡± Viola sobbed.


    Tema picked up the bottles and moved them to one side, replacing the stoppers. The label, and the thick smell of the lilac liquid inside, marked them as a starflower tope, the most potent nepenthe. People didn¡¯t drink starflower tope when they were happy. ¡°If you¡¯re not upset, you don¡¯t need these,¡± said Tema. ¡°So why don¡¯t we put them back where they came from, and forget all about this.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Viola, reaching for the bottles, but Tema held them out of her reach.


    ¡°Tell me what¡¯s the matter,¡± she said. ¡°I can¡¯t help you if you don¡¯t tell me.¡±


    There was silence for a little while then. Only the drawing of each heavy breath Viola took. At last, she spoke. ¡°It¡¯s all too much for me. I¡¯m no use, Doctor Caerlin, I¡¯m going to pieces.¡±


    ¡°Everybody thinks that,¡± said Tema. ¡°And that¡¯s fine. What¡¯s important is you keep going.¡±


    ¡°How? I¡¯ve got nothing to look forward to, no end in sight. I¡¯m just getting more and more tired every day, waiting until it¡¯s my turn to get ill.¡± Viola bashed at the wall with her fist, then howled in pain. ¡°I just wish it could stop.¡±


    ¡°I know how you feel,¡± said Tema. ¡°I was new once.¡±


    ¡°And did you ever have a situation like this? It¡¯s alright when everything¡¯s normal.¡± Viola¡¯s voice was raised. Tema saw Martha Salcombe poking her head out of the door to the ward, and gestured to her to go back to tending Doctor Maynard.


    ¡°Calm down, Viola. Shouting won¡¯t make anything better.¡±


    ¡°It feels better,¡± Viola moaned.


    ¡°So does helium. Until you take too much of it, and the anoxia gets you. If you¡¯re not careful, you¡¯ll swell up like a balloon¡ªand then you¡¯ll pop like a balloon. You¡¯ve already got the colouration.¡±


    Viola¡¯s face was crimson beneath her hands. She giggled at Tema¡¯s remark. ¡°I should quit,¡± she said, sobering up. ¡°I¡¯m just causing chaos here.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve heard of Balking, I trust?¡± Tema didn¡¯t need an answer. Balking was a prime case study in the Academy¡¯s teachings¡ªif Viola hadn¡¯t heard of it, she¡¯d never have got near the Essegena job. ¡°I had a placement there, when I was slightly older than you are now. You can imagine my anger when I found out that was where I¡¯d been sent. When you¡¯re a fresh-faced sixteen, you want to go somewhere glamorous. My friend Barbara was going to Tol Margred¡¯s, right in the middle of the Merrowain Heights. The girl who used to put vinegar in my drinks was off to the Hive. And I was being sent to some tiny little town on the quietest part of Tol Manase. I was pissed. Before the munitions went up, it was so incredibly boring. I was counting every minute, just like you were when we first arrived here. After the explosion, I¡¯d have given anything to go back to counting the minutes.¡±


    ¡°What was it like? Being there?¡±


    ¡°Bloody terrible.¡± Quite what caused Balking to blow was never made clear, but Tema had seen the explosion from her room at the hospital. The flames had burned blue, and the town had smelled of sulphur for weeks afterward. ¡°There wasn¡¯t much of a town left by the time we got there. Bits of charred wood, bits of broken stone, lots and lots of blood. I don¡¯t know what was worse, the smell or the sound. All those people screaming... Some of them must have known they were going to die. It didn¡¯t mean they accepted it. And some were worse than others. There was one woman, a soldier. I¡¯d spoken to her a few times. Even gave her a twisted leg in a hurney game one time. When they brought her in, I thought she was already dead. The explosion had ripped her head in two, from here to here.¡± Tema ran a hand from her chin to her forehead in demonstration. ¡°I gave her some opium for the pain, and told her what she wanted to hear, and when she died I wanted to cry. I¡¯d signed up to make people better. I¡¯d never been so helpless as when I realised that we can¡¯t always make people better. I remember going to my supervisor and telling him I wanted to go home. I couldn¡¯t keep doing this. But we can¡¯t always save people. It¡¯s a grim reality, but it¡¯s the truth. That doesn¡¯t mean we shouldn¡¯t keep trying. That¡¯s what my supervisor told me, and he was right.¡±


    Viola lifted her face out from her hands. She¡¯d stopped sobbing, at least. ¡°She¡¯s going to die, isn¡¯t she? Doctor Maynard? Nor Doctor Ballard either? We¡¯ll make them well again, won¡¯t we?¡± The way she spoke, she sounded just like a young child. Tema said nothing. She didn¡¯t need to¡ªViola already knew the answer. ¡°It¡¯s a beastly thing.¡±


    ¡°You never really get used to it, I¡¯m afraid. You just sort of... think of other things.¡±


    Viola frowned. ¡°Other things?¡±


    ¡°If you can,¡± said Tema. ¡°Imagine you¡¯re walking through the woods. It¡¯s all peaceful. The sun¡¯s drawing lines of gold where it creeps through the canopy. Perhaps there¡¯s a stream there, or groves of starfire, or an old friend¡ªthe specifics are up to you. It¡¯s your safe place, yours. Somewhere you can retreat to when it all gets too much, so you can find the strength to keep going. My paradise is a grove at the dying gasp of spring, all green leaves and sunlight and pockets of cape jasmine. Yours can be whatever you like. Make the woods your reward. At the end of your shift, when you find a quiet place to lie, you can think of them, actually go and visit them in your head. You can spend the whole night there if you choose¡ªlonger, perhaps, since time works differently in dreams. But I need you, here, now. If you spend your reward now, you¡¯ll never earn it. And neither will anyone else. It¡¯ll all be sour, spoilt.¡±


    Viola sniffed. ¡°I miss the feel of fresh air on my face. I don¡¯t know whether I¡¯m coming or going anymore.¡±


    Tema looked into the young girl¡¯s face. It was pretty beneath the grime, soft and round and young. Viola was too young to be here now. But she was. Fate had decreed it, and fate could not be argued with.


    She brushed some dangling strands of hair from Viola¡¯s eyes. ¡°I know it¡¯s hard. Viola, I promise this will end, but I need you. Help me save Doctor Maynard, and Doctor Ballard, and all the others who are sick.¡±


    The girl¡¯s eyes were big and dark when she looked at her, and uncried tears glistened in the light. ¡°I¡¯m scared, Doctor Caerlin. What if we do all this for nothing? What if the sickness gets out?¡±


    ¡°Out? You mean out of the hospital?¡± Viola nodded. ¡°If it gets out, all of the Gods, all of the spices of Amora, all of Kelsiern¡¯s armaments, all the wealth of the diamond mines of Carax... none of it can help us.¡± It was a prospect as dismal as it was true. So far there was no suggestion of anybody getting better. It was just a matter of keeping the sick alive as long as they could, and making them as comfortable as possible while they were still alive.


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    But Tema didn¡¯t enjoy saying it out loud. Viola fell into her open arms, and she hugged her tightly.


    And suddenly they were hugging each other, and the blood was rushing. The stubborn snake between her legs begged for attention, but she squeezed her thighs together to press it down. Viola¡¯s hand was on her breast, and hers on Viola¡¯s cheek. Their lips met, and for a second they were Bessily and Maven, lovers beneath the dovetree, untouchable by worldly cares.


    Then Viola broke away, and gasped. Her breath was heavy, and she was shaking her head. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry.¡± She started to run down the corridor.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to be,¡± Tema called after her, but Viola was gone. And then it was Tema¡¯s turn to cry.


    She cried until the night came, then¡ªeyes sore from the tears¡ªshe crawled to the nearest empty ward. It was dark there, and quiet. There, she could sleep. They¡¯d designated some of the unused wards as sleeping quarters to wait out the lockdown. With the cots wheeled to one side, mattresses flung to the ground, and the lights turned off, these wards became bunkrooms.


    They reminded Tema of the dormitories at school. Rindehall was as prestigious as schools went on Belaboras, a fortress sitting alone on its island in the cold sea. Just as every Caerlin for five hundred years, Tema had gone there. She hated it. The way to survive was to prove that you were more a man than any of your peers. For Tema, it had been six long years of the lie, hoping each night that she¡¯d wake to find she no longer belonged in the boys¡¯ dormitory.


    It only took her a second to drift off. Her nightmares were of Viola¡¯s face¡ªcheeks flushed and eyes shining with tears. Viola¡¯s voice came from an unspeaking mouth, accusatory. ¡°This isn¡¯t right. You¡¯ve ruined me.¡±


    Twice in the night, she woke up halfway through apologising. The second time, she found Janna Davis sat with her in the darkness. Automatically she squeezed her legs together, hoping she hadn¡¯t treated Janna to an all-access show of what she had beneath her skirt.


    They looked at each other in silence for a miniature eternity. Tema slowed her breathing, and felt better as she did.


    ¡°Are you alright, Miss Tema?¡± Janna¡¯s soft voice was always welcome. Right now, it might as well have been a bird¡¯s song.


    She nodded. ¡°I¡¯m fine, Janna. I had a bad dream, that¡¯s all.¡±


    ¡°You said you¡¯ve ruined her. Who have you ruined?¡±


    ¡°Have you been listening to me?¡±


    Janna shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s not like that, Miss Tema. I couldn¡¯t sleep, that¡¯s all. It¡¯s the smells.¡±


    Tema sniffed the air. It smelled of a cocktail of chemicals, ammonia and blood and opium, the whole thing slightly stale. There was an undertone of vomit too. She¡¯d certainly smelled worse, and unless the Unity had removed some of the more unpleasant demonstrations from its medical school curriculum so had Janna. This was the sort of smell that was easy to get used to. ¡°It¡¯s not that bad,¡± she said.


    ¡°It¡¯s not a homely smell,¡± Janna replied. She made a fair point. If ever Tema found herself in a house this malodorous, she¡¯d be excusing herself at once and returning post-haste with a bucket of soapy water and a dozen jars of air freshener. Janna shifted a bit. ¡°Sometimes I think about running for it. Nobody really knows who I am, out there. I could get away from the valley easily.¡±


    ¡°The universe is scary. Even the worlds we know. Better to stay here, where it smells bad.¡±


    Her eyes had barely adjusted to the dark. She could just about see that Janna was smiling through thin lips. ¡°I¡¯m not a rule breaker,¡± she said. ¡°I cried when the teacher held me back after lessons.¡±


    Tema fumbled for Janna¡¯s hand, and squeezed the palm gently. ¡°I won¡¯t abandon this place while it needs me. It would be nice to know I¡¯ll have somebody with me no matter what. Never give up on those who need you, Janna. Even if they tell you they don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t, Miss Tema. I swear it. I studied my Books like a good girl. ¡®Even the darkest night will end,¡¯ that¡¯s what Matheld said. I know she can¡¯t ever have imagined a situation like this, but it¡¯s true, isn¡¯t it? It¡¯ll all end eventually.¡±


    ¡°We can but hope,¡± said Tema.


    Outside the ward, somebody was walking. Their footsteps were faint through the walls. Since the hospital had gone into a state of lockdown, life had become artifice. Nothing had meaning anymore. The shifts were the same, working themselves to exhaustion trying to cure a disease that had no cure. Between shifts, they had the same conversations with the same people, sitting in the same rooms. They ate the same condensed food from the same enamel-shell dispensers. And they slept.


    Within the ward, this effect was doubled. She had no concept of time here, no idea whether it was day or night. She could stay here forever. She¡¯d never need to know how bad things were.


    If she never left the ward, how could she say she helped? It takes a true coward to hide away from the danger and still pretend to be a hero. Caroline Ballard might die, and Emmeline Maynard, and all the others.


    If she never left the ward, she¡¯d never meet her nephew. Tasha had been so excited to finally be having a child. The moment this was over, she¡¯d go to Tasha. Let them bury the past, let her apologise for Tasha¡¯s wrongs if she had to, but let them be friends again. Let her not be alone.


    She had to leave the dark ward. She had to go and do her shift, and carry on as she had been carrying on up till now.


    But if she never left the ward, she wouldn¡¯t see Viola again. She wouldn¡¯t have to have that conversation. If only they hadn¡¯t kissed. Before then, she fancied they were friends. Now Viola was a ruined girl, and Tema was...


    What was she, exactly? Women loved men. It was a biological imperative. Sure, there were exceptions. Neither Bessily nor Maven was a man, and theirs was the archetypal tragic love. Greta Crowther, Tema¡¯s best friend from the Rindehall days, was married to another woman. But Greta Crowther didn¡¯t have to contend with people trying to tell her she wasn¡¯t female. Tema had. She remembered the day she told her parents the truth. She¡¯d had a lapse in concentration, returning home after her first year at medical school. It wasn¡¯t until she was sat on the train, two hours from the rickety old halt where Mother and Father would be waiting for her, that she realised she was all dressed and made-up, all of her womanhood on display. Her parents had no idea. To their credit, they¡¯d said nothing at the halt. They didn¡¯t ask for an explanation until they got home.


    Tema had told her parents that she was attracted to men. In truth, she¡¯d never really had any romantic inclinations at all growing up, but it seemed like the best response to both shut her mother up and make herself seem like eighty percent of the other women in the Unity. She¡¯d convinced herself that she was like them.


    What if she was wrong?


    ¡°You never told me who it was you ruined, Miss Tema. In your dream.¡± Janna¡¯s voice dissolved the miasma of thoughts and memories that had enveloped her.


    Viola, she wanted to say. And myself, too. Myself most of all. ¡°I don¡¯t remember,¡± she said, maybe a little too curtly. ¡°I¡¯ve forgotten the dream already.¡± She got to her feet. She was awake now, and she didn¡¯t really feel like opening herself up to another nightmare. Might as well get some work done. To her surprise, Janna followed her.


    ¡°It¡¯s not time for the changeover, Janna. You can stay here and sleep if you want to.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be alright, Miss Tema.¡±


    Outside, she passed by one of the nurses, his face covered in a rubber mask as he pushed along a gurney. The body on top had been covered by a sheet. That was seven dead in as many days. More, perhaps. The deaths were accelerating. The nurse caught her eye, and rolled his. ¡°What?¡± she called after him. He ignored her, and walked off shaking his head.


    She drew a large dollop of disinfectant soap from the dispenser on the wall beside her, and rubbed her hands together so hard she could feel the heat. She didn¡¯t know who that nurse was, but he knew she was ruined.


    That kiss fucked everything up.


    She left Janna washing her own hands, and walked on towards the active wards. By the time she reached the main stairwell, she could easily hear the voices of the workforce. It sounded wrong. Why did it sound wrong? She listened again. The words were obscured, but the voices were obvious. That was Delphine Janley she could hear talking, and with her Doctor Staniforth. And... yes, Viola Watling too.


    Tema didn¡¯t realise she¡¯d come to a standstill until Janna caught up to her. ¡°Why have we stopped, Miss Tema?¡±


    ¡°Listen,¡± she hissed, shushing Janna with a finger over the mouth.


    ¡°What am I listening for?¡±


    She didn¡¯t have an answer for that. She couldn¡¯t say why she¡¯d decided to eavesdrop on her own co-workers, couldn¡¯t even say she¡¯d been conscious of doing so. They¡¯d be laughing at her if they knew.


    But of course! That was it. All the voices, and she hadn¡¯t heard any laughter. Someone was always laughing. Even when Caroline had fallen ill, and Emmeline after, even then there had been humour.


    Why, now, had it stopped?


    A door opened, a few steps below Tema. Delphine came through it at a run. Wayward hair was stuck to her face by sweat and the raw outline of a mask was etched around her mouth. She squeaked when she saw Tema. ¡°Doctor Caerlin. You¡¯re not due for another hour.¡±


    ¡°An hour and twenty minutes, actually,¡± she said, reading the exact time from the big mahogany-framed clock hanging on the wall before her. ¡°Why waste time? Lives are in danger, after all.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Delphine looked at the ground. ¡°I won¡¯t keep you. Not if you¡¯ve got lives to save. Good luck in there.¡± She winked and jogged down towards lower-level storage, taking two steps at a time.


    The chatter died abruptly when she entered. A dozen pairs of eyes turned to her, a dozen faces suddenly pretending they¡¯d not been talking. Viola was in the midst of it all, in shades of brown. The tragic heroine in a painting. She alone would not meet Tema¡¯s gaze.


    ¡°Viola.¡± She called out the young nurse¡¯s name, and collectively the room intook of breath.


    The girl looked at her with the eyes of a lamb. ¡°I have to go. I¡¯m so sorry.¡± Viola ran past her, out of the room. Doctor Staniforth was in pride of place, the first to rise when she was gone. The others formed up into their positions of attack. Frances Dunn stood, and Tommy Morton, and six more besides. Others stayed on the benches, watching her closely. Every face was grim.


    Janna edged closer. ¡°What¡¯s happening, Miss Tema?¡±


    ¡°Come along, Janna,¡± Staniforth snarled. ¡°Step away from Doctor Caerlin.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to.¡±


    Staniforth continued. ¡°It¡¯s for your own good. You don¡¯t think you can trust Doctor Caerlin, surely?¡±


    ¡°She doesn¡¯t know,¡± said Fran Dunn. ¡°Nobody¡¯s told her.¡±


    ¡°The Doctor here¡¯s been lying to you, Janna,¡± added Mary Ellen Tolcross, a podgy lady with a boil on her cheek. ¡°He¡¯s not a woman at all.¡±


    Poor Janna looked confused out of her mind. ¡°Who¡¯s not a woman? What¡¯s going on?¡±


    ¡°Come over here, Janna. I won¡¯t ask again.¡± Staniforth spoke firmly. Janna tensed visibly, and her eyes flicked Tema¡¯s way.


    Tema smiled at her. ¡°It¡¯s okay, Janna. You can go. I won¡¯t be upset.¡± A lie. Already she was struggling to hold back tears. As Janna crossed over to the crowd, stopping twice to look back at her with no hint of understanding, she had to choke those tears down.


    Doctor Staniforth smiled his lizard smile. ¡°Good. Now we can get on with the matter at hand. We aren¡¯t happy. To be forced to stay here, in lockdown, for as long as it takes for us all to die off... shouldn¡¯t we at least get a say? I don¡¯t remember anybody asking me if I wanted to be this side of the lockdown. Why should I be forced to lay down my life, while others get to be free?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t get asked either,¡± said Fran.


    ¡°I did,¡± came a small voice at the back of the room. Janna¡¯s voice. Sweet Janna, too green to see the politics at play. She might yet be Tema¡¯s salvation. ¡°It was written in the contract I signed.¡±


    Whether or not he heard her, Staniforth gave no indication of listening to her rebuttal. ¡°Bad enough to be forced into this situation, but by a liar of all things. Viola¡¯s told us all about you, Doctor Caerlin¡ªhow you¡¯re really a man. When were you going to come clean?¡± He spat at his feet. ¡°Halfwives and concubines, that¡¯s what your kind is for. You¡¯re vermin, and vermin¡¯s best off dead.¡±


    None took up the spitting. Fran Dunn looked suddenly uncomfortable. Tommy Morton retook his seat. Betsy Clanackan gasped audibly.


    ¡°Tema¡¯s a liar, not vermin,¡± said Fran.


    ¡°Call him what you want,¡± said Staniforth, dismissive. ¡°He still needs exterminating.¡±


    Fran shook her head, eyes rolling. ¡°Don¡¯t be so bloody dramatic, Rupert, you look like a twat.¡±


    ¡°I thought we were on the same side here.¡± Staniforth must have popped a vessel or two in his head. ¡°You want to work for this cumbucket?¡±


    ¡°We want to be allowed out,¡± said Mary Ellen Tolcross. ¡°It¡¯s really that simple. You have no mandate to be our boss, no right to keep us here.¡±


    ¡°Doctor Ballard didn¡¯t have a problem with me,¡± said Tema.


    Tommy piped up. ¡°Doctor Ballard¡¯s dying on a gurney. What she did or did not have a problem with is by the by. She certainly wouldn¡¯t countenance a lockdown like this.¡±


    Tema sighed. ¡°I¡¯m sorry you¡¯ve all been caught up in this. Really, I am. But Janna¡¯s right, this is what we signed up for. People rely on us, when they get sick¡ªwe don¡¯t get to just run away because we don¡¯t fancy it. The quarantine was necessary, and I stand by it.¡±


    ¡°And when does it end?¡± shouted Betsy. ¡°When do we get to say ¡®yes, that¡¯s it, we can leave now¡¯?¡±


    ¡°When we¡¯re all dead,¡± said Doctor Staniforth. ¡°There¡¯ll never be a cure. We¡¯re the sacrifice, to die off in turn so the sickness has no host to carry it outside.¡± This prompted angry murmurs from the massed group, mutterings which Tema would have struggled to quell even when she still had them all on her side.


    She swung her arm back, hitting her hand hard against the metal door. It clanged loudly, bringing her arm into spasm and drawing the attention of everybody in the room. Why did I do that? It was a stupid thing to do. Now she was embarrassed, and her fingers hurt where they¡¯d hit the solid steel, and she couldn¡¯t let any of it show.


    ¡°You can go if you want to,¡± she said. ¡°I mean it. I¡¯ll open the doors right now, and you can walk right out of here. All of you. But I will remind you all of the oath you swore, before you so much as touched a patient. You vowed to protect the sick and the infirm, for as long as they needed help. No matter the cost. I won¡¯t leave until this is all over. You¡¯re welcome to stay with me and do your jobs. I¡¯ll leave that choice to you.¡±


    When she¡¯d finished speaking, she was panting, and her heart was thumping. She squeezed her right hand tightly within her left to stop it shaking, only to realise that her left hand was shaking just as much. She saw all of the eyes facing her way.


    And then Janna stood up, stood forward, walked all the way back to her side. ¡°I want to stay,¡± she said. The words were as a puncture to the room¡¯s tension. At once it burst. With Janna came a few of the others, some who¡¯d stayed sitting.


    They didn¡¯t follow Janna to Tema¡¯s side, but each one in turn swore to stay.


    Fran Dunn sighed. ¡°The Lightness can take you, Doctor Caerlin,¡± she said. ¡°You make a good speech. I¡¯ll stay.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll stay?¡± If Staniforth wasn¡¯t careful, there¡¯d be no unpopped blood vessels in his head.


    ¡°She¡¯s right. We did swear an oath.¡±


    That was the turning point. Tommy was next, then Betsy, and more after them. Mary Ellen Tolcross made it a point to call Tema a man at least five times, but she too stood by her oath. Each sat down after their choice, if they were still standing. Soon, only Staniforth remained.


    He looked at Tema, and Tema looked at him, and they both knew that he¡¯d lost. His allies had abandoned him.  There¡¯d be no coup today. If he was the only one to leave, it would reflect terribly on him.


    He shook his head. ¡°Don¡¯t go thinking this means you¡¯re not vermin.¡±


    Tema fixed him with a sweet smile. ¡°The vermin just won, Rupert.¡± Doctor Staniforth glared at her.


    When he took his seat, Tema found one of her own. There, in full view of everybody, she sobbed. She didn¡¯t care. What could they say to her? What would make her feel worse? She¡¯d trusted in Viola, and Viola had betrayed her, and now she had no friends left at all.


    No friends except Janna. She could always rely on Janna.

 48. Skerretts Deal

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ David ~


    Evening had brought with it a light fog. David stood out on the balcony at the top of the Tower, watching as the fog strangled the horizon and drew ever closer. It was peaceful, really. The chill was a gentle one, the sort that required a coat but didn¡¯t require that the coat was fastened. The chattering birds who¡¯d made their nest in the grove behind the Tower were silent. Everything weighed slightly heavy on him, like the whole world had been transposed into some liminal realm where the clocks ticked a half-measure slow, the sort of place where the front and rear wheels of a carriage would rotate in syncopation. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He lived for such a feeling.


    Evening had also brought with it the Governor, followed closely by Oliver Wrack and a portion of his retinue. David had sighed loudly when he saw them coming up the road towards him. He¡¯d watched for a while, lest they suddenly veer away and head for the Plaza instead. When it was clear that wouldn¡¯t happen, he made his way to the Tower¡¯s reception to greet them.


    Operations had been scaled back for the night. The only lights were the low lanterns above the desk and the doors; the big chandelier at the centre of the room was unlit, and in its absence deep shadows had sprung up. Corporal Rawlinson was stood in one of these shadows. David didn¡¯t notice him until he lurched out. The shock almost sent him tumbling.


    This, apparently, was amusing to the guards following Oliver Wrack. One spotty youngster was bent double in raptures, at least until the old Lieutenant jabbed him sharply in the side. Then he stood upright, face sober. Bloody hell. It¡¯s the little runt who tried to stop me from getting onto Wrack¡¯s property. Why would Wrack have brought this one along?


    ¡°Governor.¡± David greeted Chris with a hollow smile and his formal title. ¡°What can I help you with?¡±


    Chris gestured towards Wrack. ¡°Oliver came to me with some questions regarding a prisoner of yours. Questions I couldn¡¯t answer myself, unfortunately.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no need to be vague, Chris, it¡¯s obvious you¡¯re on about Comestine Argent. Let¡¯s not take each other for fools here.¡±


    ¡°Has she confessed yet?¡± Chris asked the question with a smile of his own, but there was a barbed incisiveness to his tone. Like he had an answer in mind and wasn¡¯t prepared to hear any different.


    But if he wanted to learn that Comestine Argent had confessed, he was about to be disappointed. David had spent another hour with her that day, following on from Lieutenant Baxendale¡¯s efforts yesterday. By now all the petty officers in the Constabulary had put questions to Argent, tried every trick in the arsenal to get a confession. There had been no success. ¡°She¡¯s denying everything. I¡¯ve had Lieutenant Baxendale poring over the transcripts of every interview, but her story¡¯s remarkably consistent. Either she¡¯s genuinely innocent or she¡¯s very good at memorising her lies.¡±


    ¡°We all know she isn¡¯t innocent,¡± said Chris, a sly grin forming on his face. ¡°A man of your talents will be able to secure her confession, one way or another. The alternative would be that an innocent woman has spent a month unjustly imprisoned¡ªand that would be highly embarrassing for the Constabulary.¡±


    ¡°Now, hang about,¡± said Oliver Wrack. ¡°When you laid your plan out, Governor, I said it was a gamble. We all knew it was going to be difficult, but I swallowed my reservations and went along with it¡ªbecause at the end of the day, we want the same for Essegena. I¡¯m down for some hardships. I¡¯m down for bending the law here and there. What I¡¯m not down for is my staff being scapegoated. Mam Argent has been loyal to my wife and I, a great cook. Tash is still distraught at her arrest. If she didn¡¯t do the things she was arrested for doing, she must be returned to me. With an apology and compensation.¡±


    ¡°Just because she hasn¡¯t confessed doesn¡¯t mean she isn¡¯t guilty,¡± said Chris. ¡°Lord Constable, perhaps she¡¯ll be more willing to admit the truth if she hasn¡¯t had a meal for a few days. I doubt Master Ellavon would complain about having one fewer mouth to feed.¡±


    David let his eyes flick over to Wrack. Starving a confession from someone was a bit out of his wheelhouse, but if Wrack objected he wouldn¡¯t need to annoy Chris.


    Wrack, helpfully, obliged. ¡°You¡¯ll treat Stini with respect,¡± he said. ¡°The same dignity due to anybody on Essegena. Governor, I have your back all the way, but I will escalate matters if food is withheld from her, or her rights in any other way impugned. I¡¯m no fan of General Bradshaw, but I¡¯ll raise the issue with him if I need to. I¡¯ll raise it in the next Council meeting too.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no need for that, Master Wrack,¡± said David, glaring pointedly at Chris. ¡°I¡¯m not a monster. Comestine will enjoy the best conditions we can provide for her, on that you have my word.¡±


    ¡°And how long do you intend to keep her for?¡± shot Wrack. ¡°Surely at some point you reach the stage where there¡¯s no longer any justification for keeping her in a cage. What evidence do you have that she poisoned Caroline?¡±


    ¡°Caroline¡¯s close to death behind the locked bulkhead doors of the hospital,¡± said Chris.


    Wrack snorted. ¡°Yes, and you happened to have the antidote with you. If your Lord Constable here had a bit more respect for the possessions he was safeguarding, Caroline would be right as rain again. It would be a real pity if Bradshaw knew you were expecting Caroline to get sick.¡± His voice rose steadily, until it was a full-on shout.


    Apparently Wrack¡¯s guards weren¡¯t in the loop to the same degree he was. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± asked Lieutenant Sharp.


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing,¡± David hissed. ¡°Give me a week, Master Wrack. Then I¡¯ll let her go¡ªprovided no evidence comes to light in the meantime.¡±


    Oliver seemed placated by that. ¡°That¡¯s acceptable,¡± he said. ¡°Though I¡¯d rather have her go free tonight. I¡¯ll speak to her, if I may.¡±


    David couldn¡¯t see any reason why not, but who could ever tell what Chris had planned? But Chris was nodding along. ¡°Corporal Rawlinson will take you to her,¡± said David.


    ¡°Thank-you.¡± Wrack followed Corporal Rawlinson, who lumbered along towards the cells. Rawlinson would only be able to go as far as the first few cells. They¡¯d been dug into the ground, and the shaft narrowed substantially further away from the stairwell. A man of Corporal Rawlinson¡¯s size simply couldn¡¯t safely get all the way to the far end, to the cell which held Comestine Argent.


    Wrack¡¯s security team went with him, and when they were gone David was alone with Chris. They stood for a minute without speaking, as the echo of footsteps on the stairs down below fell quieter and quieter.


    Then David spoke. ¡°She didn¡¯t do anything, did she?¡±


    Chris shook his head. ¡°It doesn¡¯t look that way.¡±


    ¡°So we should release her.¡±


    ¡°Probably.¡± Chris shrugged. ¡°But then you¡¯d have to find another suspect.¡± And that¡¯ll mean arresting the Governor. No doubt Chris hadn¡¯t meant for things to get this far out of hand, but he¡¯d been the one to make Caroline ill. Only David hadn¡¯t done his bit, hadn¡¯t kept that bottle safe as Chris asked, and now Caroline and who knows how many others were destined to die. An investigation into the matter wouldn¡¯t end well for either of them.


    ¡°We can still save her, can¡¯t we?¡±


    Chris looked at him darkly. ¡°It¡¯s out of our hands. But I hope so. She always spoke very highly of Doctor Caerlin.¡±


    He was still hopeful that the bottle might turn up, and with it the antidote. Lieutenant Baxendale had been charged with exhuming Corporal Bartley¡¯s body¡ªby cover of darkness, of course, so nobody would protest¡ªand Curlie had scoured it for any trace of the powder. When he found some, David had gone personally to see that Master Stockton received it. Whether Stockton would glean anything from it was another matter anyway. There was nothing to say that it was even the same thing as the Governor¡¯s missing antidote. If only Chris had said what the bottle was for¡­


    David bit his lip. ¡°Next time you have a plan, Chris, lay it all out for me. I¡¯ll work with you, no matter what. But I don¡¯t like people dying because we got our wires crossed. I need to know what you have planned.¡±


    Chris nodded. ¡°Of course. On that note, tomorrow we¡¯re head up to the church on the hill. Ian¡¯s request.¡±


    And so it was: bright and early the next morning, they travelled to the north-western corner of the valley, and up the slopes. Soon enough, the church came into view.


    He wasn¡¯t a holy man, but if ever a building could make him turn this was it. The church which Ian Fitzhenry had sent them to, sat atop a hill at the end of a long path lined with leafy trees, was a thing of beauty. It seemed to have a spirit, some invisible strength emanating power. And it was stunningly built. Where much of the colony¡¯s architecture was functional, this transcended function. The stone with which the walls had been built was whitewashed. Outside, a finely-painted mural showed several scenes from the religious canon, each framed by meandering green vines. The vines, like the images within, were painted on. Work was still ongoing in this respect¡ªa woman in a white gown was knelt against the far end of the front wall, brush in hand, a cotton caul over her head to protect her from the heat of the day.


    The man who David knew was called Skerrett was stood in the open doorway waiting for them. He had a beard, gold-brown but starting to grey, pointed but neatly cropped, with an impressive moustache to match. Any flamboyancies in his facial hair hadn¡¯t extended to his attire. He had a plain tunic of light brown cotton, the only form of decoration a golden pendant on a chain around his neck.


    Ian hadn¡¯t said why Skerrett wanted to see the Governor, only that he had a request to make. That struck David as suspicious. Ordinarily, he would have recommended that Chris send one of his deputies. If treachery was the intent, it would have far less impact on the colony if Ian or the Hookbill were to come to harm than if the Governor were to be injured. But Ian Fitzhenry wasn¡¯t a man capable of treachery. He¡¯d always been the honest one, back in Borrowood. He was the one to run home and fetch an adult when the rest of them were jumping the fence to visit the Ontay house.


    For that reason, David hadn¡¯t raised any objections when Chris decided to pay Skerrett¡¯s church a visit. In his capacity as Lord Constable, and in his capacity as a good friend of Chris, he¡¯d insisted on coming along as well. This damnable heat was already making him regret that choice. There were five soldiers with them, marshalled by Lieutenant Baxendale. Each had foregone their surcoats in favour of a lighter, airier shirt, with the Constabulary colours present only in the form of stripes sewn into the sides. David¡¯s insistence that they at least wear their kepis¡ªhow else would they be identifiable as the Constabulary?¡ªhad been met with dissatisfaction. In the end, he¡¯d allowed them to hold the hats in their hands until they made it up the hill.


    By the time they¡¯d emerged from the Mettywood¡ªhaving soaked up the cool air of the wood¡¯s shade gratefully¡ªthey were every one of them sweating rivers. Hoult was taking great interest in the outline of breasts that had soaked into Onslow¡¯s vest, apparently oblivious to Onslow¡¯s glares. David held back a touch to get between them, and offered Onslow his own jacket, to preserve her dignity some.


    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Not that Onslow looked comfortable wearing an oversized dolman festooned with the decals of a Lord Constable, but she seemed a lot happier. And David was glad to feel a breeze at his arms. Sweat had formed great patches of red all on his skin.


    Would summer ever end here? Somebody had probably done the science to figure it out. It certainly seemed like it was hotter here than on Belaboras. For the most part it had been hot and dry since they arrived. The exceptions¡ªeven days where the cloud cover had been enough to keep temperatures mild¡ªwere so infrequent as to be memorable. In the past week especially it seemed to be getting steadily hotter, and today was the hottest day of the lot. Before then, amidst a flurry of rainstorms and overcast days, he¡¯d briefly entertained the idea that this world was coming into its winter. If only.


    ¡°Governor Ballard.¡± Lightness Skerrett had a broad smile on his face as he stepped forward to greet the Governor. ¡°How nice to see you on a day as fine as this. And you have brought friends?¡±


    ¡°I hope my bringing security doesn¡¯t offend you, Lightness. It pays to be careful.¡±


    ¡°No offence has been taken, Governor, let me assure you. I have seen first-hand what can happen when men of office choose to forego precaution.¡± Lightness Skerrett looked past Chris, to David and his soldiers. He looked concerned. That was fair, David thought. If the five stood behind him were even half as haggard and red-faced as he was, they were a sorry sight indeed.


    Chris followed Lightness Skerrett¡¯s eyes. He didn¡¯t look quite so hot himself, but even his face was flushed. ¡°Can we go inside to talk,¡± he said, addressing the priest. ¡°It¡¯s a bore of a day today.¡±


    ¡°Of course. I have a room set aside for just that purpose. Follow me.¡±


    David caught Lieutenant Baxendale as she made to follow the Governor inside. ¡°I know it¡¯s a balmy day, Lieutenant, but I need you to hold back out here. I can¡¯t imagine we¡¯ll be gone long.¡± He was reluctant to give up his eyes. Much as he trusted Ian¡¯s judgement, something about Lightness Skerrett was making him ill at ease. He was half expecting to have been followed by soldiers hostile to the Governor¡ªBradshaw would have the means to cobble such a unit together if he chose. With Lieutenant Baxendale outside, they¡¯d have an early warning if there was any treachery planned. It would keep them in with a fighting chance.


    The church¡¯s outer was nothing in comparison with the interior. A great high hall, at least two dozen metres high, stretched upwards, the whitewashed stone crossed with varnished timbers. A vaulted ceiling covered most of the roof, but one small section, roughly above the dais from where Skerrett would no doubt give his sermons, stretched even higher. At the top of this¡ªat least thirty metres above the ground¡ªwas a glass pyramid, trimmed with gold.


    At the sides of the hall, on the second level, timber-framed walkways led from twin spiral staircases of wrought iron across to an upper area. David craned his neck to try and see what was up there, but he could not. If the churches he¡¯d entered in the past were reference, it was likely a gallery for the wealthy of the congregation to sit, elevated from the poor and sweaty masses.


    Light poured into the hallway from a number of high windows. Curiously, none of these had glass. ¡°What¡¯s the reasoning behind the open windows,¡± David began, ¡°if you don¡¯t mind me asking? Er, Lightness.¡±


    ¡°The glass has not yet been completed,¡± Lightness Skerrett said, without looking David¡¯s way. ¡°Perfection takes a long time. It¡¯s important not to rush the painting, so our acolytes are taking their time.¡± He pointed to an open doorway leading to a side-chamber, where a few men in white tunics dressed just like the woman outside were gently painting onto squares of glass.


    The whole place was brimming with the saccharine aroma of some sweet and fruity incense, burning on gilded trays at the edge of every row of seats. It reminded David of summertime, and the Daughter¡¯s Day services his parents had always dragged him to. In those days the night air was always heady with berries and cider, and riven with laughter.


    Chris seemed to be drinking the church in. He¡¯d not said a word since they crossed the threshold, instead looking up and aside. It was easy to see that he was enamoured with the building. As long as he didn¡¯t fall in love with the religion behind it...


    ¡°Just through here,¡± Lightness Skerrett said, as they reached one of the only closed doors in the place. ¡°My solar.¡±


    David turned to his soldiers as they followed Skerrett in. ¡°Briar, Hoult, the two of you hang about in here,¡± he said. ¡°Just in case.¡± The smell of deceit had weakened within the church, replaced by a mellow comfort, but it was better to be careful.


    He brought up the rear as they went into Lightness Skerrett¡¯s solar. It was significantly more crowded than the main hall, but significantly more homely too. The window here had glass in it, and a windowsill so deep it doubled up as a handy seat. The farthest wall was taken up by a small, roughly-made bed. A desk with two chairs and a bookshelf filled with huge centuries-old tomes meant there was only a small amount of space remaining for people to stand.


    Chris took the chair on the opposite side of the desk from Skerrett, while David and the soldiers spread out around the room. They nodded at him when they got into their positions, and he focused on the conversation.


    ¡°Are you a man of faith, Master Ballard?¡±


    ¡°Governor Ballard,¡± Chris corrected. ¡°And no, I¡¯m afraid not. Though I did spend a bit of time looking over some of the texts¡ªin an academic sense. They¡¯re very interesting.¡±


    Skerrett nodded. ¡°Gods weave extraordinary tales. Tell me, are you familiar with the doctrine of cleanliness? Matilda¡¯s dialogues with Stephen on the burdens of the soul?¡±


    Chris shook his head.


    ¡°Then I shall read a fragment from them, if you¡¯ll permit me.¡± Skerrett turned to David. ¡°Can I trouble your man to pass me Matilda¡¯s fourth book? You¡¯ll find it on the third shelf from the bottom, somewhere on the left-hand side.¡±


    David scanned the bookshelf behind him. Sure enough, just as Skerrett had said, the third shelf from the bottom began with a book bound in red leather, the gold-spun title on the spine reading ¡®MATILDA¡ªI¡¯. Next to this were several more books, each bound the same and continuing the sequence, from ¡®MATILDA¡ªII¡¯ all the way to ¡®MATILDA¡ªXIV¡¯. He never knew these old prophets lived such busy lives. Whoever this Matilda was, she must have spent her whole life writing. He took the fourth book from the shelf and handed it to Skerrett, who opened it at once to a page a third of the way in. The pages were wafer thin, and they had an almost plasticky sound when he threw open the book.


    ¡°The whole piece is fascinating, but overlong I fear. But this segment is particularly important, to myself and to the church. ¡®Matilda, my dearest friend, you do not know how it feels to have a soul weighted down by the darkness. And to feel this weight with each step. And to feel the burden growing with each day. And to have no respite even in your very home from this burden, which ever more weighs your soul down... but if your house be given to the Darkness, friend Stephen, then know only that it needs to be cleansed. And that the chaste and the good can by their blood avail you. That only Lightness might dwell here. And at the end of days, when the wraiths are boldened, your home shall be your church. And your church shall be the covenant you make with the heavens. And thus shall you live unbroken by hellish things. For now your soul is cleansed.¡¯


    ¡°They continue in this fashion for quite some time. Brevity, it seems, was one aspect our beloved Matilda never seemed to grasp.¡±


    Chris was nodding his head sagely, but David narrowed his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m not following.¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t be the first. Matilda herself may have communed with the Gods, but her contemporaries did not. Hence why she wrote the book, I should think.¡± Skerrett beckoned him to sit. He shook his head and folded his arms. ¡°In ancient Talmaetia, four thousand years ago or more, when a man was convicted of murder, he and his whole family would be sentenced to die. Were he a soldier, the entire legion would be killed. The Talmaetians believed that, like the apple, a man gone bad would spoil all around him. The Talmaetians were wrong. No man needs die for the sins of his father, no woman for her mother¡¯s misdeeds. There are evil things in the mortal world, but that doesn¡¯t make the mortal world evil. There are ways for even the most vile of sinners to achieve salvation.¡±


    ¡°Not easy ways, of course,¡± David muttered.


    A small smile appeared on Skerrett¡¯s face. ¡°When it comes to the Gods, nothing is easy.¡±


    Chris leaned forward. ¡°I was told you wanted to make a request. Make it, before I get bored. I was never a great student of the faiths.¡±


    Lightness Skerrett bristled, clearly unused to being spoken to so frankly in his own solar. He fixed Chris with a dirty look unsuited to such a well-kempt face, and eased his book of Matilda closed with a haughty sigh. His chair scraped against the stone floor as he slid it back and stood, walking to the shelf and returning the book to its proper place. With deliberate step, each considered pace allowed to echo to its full resonance on the hard ground, Skerrett returned to his seat. ¡°Were you perhaps a student of histories instead?¡±


    ¡°I dabbled,¡± Chris shrugged.


    ¡°Well, then you should be familiar with the former laws of humanity¡¯s domains. Do not forget that the Unity has made enemies in their time. Wars were fought against them, against what they represented. Your own ancestors made their name fighting against the Unity, Governor, during the Wars of Veneration. Even within the last few decades, they¡¯ve impressed their hegemony on unwilling subjects by brute force.¡±


    What they represented. David had done his time, been there on Tol Manase. You couldn¡¯t see what happened there and still have any belief left in Unity ideals. It was all pageantry. Whatever the Unity claimed they represented, it was a lie. They were disparate bureaucrats unified by nothing more than the desire to hold onto what power they had. No wonder they¡¯d had to take their hegemony by force. ¡°We¡¯re no friends of the Unity,¡± David said.


    ¡°I hope that means you¡¯ll listen to sense,¡± said Skerrett. ¡°Once upon a time, according to the teachings laid down by our dear Matilda, we of the faith sanctified our churches, that they might offer protection at the end of days. That was a freedom taken from us by the Unity, and one not returned. They claimed the Veneration Act as a restoration of our powers, but that¡¯s another lie.¡±


    ¡°And you want those powers back?¡± Chris had sat up straight, and his hands were interlocked at the fingers¡ªa sure sign that his interest had been piqued.


    Lightness Skerrett nodded dramatically. ¡°You catch on quickly. This church has not been sanctified. These walls are made of strong stone, but even the strongest stone can be toppled. I hope you¡¯ll not tell my acolytes, but no Gods dwell here yet.¡±


    A kernel of half-remembered history jostled for attention in David¡¯s mind. The church had a violent origin, he seemed to recall. ¡°What does this sanctification entail?¡±


    A flicker of a smile on Skerrett¡¯s lips, there and gone. ¡°A simple ceremony, in truth. A member of the Faithful, truly devoted and truly innocent and¡ªmost importantly¡ªa true virgin, will read aloud certain passages before all who are assembled.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡±


    ¡°There are some other details. Certain oils must be burned, certain customs observed. Traditionally the Lord of the Land attends, to signal to the Gods that they will be welcomed. That would be you, Governor.¡±


    Chris didn¡¯t seem to be listening. ¡°Of course,¡± he said. ¡°Whatever you need.¡±


    They were interrupted by a sudden crash. One of the chosen soldiers, Rippen, had fallen to the floor, taking half of the books from the nearest shelf with him. The other, Onslow, was at him in a second. David ran to them.


    ¡°Is he alright?¡±


    Onslow nodded. ¡°He¡¯ll be fine. It¡¯s the heat, that¡¯s all¡ªhe passed out.¡± She ran a finger across his forehead, and when she pulled it away it was covered in his sweat. Onslow pulled a face.


    ¡°Take him outside and get him some water,¡± David told her. ¡°If need be, Hoult and Briar will help you carry him back to town.¡±


    Onslow did as she was bid, and David set about putting the books back in place. They were immaculate tomes, not a trace of dust or mildew on them, and yet the bindings looked ancient. These were the Songs of the Kings, according to the text engraved in the spine. They felt almost electrified. He could feel his heart fluttering with some palpable excitement as he held them in his hand.


    Lightness Skerrett took the books from him. ¡°Your man should be more careful,¡± he chided. ¡°These are very old manuscripts. Very fragile.¡± He slid them back into their places on the shelf and turned back to Chris, now sitting alone and twiddling his thumbs. ¡°I thank you for your presence, Governor. I¡¯ll make the arrangements.¡±


    ¡°Now, not so fast,¡± said Chris. ¡°I still need to pass this by the Council. There are certain members who pride themselves on opposing my motions.¡±


    ¡°Mark Bradshaw is a man of strong will,¡± Skerrett agreed. How did he know who Chris was referring to? ¡°But more than anything he loves his daughters. It will be in their interest for the Cleansing to take place¡ªyou need not worry about Mark Bradshaw.¡±


    Chris stood, and David stood too. ¡°Before I leave, Lightness, there¡¯s one more point I want to discuss.¡±


    ¡°But of course.¡± Skerrett bowed awkwardly¡ªevidently a foreign gesture to him.


    ¡°You can head back to town now, Captain Clifford,¡± said Chris. The sudden formality threw him. The instruction did too. Did Chris not want security? It wasn¡¯t as if the extra few minutes David might save leaving now would help him in anything; he was banking on an evening of rest and reading and very little work.


    ¡°Governor?¡±


    ¡°Consider than an instruction, Captain. Go.¡±


    He wasn¡¯t the sort of man who had to be told twice, even when he didn¡¯t understand what was being asked of him. Part of his job was to follow instructions, after all. He nodded and stepped out of the solar. The door was slammed loudly behind him.


    Outside, Rippen was being fanned by Onslow and one of the acolytes, while another poured water over him from a ceramic jug. The fruity incense was suddenly overbearing. ¡°Come,¡± he said, pointing to the church¡¯s door. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    Onslow started to protest. ¡°But the Governor¡ª¡±


    ¡°We can wait for him outside,¡± said David. The old mistrust was back. Suddenly he didn¡¯t feel comfortable being here.

 49. The Obelisks

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Macel ~


    They walked in the full heat of the sun for the whole morning. Macel¡¯s face burned, and his throat was cracked dry. It was no use asking Bess if they could rest. She wouldn¡¯t stop. They had to go as soon as possible, she said. That turned out to mean ¡®as soon as there was even the faintest glimmer of sunlight over the horizon¡¯. She wouldn¡¯t even let him saddle up some of the horses. They had to walk, she insisted¡ªthem alone. Macel knew even as he asked her why that was the case that she wouldn¡¯t answer him.


    He felt sorry for her. She was prone to particularly vivid dreams, and to admit it would be to invite the fury of the world upon her. She¡¯d told him all about the people who had such dreams, people like her¡ªthe Foresleepers.


    Others had told him about the Foresleepers too. Theirs were less pleasant stories, about all the nasty ways they¡¯d like to see people like Bessily killed or maimed. Macel tried to avoid those people.


    It was impossible to say how numerous the Foresleepers were. For as long as their abilities had been known, charlatans had arisen in great plenty, trying to claim some glory. Most would gamble their reputations on a specific event¡ªwhich would inevitably never come to pass. Some, no doubt, had never been discovered for the frauds they were. A few suitably vague predictions, and a stroke of luck, and they would look like true augurs. And those who genuinely had the ability learned to hide it, if they didn¡¯t want to be murdered by a mob. The more the Foresleepers hid their power while frauds tried to proclaim it, the more hatred grew for them. It was hard to blame Bess for keeping this a secret.


    Bess didn¡¯t act like she wanted the power. The dream last night had left her shaken and sobbing. ¡°I don¡¯t want it,¡± she¡¯d moaned, still half-asleep, while Macel tried to soothe her and Delie Rice had gone to fetch some water. And later, when the water had been drunk and she was calmer, she¡¯d tried to tell him what she saw. In truth, he hadn¡¯t been paying much attention. His sleep had been interrupted, and he was exhausted. She¡¯d said something about a woman in the darkness. He¡¯d told her that she needed to go back to sleep, but she could finish telling him in the morning.


    She¡¯d never finished telling him. She¡¯d woken up like a woman possessed, taken suddenly by an urgency and a vigour. ¡°Up,¡± she said, while it was still so dark out that he wasn¡¯t certain he¡¯d gone back to sleep, ¡°or I¡¯ll leave you here.¡±


    If he were to piss her off enough that she¡¯d abandon him, he could rule out ever taking her to bed. So he¡¯d followed her lead. At first, she¡¯d followed the trails the Advanced Party had forged in that first fortnight. The memories made Macel smile, a bitter smile. For the most part it had been good fun. Well, apart from the mystery man they¡¯d struggled to keep alive. And the three friends who had disappeared.


    Bess led him through the thick Easterwood, past where Corporal Bartley¡¯s body had been¡ªthe ground there still red with blood, and the atmosphere heavy¡ªto the rock where he¡¯d first found the injured man, and then beyond, further than he¡¯d ever explored. Eventually, the land began to rise again, and the woods grew thin. At the crest of this gentle hill, they emerged from the trees, to be met by a flat plain that stretched in two directions as far as the eye could see.


    A river ran along the edge of this plain, a great glistening jewel, and on the other side the terrain was more uneven. That was more like the land around the valley¡ªhills of white and grey rock, topped by green grasses and littered with trees. Giant tors loomed over the grass like imposing behemoth spectres, huge weathered crags thick with heather and moss. And there were lots of animals here, the mettysnatchers that wandered down as far as the valley, cattle with brown fur and floppy ears, golden-furred creatures knee high to Macel that looked a bit like cats. Bess had strode past them all without acknowledging they were there.


    This terrain didn¡¯t seem to end. It had just kept on going until he was sure he was going to faint. And then, at last, Bess stopped walking. ¡°We¡¯ll rest here,¡± she said, pointing out a narrow pass where once a stream had carved a gorge in the rocks.


    It was a perfect place to rest. In places, large flat boulders had fallen across the pass, keeping it cool and shaded. The gurgle of running water was loud here, the source somewhere close by. Macel sat down in the dark, next to where the stem and leaf of a yellow-green plant were poking out from the rock. At once he took off his boots, and began to massage his feet. They were sore.


    ¡°We mustn¡¯t stay too long,¡± Bess said, turning around, and it was then that he got the first glimpse of her face since early that morning. She was drowning in sweat, her skin red and her lips chapped. When he looked at her, he could see that her legs were gently quaking.


    ¡°Look at the state of you,¡± he said. ¡°Bess, you need to rest. You¡¯ll hurt yourself.¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°There¡¯s no time.¡±


    ¡°You weren¡¯t like this yesterday. This dream you¡¯ve had, it¡¯s like it¡¯s taken all the reason out of your mind. You¡¯re acting insane. Tell me what you saw that¡¯s frightened you into overexertion? What¡¯s so urgent that you can¡¯t take the time to rest? Was it the Moonlight Woman?¡±


    Bess looked at him for what felt like a solid minute, then slumped to the ground. ¡°I don¡¯t remember,¡± she said, and he could hear that she was choking back sobs. He held his arms out for her and she collapsed into them. Her head fell onto his shoulder, moistening it with tears. ¡°Macel, I was so scared. I wanted all the time to wake up. And when I did it was like I knew the way. Like I had to be here today.¡±


    ¡°Here?¡±


    ¡°No. A little further, half an hour maybe.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not walking that far,¡± Macel said. ¡°Not until you¡¯ve got some of your strength back. I¡¯ll find some water to drink.¡± Their flasks were long since empty, but he could refill them from the gurgling stream he could hear. If only he knew where to look...


    The water turned out to be almost inaccessible. He found a gap in the rocks where the petty torrent rushed, wide enough for him to reach his hand in and cool his finger off but too narrow to get the flasks filled. Too narrow by half. He scraped his knuckles on the rock as he tried to force one of the flasks through.


    As he was about to give up and go back to try and find the river, he noticed a wider opening. A few of the mettysnatchers were bathing in it, but all scattered as his hand approached. He filled both the flasks, then took a great gulp that near-emptied his own, and filled it again for good measure. It was better to run the slight risk that the mettysnatchers had somehow contaminated the water than it was to try and battle against dehydration. The hospital had a pill for cholera, if it came to that. There was no cure for death.


    Bess drank gratefully when he returned, the water dribbling down her chin and soiling her clothes. She held her flask upside down over her open mouth until every drop had gone, and then let it fall to the ground. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    ¡°Not until you rest,¡± said Macel, picking her flask up out of the dust.


    ¡°It has to be now,¡± she insisted.


    In the end, Macel was able to convince Bess to rest for a little longer, but they¡¯d been in the pass for no more than an hour when she suddenly stood. ¡°I¡¯m rested now,¡± she said. ¡°So I¡¯m going. Come if you like, but don¡¯t try to stop me. I need to be there, Macel.¡± And she gave him such a doe-eyed look that he had no choice but to relent. It would have broken his heart to disappoint that face.


    They followed the pass for a while, Macel savouring the parts where the rocky overhangs blocked out the sun and cast them in shade. It was slow-going. His legs were still aching dully, and the way Bess was wobbling it was clear she felt the same way. The rest had stopped the muscles burning, but instead there was a palpable weakness. Nonetheless they trudged on. And after about twenty minutes of walking, the ground they were on sloped upwards, bringing them out of the trench they¡¯d wandered and up onto the ground.


    When they emerged, Macel felt his breath catch in his throat. What they¡¯d stumbled upon was a beautiful enigma. A patch of land no more than a dozen feet across, covered in grassland and thick-trunked trees and rainbows of wildflowers, was caught between a near-vertical wall of hills to the left, carved up by deep gullies, and to their right a huge lake of calm water that stretched out endlessly to the horizon. It broke upon the shores, and on a few small islands in the middle of the water. Otherwise it was completely still. The heat of the sun warmed the water up to a cool blue. Oh, to bathe in it¡ªjust for a minute. It would be heaven.


    But all along the shore, he noticed now, were the strangest things: dark stone obelisks. At a glance, he guessed that they were maybe eight feet tall, and half a foot wide for much of their height before tapering gently to a point near the top. There were hundreds of them, all the same shape. Something chilled him. They had definitely been made by human hands.


    There was a strange and sudden shift in their dynamic. Macel was curious about these obelisks. He wanted to go up close to them and have a better look, but Bess had stopped moving altogether. She was leaning against the trunk of a nearby tree, her face quite pale. He went to her.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    Bess nodded. ¡°Fine. Just... queasy.¡± She tilted her head towards the nearest of the obelisks. ¡°I don¡¯t like those things.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t see how they can be here. That¡¯s the bit that worries me. By rights they shouldn¡¯t be here. There¡¯s no way they¡¯re natural.¡± He put his hand on her arm. ¡°Come on. Let¡¯s have a better look at them.¡±


    ¡°NO!¡± Bess threw Macel¡¯s hand away as she shrieked. ¡°They¡¯re bad. I know it.¡±


    He gave her a look half of pity and half of concern. Was her mind well? ¡°Bess, calm down.¡± That line earned him the sharpest scowl he ever saw, but he kept talking. ¡°That dream¡¯s obviously hit you hard,¡± he continued. ¡°You¡¯ve been just like a child today.¡± He¡¯d tried to strike a fine balance, putting venom enough into his voice that it¡¯d sink in while also speaking genially and not sounding venomous at all. It was an impossible task, and predictably he failed. In the end, he¡¯d just snapped at her. She stood her ground, blinking in confusion.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with being a child? Maybe we should all be children once in a while. I know I never got my fair chance before.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re being impetuous,¡± he said.


    ¡°And you¡¯re being unkind.¡± She pouted. ¡°I thought you were supposed to be on my side. I don¡¯t control what dreams I get, Macel, I told you that.¡±


    He sighed. ¡°I know you don¡¯t ask for these dreams, and I know it¡¯s hard for you to deal with, but that doesn¡¯t mean you get to act like the universe is going to step aside for you. This is a dangerous world, Bess. You can¡¯t be stupid about it.¡±


    She nodded sarcastically, a thin smile scratched into her face. ¡°That¡¯s it, that¡¯s me all figured out, right there. I¡¯m stupid.¡±


    ¡°Bess...¡±


    ¡°No, you¡¯re right. I¡¯m a prime fool. Everyone has dreams, but I¡¯m stupid enough to believe they¡¯re real.¡±


    ¡°I never said that.¡±


    She grimaced at him. ¡°I thought we were on the same page, Macel. Did you think I was just some pretty girl with nothing else to do in her life than sit with you every day? I¡¯m a Foresleeper. That means I have these dreams, and it means I have to act on them, because nobody else will. And I¡¯m sorry if I don¡¯t always fit into your little plan.¡±


    Macel shook his head. ¡°You¡¯re making a meal of this. I just think you should worry about your own health. Look at you. Would you have had even a single drop of water today if I hadn¡¯t made you sit down?¡±


    ¡°I have to be here,¡± she said.


    ¡°You have to take care of yourself. You can¡¯t help anybody if you¡¯re dead.¡±


    Bess quietened a bit then. Sullen, she sucked on her flask, and pretended not to wince every time she touched her cracked lips. It was apparent that she wasn¡¯t going to go any closer to the obelisks than she had to. Any time Macel even attempted to broach the subject, she turned away from him, shaking her head. ¡°Let¡¯s start back then,¡± he said. ¡°If we¡¯re quick we can get back to the Watch before it gets too dark.¡±


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    She shook her head firmly at that. ¡°We have to be here,¡± she said. ¡°They told me so.¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s ¡®they¡¯?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll start to build a camp,¡± said Bess, avoiding his question. ¡°We¡¯ll stay the night here.¡±


    She busied herself, clearing fallen twigs and leaves from the ground underneath one of the girthiest trees, and ignored Macel¡¯s attempts to strike up a conversation. He watched her milling about with mild bemusement, and when he asked her what the hurry was, she snapped at him. ¡°Maybe if you helped, I wouldn¡¯t need to rush around so much.¡± After that, he¡¯d given her a hand¡ªbut not too much. His legs were sore from the double-time march she¡¯d made him do all day. It was a small revenge to leave her to make her own bed.


    By the time she¡¯d finished pottering around building what he supposed passed as a camp, Bess had calmed down considerably. She was still uneasy about the obelisks, but after some cajoling she agreed to look closer. They¡¯d have to go back eventually, Macel pointed out, and somewhere up the chain of command somebody would want to know exactly what these strange stones were.


    Getting there was slow going. On more than one occasion Bess stopped completely, and Macel had to lead her onwards with a hand on her back. As they came within touching distance of the nearest, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Her hands, clenched into fists, hovered at shoulder height. When nothing happened, she relaxed again.


    Right up close, it was possible to notice the imperfections. The stone had been fairly roughly carved to begin with it seemed, and by the way it was weathered these monuments had been here for quite some time. Centuries at least, Macel thought. Markings had been hewn into the sides, indentations almost lost to time. He traced some of the markings with his fingers. ¡°Letters, perhaps,¡± he mused aloud. ¡°Ancient writing.¡±


    But who wrote it? Whoever it was, their message was lost. Their very existence, in fact, seemed to have been forgotten. If he squinted, Macel could just about see the shape of the letters in some places¡ªindeed, it seemed as though it had been written in the Belaboran alphabet. But the words themselves were meaningless. A dead language, probably, the people who spoke it lost in the mists of time.


    Macel let his gaze wander to the water. It was a beautiful summered blue. No doubt it would make for an excellent place to bathe. He had a mind to suggest it to Bess, in fact. She¡¯d voice her own discontent, no doubt. Certainly she would refuse to swim herself. She was infuriatingly reluctant to give up even a hint of the rigid chastity she¡¯d shown him. She¡¯d said she wanted to be his girlfriend, and since then they¡¯d shared not even a kiss. She slept in his bed from time to time, but only if he slept on the floor. Maybe she thought that baring herself in front of him, even just to swim, would open the door to a physical relationship later on.


    And to be fair, that was the intention.


    ¡°Up there.¡± Bess was pointing up over the crest of the nearest of the promontories. A huge marble-white figure stood there, towering high into the clear air¡ªthe statue of a man. The top of the statue¡¯s head, and a chunk from the back of its neck, had fallen away, leaving a rough gap. The rest of the head was bent in a prayer, obscuring the face. Another statue stood nearby, a woman in battle armour, a shield on her arm and locks of carved hair flowing down her face. Such was the quality of the carving that Macel expected her hair to blow with the breeze. Like Bess¡¯s did. He loved to watch the way her hair blew.


    Between the two statues on their promontories was a gorge, just wide enough to fit two carts side by side. More obelisks ran into this pass, a trail of them. ¡°This is the way,¡± Bess said, and she headed in. The way to what, Macel wondered. What had Bess been leading them towards? He¡¯d assumed it was the obelisks that she¡¯d seen in her dream, but she didn¡¯t seem especially interested in them. On the contrary, they¡¯d repulsed her. And there was a whole trail of them they could follow without going into this canyon. Yet she was adamant this was the way.


    There was shade here, and plenty of it. Little wispy trees poking out from the pass¡¯s rocky walls blew with each gust, and their rustling leaves were whispers. Grandfather had told Macel that the whispering was the conversation of ghosts. He wondered what these ghosts were saying. Were they pleased to see new blood in their old home?


    Maybe that was a question best left unanswered.


    At the end of the gorge, two rock sentinels stood guard, hooded figures with their long battleaxes crossed. These, unlike the other statues, were made of the same dark stone as the many obelisks around them. They¡¯d scarcely eroded at all. Perhaps the gorge sheltered them from the wind and rain. Beyond the hooded men, it opened out into a round valley, a crater perhaps twenty feet in diameter with these great reaching cliffs on all sides. In the middle was an altar.


    The altar did not stand alone in the clearing. Looming behind was a statue of a woman, barefoot and weeping, her left breast exposed. The statue seemed to watch over the altar. More of them watched from on high, rows of huge figures, their features weathered away, many shorn of heads or arms through decay. Tendrils of creeping plants had claimed some of the statues. One was a bearded man holding an open book in his hand; the book was almost entirely given over to the vegetation. It was a sad vigil these statues kept, and even its candle was gone. Only an empty, rusted holder remained on the altar.


    As soon as Bess stepped past the sentinels, she screamed. Macel turned to find her bent double on the floor, her arms pressing at her head. ¡°It¡¯s not right,¡± she cried, her voice muffled. ¡°Oh, it hurts. Make it stop.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± he said. He was crouched down in front of her, stroking her temples. She batted him away with a wildly flailing arm. And then she vomited, leaving her last meal as an offering to whatever gods they worshipped here. She lay on her back after that. Her breathing was heavy and her face was beaded with rivulets of sweat. She moaned a low, constant moan. It didn¡¯t stop until Macel had carried her all the way back to their camp and lain her on one of the makeshift beds she¡¯d made earlier.


    He left her there, sleeping, when the sun began to set. Restlessness came with the twilight Absurdly, he crept back into the maze of stones. There was nobody around to hear him, and none would chide him if they did, but still he felt compelled to go gently into the growing darkness. He¡¯d left no light in the camp. Night was likely to have truly fallen by the time he was finished, and he¡¯d have to feel his way back.


    The air was cold now, weighing heavy. The obelisks felt damp to the touch, yet when he moved his hand away from them he found it bone dry. The gorge was easy enough to find again. The tops of those behemoth statues were illuminated by the sun¡¯s last hurrah. How he wanted to climb up there, up to the top of that hill, and sit at the feet of one of the twin giants. What better place would there be to watch the sun set behind the still lake?


    Instead he pressed on. In the gorge, there was no sound but the sound of his breathing. He was suddenly acutely aware of every breath. This intense awareness lasted until he passed by the shadowy sentinels.


    The moment he crossed into the clearing the night shifted. At once the air became light, and there was a palpable sense of peace. This was a holy place, he thought. And whatever spirit watched over it once is here now, too. It should have scared him, but it was a notion that gave him some strange comfort. He was safe here, he knew.


    A candle was lit on the altar. He hadn¡¯t noticed it at first, but once he saw the glow he couldn¡¯t imagine how he¡¯d missed it. The melting wax dribbled over the edge of the holder and onto the stone whilst the flame lit his way. Who had lit it? What shade had been here? He called out to anybody who may have been listening, but nobody answered.


    For the first time he could see the altar clearly. The stone was carved deep, a picture engraved on the top. A young woman¡ªor an old woman, there wasn¡¯t enough detail to be specific. She wore a robe spangled with diamonds, a humble crown on her head, and a glum sulk on her face. Some words had been carved beneath her feet, but the markings were shallow and they¡¯d faded almost out of sight. The letters ¡®E¡¯ and ¡®S¡¯, together in the middle of the word, were the only ones still legible this long after the fact. Macel put a finger on one of the lost glyphs, pressing down on the stone as if it might give way and reveal what had once been carved clear. The stone did not yield.


    A sudden gust of wind knocked Macel off his feet, and extinguished the candle. Without it, the night was as thick here as anywhere. He stumbled in the darkness, and when he regained his footing he saw that the candle had been lit again. Some ghostly sorcery was at work here. He was feeling a lot less safe here than he had earlier¡ªperhaps Bess was right to mistrust the clearing. His breathing was heavier.


    He looked back at the altar, and immediately Bess¡¯s determination to lead him here was justified. A body was lying sprawled atop the altar. A woman, her hair blonde and matted with mud, faded strips of pink at the tips. Her clothes were torn almost to shreds, exposing the bare skin of her navel. She¡¯d been grazed there, and wet blood glistened. So too had she been cut on her face, a deep wound in the left cheek. Her eyes were shut and her brow slick with sweat. He knew the face well. Eilidh Cailie.


    She didn¡¯t wake as Macel tried to lift her from the altar. She made no sound at all but the faint whisper of her breath. He knew he was smeared all over with her blood, he had to be, but he didn¡¯t think about it. She needed help. She needed to be brought back to the Watch. Now was not the time to be put off by a bit of blood.


    He carried Eilidh part of the way back, hoisted her over his shoulders and struggled away from the altar, but he was tired, and she was a dead weight. Somewhere in the gorge, he lowered her to the ground and run for camp. Eilidh wasn¡¯t the biggest woman. If he really tried he could possibly have dragged her all the way to the camp alone. Possibly. But it would have left him shattered. Two of them, though, would have no trouble.


    Bess was still asleep, so peaceful in the pale caress of the sister-moons. It was a shame to wake her. But needs must.


    ¡°Bess. Wake up.¡± He shook her gently, and when she didn¡¯t stir he shook her more firmly. She opened sleepy eyes and batted him away with a playful swat of her hand. So he put his fingers on her eyelids and gently pulled them open. That woke her up quick enough. She shot bolt upright, and rubbed at her eyes when he let go.


    ¡°Why would you do that?¡± she whined.


    ¡°I need your help. Quickly.¡±


    Bess wasn¡¯t happy at the idea of going back towards the altar. She followed him sleepily towards the obelisks, not seeing them perhaps in the dark, but when she reached them she remembered her aversion. It was pure happenstance that Macel noticed her starting to turn and run, and held out an arm to block her. ¡°I don¡¯t want to be here,¡± she said, kicking and flailing at air. ¡°I don¡¯t like it here.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll go in a second,¡± he promised. ¡°But I need your help. I can¡¯t carry her on her own.¡±


    She looked at him with her eyes a picture of confusion. ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°Eilidh.¡± He deliberately said the name as quickly as he could, hoping that Bess would mishear him. If there was one person he was sure she¡¯d brave anything to save, it was her sister Elly. It was a cruel trick, really, but it worked.


    Excitement sparkled in her eyes. ¡°Elly? My sister?¡±


    Macel grunted. He didn¡¯t want to lie, not explicitly. It wasn¡¯t fair to Bess. Deceptive half-truths sat better on his conscience.


    Bess took his non-committal noise as an affirmative, and suddenly she was running into the heart of this obelisk maze. He had a job to catch up to her in time. She¡¯d almost run right past the gorge, when he nudged her shoulder and guided her in the right direction.


    ¡°There,¡± he called, when he could see that she¡¯d got to Eilidh. In the dark, and with Eilidh on the ground, Bess hadn¡¯t seen her. Bess had nearly run right past Eilidh. She wheeled around and looked wildly in every direction before Macel caught her eye and jabbed his thumb in a downward position. Then she saw Eilidh lying on the ground.


    It was as if it had been rehearsed. Bess dutifully took one of Eilidh¡¯s shoulders in each hand, and waited for Macel to arrive. He grabbed Eilidh¡¯s feet, and on the count of two they lifted her just a little way off the ground. They worked in perfect tandem, Macel leading the pace, with Bess holding her own and spotting him whenever he was close to backing into one of the obelisks. With both of them at it, Eilidh seemed to weigh nothing at all. They were at the camp in what felt like a couple of seconds.


    They set Eilidh down as gently as they could on the bed of flattened leaves which Bess had been asleep in a few minutes earlier. The moment she was down, Bess slapped Macel again. This time, it had force to it. This time, it hurt. It hurt like a bitch. He fell to his knees, his legs weakened momentarily by the sudden flash of pain. Tears welled in his eyes, but he blinked them away so he wouldn¡¯t give her satisfaction.


    ¡°You tricked me,¡± Bess said. ¡°She¡¯s not Elly.¡±


    The stormy cloud to her face suggested to Macel that now was not the appropriate time to play the ¡®well, technically I didn¡¯t, you just thought I did¡¯ card. She had the gist of it. He had tricked her, and she was rightfully pissed off about it.


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t have carried her alone,¡± he said, pointing at Eilidh. ¡°I needed to get you to come.¡±


    ¡°And you knew I wasn¡¯t about to go into that henge for someone I didn¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a henge.¡± Why did he do this to himself?


    Bess lost her thread. ¡°What?¡± She¡¯s giving you an out, Macel. Take it. Pretend you didn¡¯t just say that.


    ¡°It¡¯s not a henge,¡± he said again.


    Idiot.


    ¡°I really don¡¯t think it matters what it¡¯s called. You know what I¡¯m talking about. You lied. You let me think my baby sister was here, because you knew I wouldn¡¯t go back in there otherwise. This place is bad for me, Macel. Surely you feel it too?¡± She¡¯d started off angry, but the anger was giving way to a vulnerable desperation. ¡°When I¡¯m in those stones, my chest gets heavy. Like there¡¯s a great boulder crushing me, pressing down. And my head hurts. It¡¯s like I¡¯m walking over my grave. Treading on forbidden ground.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± He¡¯d tried to get away with not saying the words, but they were the least she deserved. She turned her face away from him. He could still see her smile.


    Bess slapped him for the third time in a short while, this one another playful one. ¡°Be glad I like having you around,¡± she said. ¡°How bad is she hurt?¡±


    ¡°Not sure. A few nasty cuts at the very least. I don¡¯t know if she¡¯s unconscious or asleep.¡±


    Now it was Eilidh¡¯s turn to be slapped. Bess hit her only very gently, patting against her uninjured cheek. Eilidh¡¯s eyes flickered open, and she murmured something. Bess leaned in closer, her ear to Eilidh¡¯s mouth to hear her, then turned to Macel.


    ¡°She wants water.¡±


    ¡°Good job there¡¯s a lake.¡± He took one of the flasks from its position on the ground beside him, and carried it to the waterside. There, after swilling a finger around in the water to make sure it was safe to drink, he removed the cap and submerged the flask. When it was filled, he brought it back to Eilidh, who poured it gratefully into her mouth. It dribbled down her face, so she reached out with her tongue to lick up what she could reach. The cut on her cheek was just about in her tongue¡¯s range, and when she touched it she gasped in pain.


    Bess held Eilidh¡¯s hand until she fell asleep again.


    ¡°I think she¡¯ll live through the night,¡± Macel said, when Eilidh was peaceful. ¡°As soon as it¡¯s light I¡¯ll head back to Lieutenant Bennett. I¡¯ll fetch help.¡±

 50. The Nights Phantom

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Tasha ~


    For eight days, Tash had little to do but wait. Oliver left early each morning, to attend first the Council¡¯s daily deliberation and then a meeting of the Governor¡¯s Borrowood contingent, and it wasn¡¯t until long after dark that he returned. At first it had brought only boredom. Sesi had proved her worth dealing with that, keeping Tash company and doing everything she could to keep her Lady entertained. She was a keen proponent of needlework. Somewhere she¡¯d found all the supplies, and enticed Tash to give it a go ¡°because a Lady needs an outlet for her creativity¡±. It was fun for the most part, though the bloody fingers were something of a pain.


    Needlework quickly lost its draw, though, and so did everything else. How could she commit to enjoying it, when all she wanted to do was see Oliver again? One day soon he was going to come home and tell her she was a queen, and then she¡¯d know her dream was life. Every day passed with her waiting for him. Every night, late, he¡¯d stumble home exhausted. She¡¯d always prompt him for a summary of the day, and his answer was the same every time. ¡°Nothing¡¯s been decided yet, Tash. I¡¯d tell you if it had been.¡± And then he¡¯d be asleep, and she wouldn¡¯t even get a chance to spend some time with him.


    ¡°You¡¯re pining, Lady,¡± said Sesi, after a week. She¡¯d been sat with a book on her lap for three hours, immaculately made-up and in one of her favourite gowns because she¡¯d asked Sesi to make her look pretty, and she¡¯d barely read a page. The rest of the day had been spent staring at nothing.


    Tash dismissed Sesi¡¯s words. ¡°I¡¯m not a dog, Sesi.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps a walk would do you some good. We could sit on the banks of the Clearwater.¡±


    ¡°No thank-you, Sesi. I¡¯m fine here.¡±


    Sesi had curtsied. ¡°Of course, Lady,¡± she¡¯d said, retreating from the room, and for the rest of the day Tash had seen no sign of her. The only disturbance was Eva, carrying a tray on which was a heaping plate of sardines and potatoes mashed to a cream. Tash ate the food diligently, but she couldn¡¯t tell if it was nice or not. Nickie could have defecated onto a plate and served it up, and she¡¯d have been unlikely to notice.


    But she wouldn¡¯t admit that Sesi was right. She wasn¡¯t pining, she was just occupied with other things, other thoughts. She just didn¡¯t know what those other thoughts were.


    At last, after more than a week of building a cocoon of indifference, she caught sight of Oliver walking towards the house, flanked by Lieutenant Sharp. It was still daylight. She¡¯d been upstairs just because she was bored of looking at the walls of her solar, when she happened to catch a glimpse of him out of the window. That was enough to bring her vigour back, as if it had never gone away. She bounced down the stairs and met Oliver in the doorway. Without thinking, she jumped into his arms, and regretted it when he collapsed, red-faced and wheezing, and she fell to the ground.


    It was only a minor knock, though the dent to her pride was considerably more. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you catch me?¡± She had to be cross with Oliver, or she¡¯d be admitting that she was the one at fault. And he was the one who¡¯d dropped her.


    ¡°Tash, there¡¯s a whole extra person inside you, not far from being ready to meet the world. I can¡¯t deal with the weight of two.¡± He held out a hand and pulled her to her feet.


    She brushed her dress down, her face flushed. ¡°How did today go? I¡¯m not used to seeing you in the daylight.¡±


    Oliver looked at her with an unreadable face. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Tash. The Council weren¡¯t keen on the plan. I argued your case as best I could, but...¡± He trailed off. There was the wind, pried out of her like she was just a pair of bellows. She could see it leaving. All the effort she¡¯d put into pretending the reeves of the Council weren¡¯t utter dicks, and it still hadn¡¯t been enough. Father was right. She couldn¡¯t achieve her dreams. She wasn¡¯t strong enough.


    But Oliver was grinning, and Lieutenant Sharp too. They were trying to hide it, but it wasn¡¯t working.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ve agreed to the Governor¡¯s plan. There¡¯ll be a coronation sometime soon¡ªthe Council thought it best that we hold off on the pageantry until the situation at the hospital calms down somewhat. But they¡¯re going through with it. You¡¯d best get used to being Queen Tasha.¡±


    She pushed his shoulder playfully, relieved. ¡°You were trying to trick me,¡± she said.


    ¡°Guilty,¡± said Oliver. ¡°Now, it¡¯s time you got changed into something regal. The Governor¡¯s bringing the whole Borrowood Party along, everybody. They want to meet you, Tash. Everybody wants to have the ear of a queen.¡±


    Oliver couldn¡¯t have been more right. Nearly two dozen people arrived at the house, pretty much all of them at the same time, no more than an hour after Oliver. Were it not for Sesi¡¯s aptitude for speed, and some shortcuts taken while dressing, Tash would not have been ready in time. Even foregoing the bustle and petticoat, and leaving her hair unbraided beneath her caul, she¡¯d barely made it downstairs before Ian Fitzhenry was the first to arrive. A girl with messy blonde tresses was hanging on his arm, and she headed straight for Tasha.


    ¡°It¡¯s an honour to meet a queen,¡± said the girl. ¡°You¡¯re the first one I¡¯ve ever met.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s probably the same for everybody,¡± said Tash. ¡°There haven¡¯t been any queens for hundreds of years.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Of course.¡± The girl looked abashed. ¡°I hope you¡¯re happy with your gown. I made it myself. Well, Mistress Snyder made it. I just helped with the stitching.¡±


    Tash smiled at her, like she thought a queen should smile. ¡°It¡¯s very darling.¡±


    The girl returned to Ian Fitzhenry¡¯s arms, beaming like she¡¯d just been blessed by the Gods themselves. Tash watched her with amusement. Being a queen wouldn¡¯t be bad at all, she thought, if she was going to get attention lavished upon her by people who thought her an idol.


    Oliver stayed by Tasha¡¯s side as each of the guests arrived, naming them all. She met Sever Marcrand, Toby Wallwork, Cey Norbit and others she¡¯d have forgotten by morning. The Master of the Treasury, Arthur Mannion, had hit the drink before he arrived; his face was flushed so thoroughly it matched his plum jerkin, and he swayed even while being supported


    By the time the last people had arrived, the greetings had grown tiresome. Everybody, it seemed, thought they could somehow win her favour by complimenting her on her status as if they were the only ones to think of that. Lots thought to remark on how pretty her dress was. None had compliments for her, just the dress she was in. If she¡¯d swapped clothes with Sesi, she¡¯d probably have been ignored by all these people.


    Even Cassandra Fiouhart had the gall to show herself, and instead of mocking Tasha¡¯s very being she chose to play the demure society lady, kissing Tasha¡¯s hand and gushing over her. ¡°I knew you were a proper Lady,¡± she said. ¡°I do hope you¡¯ll join us at the grove again one day soon.¡±


    As if that was ever going to happen.


    Eva and Emmy were busy dashing around the solar, making sure every one of Oliver¡¯s guests was well fed. Nickie hadn¡¯t left the kitchen since Oliver¡¯s return, and Goodwife Mabeth had joined her. Between them they¡¯d cooked up some appetising snacks. Not the same as Mam Argent¡¯s, but Oliver swore he was working on that. And in any case, she was a queen now. Tomorrow she might take a walk to the Lord Constable¡¯s Tower and demand that he release Stini.


    Oliver pulled her aside. ¡°Tash, the Governor would like a word.¡±


    He led her out of the solar, into the airy room where she¡¯d hung the majority of her masks. They were yet to think of any other purpose to the room, so it was entirely unfurnished other than the masks hanging on the walls. It was also gleamingly clean. Eva had probably spent more time cleaning in here than Tash and Oliver combined had spent making use of the room.


    The Governor was stood waiting for her, and with him was a bespectacled woman, with hair of a dark chestnut piled in layers on top of her head. Her skin was saggy, and her cheeks tinged the lightest peach.


    ¡°Tash, this is Naomi Mallender,¡± said Oliver. ¡°She¡¯s responsible for much of the Governor¡¯s strategy.¡±


    Naomi Mallender shook her head, smiling bashfully. ¡°That¡¯s far more my wife¡¯s doing,¡± she said. ¡°She¡¯d be here tonight, but she¡¯s got a touch of the lurgy.¡±


    ¡°It was Naomi¡¯s idea that Essegena should have a king or a queen,¡± said the Governor. ¡°So you have her to thank.¡±


    ¡°Now, you¡¯re not a queen just yet,¡± Naomi Mallender cautioned. She indicated Tasha¡¯s swollen belly. ¡°That¡¯s your ticket, in there. Your child¡¯s the true figurehead. Until you give birth, you¡¯re about as relevant as a sodfarmer on Malindei¡ªI¡¯m sorry, but that¡¯s just the way of it. But the moment you become a mother, you become something special. For every person here with a brain for politics, there¡¯s half a dozen or more who have no thought beyond their night¡¯s shag and their next hot meal. The Governor could give some great speech extolling the virtues of you as a queen, but most wouldn¡¯t give the smallest of shits. But everybody knows the story of the Mother, whether they¡¯ve set foot inside a church or not. The Mother is a hero to huge portions of the population. I don¡¯t doubt people would name their daughters after her, were it not confusing to have a daughter called ¡®Mother¡¯. When your child is born, you become the new Mother, the Mother of Essegena, and you¡¯ll be revered by those same people who wouldn¡¯t pay you any mind today. Then, and only then, will they accept you as their queen.¡±


    Tash frowned. ¡°Why should it make any difference whether or not I¡¯ve given birth?¡±


    Mallender shrugged. ¡°Human beings are strange. My expertise is in the what, not the why, and the what is that you need to be a mother for them to take you. It would be different if there were still kings and queens in the Unity, but that ship sailed a long while ago.¡± She reached into the leather bag slung on her shoulder and pulled out a battered pad, the pages creased in the corners. Licking at her finger and running it along the edges, she opened the pad. ¡°Now, your child¡¯s name is incredibly important. It needs to scream royal. I¡¯ve trawled through the history books and compiled a list of suitable choices. For a girl, you can go through the obvious choices¡ªMatheld might be too on the nose, if we¡¯re selling you as the new Mother, but a Marguerite or an Edith cannot go astray, and while there¡¯s never been a regnant Queen Alice that I can tell, the name comes up enough in the histories that it might do, if you fancied something more unique.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not having a girl,¡± said Tash. ¡°I¡¯m having a boy.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Mallender flicked through a few more pages. ¡°I wasn¡¯t aware you¡¯d had the scan. Well then, perhaps a Richard or a Hilo. Mordant is also an option. That has a more peculiarly Manaser flavour, in case you wished your lineage to reflect your homeworld.¡±


    Tash shook her head. ¡°He¡¯s called Jem.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a bad name,¡± said Mallender. ¡°No links to royalty at all. The people would never accept it.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t give a shit what the people would accept. His name is Jem.¡± Tash barked loud enough that Mallender recoiled.


    Mallender dropped the pad into her bag. ¡°We can talk about this again another time,¡± she said, clearing her throat. ¡°Perhaps you can discuss the matter with your husband beforehand.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Tash. ¡°It¡¯s not up for discussion. I¡¯ve already met my son, in the hospital. He... travelled in time, somehow. I don¡¯t understand the science. But I¡¯ve met him, and his name is Jem. That¡¯s it. There¡¯s no discussion to be had, nothing to talk about. The matter¡¯s settled.¡±


    Mallender shared a look with the Governor.


    ¡°You¡¯ve met your son?¡± asked the Governor, with a curious look on his face.


    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Tash nodded. ¡°He was in the hospital. When I went to have a scan.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± The Governor clapped Oliver on the back. ¡°Come on, Wrack, let¡¯s enjoy this party of yours. I don¡¯t want to keep your wife from her guests.¡± He left the mask room, and Mallender sidled out after him, pausing briefly to smile kindly at Tash.


    Oliver turned to Tash. ¡°Try to be normal,¡± he said. ¡°Queen or otherwise.¡±


    Eventually the last of Nickie¡¯s braised beef parcels disappeared, and with it the final drop of brandy from the big bottle Oliver kept in the chiffonier. Absent of food, the party withered on the vine. They¡¯d said what they needed to say to Tasha. Now they had other places to be.


    ¡°Don¡¯t go with them,¡± she begged Oliver. ¡°They¡¯ll survive without you tonight.¡±


    He looked at her with contrition in his eyes, and held gently to her hands. ¡°I won¡¯t be late back, Tash. I promise.¡± And he¡¯d gone, Lieutenant Sharp close beside him.


    The gathering melted away like ice, and Tasha was alone before she had time to fight back, to grab at the sleeve of a passer-by and cling tight to the memory of the attention they lavished on her. To the Borrowood Party, she was everything. They¡¯d treated her like such. Even Mistress Fiouhart had been civil, and Tash had felt well and truly like a queen. But once they had gone she was just the lady of her small household. Through the window she could see a dozen other houses, so close she felt as though she could reach and touch them with her fingertips. To the people in those houses, she was nothing. She could see every corner of her domain from her own solar. A proper queen, like the ones in her storybooks, would have sway far beyond the visible horizons.


    It was one more reminder that Tasha was a fake queen, with an empty title, propped up by people who thought they could use her. Her father¡¯d not been king. Her husband wasn¡¯t king. She¡¯d conquered nothing. And that hadn¡¯t stopped her believing that she could be her dreams.


    She blagged a steaming mug of cocoa from Nickie, who was snowed under with a mountain of dirty pots and pans, and nursed it in her hands as she sat in the harsh light of her washroom, taking time to reflect while Sesi washed off her make-up and made her ready for bed.


    ¡°Do you think I¡¯m a fraud, Sesi?¡± She had to ask the question. She had to know what Sesi thought.


    ¡°A fraud how, Lady?¡±


    ¡°Everybody was calling me ¡®queen¡¯. But I¡¯m not, am I?¡±


    Sesi frowned. ¡°Aren¡¯t you?¡± She ran a soft wipe along Tasha¡¯s eye, and pulled it away black. ¡°Lady, the only person who can crown you is yourself. Your kingdom is what you choose it to be.¡±


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t that be a queendom?¡± asked Tash.


    ¡°Yes, Lady,¡± Sesi nodded. ¡°If you want it to be. You should drink your cocoa, or it will be cold and horrible.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m waiting for it to cool down,¡± said Tash, taking a long sip. ¡°It¡¯s too hot to drink just yet.¡±


    Sesi gave her a knowing look, then returned to silently wiping away Tasha¡¯s face. She rose ten minutes later. ¡°Make-up is not intended for you,¡± she said. ¡°You have more beauty in your natural face than others have when painted. Anybody would be envious of you.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re my ladiesmaid, Sesi,¡± Tash scolded, with a grin. ¡°You aren¡¯t supposed to furnish me with a surfeit of compliments.¡±


    ¡°I never say anything that isn¡¯t honest, Lady,¡± Sesi insisted. ¡°You have the look of a queen. Tasha the Fair.¡± She binned the dirty wipes and headed for the door. ¡°Goodnight, Lady.¡±


    ¡°Night, Sesi.¡± She wasn¡¯t sure what the time was. Was it too early to go to bed? The sun had gone down, and outside was darkness, but that didn¡¯t necessarily mean anything. There was too much about the firmament of Essegena that she didn¡¯t know. How early did the sun set at various points in the year, and what point were they at right now? It looked late, but she didn¡¯t feel tired. So it couldn¡¯t be that late.


    She yawned. Loudly.


    Okay, maybe she did feel tired. She could get into bed and read for a time. Oliver had told her he wouldn¡¯t be late returning, but they had differing ideas of what late meant. She hoped he¡¯d be along soon. She wanted to talk to him, woman to man. They used to have great conversations, when they were newlyweds on Tol Manase. Those great conversations had been denied permission to board the Eia, so it seemed. Everything they did together seemed to be in the company of the Governor or Lieutenant Sharp or Sesi. They were never alone.


    Well, tonight they would be. Tash was resolved to stay awake no matter how late Oliver was in returning.


    That was an easier proposition to think up than to enact. She changed into her nightdress determined not to sleep, and found a hefty tome that was bound to take her hours to read¡ªas long as she had something to keep her attention, she wouldn¡¯t want to fall asleep anyway. But only a few minutes in bed, with her cocoa still only half drunk, she was overcome by that lethargy. She put the book to one side and switched off the light¡ªjust for a minute, while she laid her head on the pillow and rested her eyes. She wouldn¡¯t be lying down for long enough to go to sleep. Just to get some energy back.


    She passed into dream without pause. It was a fitful sleep, the kind where she drifted in and out of conscious, long enough to be vaguely aware of her own body shifting to get comfortable. And then a noise jolted her into wakefulness.


    Her chambers were in darkness. The only faint light was the reflection of the sister-moons on her diamantine shoes, discarded on the floor. Oliver wasn¡¯t with her. She felt his side of the bed with a hand that brushed only the smooth sheets of an undisturbed bed. He¡¯d not been in at all. How late was it now? She couldn¡¯t say.


    Nor could she say what had woken her.


    She strained her eyes, but the darkness was absolute. She could see nothing, hear nothing. The night was still.


    That¡¯s okay then, she thought. It was just a noise in the night. Nothing to worry about. She put her head back down to sleep again, any idea of waiting for Oliver forgotten. But just as she touched the pillow and screwed shut her eyes, there came another noise. A creaking. Like somebody was walking around outside. The floorboards outside the chambers were always creaking. The contractors had left it that way, and Oliver had eventually convinced her it wasn¡¯t worth complaining about. As he promised, she¡¯d got used to the noise in time.


    She lifted her head to the door. In this dimness it was hard to tell, but she thought she could see it opening, gently, cautiously. Good, she smiled. Oliver was back. He was creeping because he didn¡¯t want to wake her.


    ¡°I wondered when you¡¯d get back,¡± she said, her head still laying on the pillow. She expected Oliver to say something, a mumbled apology for staying out so late. She¡¯d pretend to be offended, read him the riot act for abandoning his wife and go so far as to threaten to make him sleep outside, before laughing and revealing that she was just messing with him. She¡¯d done it all before. It was a well-worn routine.


    But Oliver didn¡¯t say anything.


    Tash knew he was here. She could hear his soft footsteps creeping across the chambers towards her.


    Perhaps he¡¯d grown wise to her game. She¡¯d had her fun with it, but the most fun was always what came after. ¡°Come to bed. I¡¯ve got nothing on underneath my nightgown.¡± If Oliver was lucky, he might even get to see her nothing.


    Again, he said nothing. His footsteps were getting louder as he drew closer. He was coming along her side of the bed, for some reason.


    The hairs on her arms were stood on end. Something was wrong in the air. Her brain had sensed danger, and now it was screaming at her to catch up. But where was the danger when she was alone with Oliver?


    He was close enough now that she could hear him breathing. Only this wasn¡¯t Oliver¡¯s breathing. This was a coarser, more ragged breathing. Her eyes opened wide now, and she reached for a light. The electric candle cast a sudden bright glow on the room, dazzling Tash momentarily, and when her eyes adjusted she saw the man standing over her. His hair was long and greasy, his face twisted into a crimson snarl. His hands were grotty, grime stuck fast and nails decayed, and in it he clutched a gleaming knife.


    She screamed.


    The man shook his head. Sssh. He beckoned her to be silent, a finger covering his mouth. ¡°This will only take a second,¡± he said. And he leaned over her, knife poised.


    She screamed again, sucking up a mouthful of her own hair in the process. She spluttered and coughed, rolling across the bed to get away from the man. He had a grin on his face. Why was he so happy?


    Tash crawled onto the floor and tried to stand, her legs unsteady. She took a second to weigh up her options. If she ran, she could probably get to the door before the man. Maybe she¡¯d even get it open and reach the hall. She doubted she¡¯d get out of the house, though, not unless she had the fortune to run into Oliver. The guards at the front would stop the man if she could lead him to them. But he was bigger than her, and stronger too to judge from the musculature of his bare arms. Even when she wasn¡¯t pregnant, she wouldn¡¯t have been able to outrun him for long. Right now she¡¯d be lucky if she could get to the stairs.


    In any case, she¡¯d spent too long considering her options. The man had started to round the bed towards her. He¡¯d blocked off the door, and that possibility was gone. She couldn¡¯t jump out of the window either, not unless she wanted to choose between being dead and being paraplegic. The drop was too great, and not onto soft ground. The man, with his serrated knife, would kill her if he caught her. She didn¡¯t doubt that. But then it would be over.


    She screamed a third time. Why was nobody coming?


    The man was closer now. She had maybe fifteen seconds.


    Adrenaline was taking over now. She backed away, pressing herself tight against the wardrobe in the corner. It might buy her an extra second or two.


    And she screamed again, as loud as she could.


    The window was open. Outside, she heard voices.


    ¡°That¡¯s the Lady Tasha.¡±


    ¡°Quickly!¡±


    The man must have heard it too. His eyes flashed to the window for a second, and then met hers. He smiled a toothy smile, then stole out of the door, leaving it open. Tash stood immobilised for a while, and then slowly sunk to the ground. She was weeping like she¡¯d never wept before. Tears burst from her like a long-dammed torrent finally set free, clamouring to get to the rush and the sea. Her hands were shaking.


    It¡¯s a good job Sesi took my make-up off earlier. I¡¯d be ruining it now, if she hadn¡¯t.


    Vaguely, she saw two guards coming through the door. Young Eva, barefoot in a floral nightgown, was with them. She ran to Tash, and crouched down beside her.


    ¡°Lady, don¡¯t cry. I¡¯m here with you.¡±


    Sweet little idiot Eva. What could she have done? It wasn¡¯t her that had driven the man away, it was the guards. Without them Tasha would be dead now. So would Eva, if she¡¯d been here.


    Millington came towards her. ¡°What¡¯s wrong, my Lady? I heard you yelling.¡±


    ¡°I was attacked,¡± said Tasha, through heavy sobs. ¡°A man... the man who threatened Eva. He had a knife.¡±


    ¡°He can¡¯t have gone far,¡± said Millington, turning to the other guard. ¡°Search the house, top to bottom. There¡¯s no way he can have left. Andrewse would have seen him.¡±


    The other guard nodded and left the room, and Millington kneeled in front of Tash. ¡°My Lady, we¡¯ll get the man.¡±


    ¡°You need a drink, Lady,¡± said Eva. ¡°Something hot.¡±


    Tash nodded weakly. The worst of the sobs had passed, but her voice was still a touch hoarse. ¡°That¡¯ll be nice, Eva,¡± she croaked, not daring to look directly at the open door. If she did, she knew she¡¯d see the man there, knife drawn.


    Eva and Sesi carried Tash down the stairs between them, her legs too weak to even think about walking anywhere herself, and set her down on the softest sofa in the solar. Sesi sat with her, and Eva disappeared to fetch her a hot drink. Millington stood guard all the while.


    The guard Quant burst in while Tash was drinking. ¡°We¡¯ve scoured the property,¡± he said, ¡°and there¡¯s not a sign of the man. Andrewse swears he didn¡¯t see anybody leaving the front way.¡±


    ¡°He must have got out via the rear,¡± said Millington. ¡°That wall¡¯s supposed to be unscalable.¡± He dismissed Quant, and walked across the solar to Tash. ¡°Wherever he went, we¡¯ll find him,¡± he said. ¡°Don¡¯t fear on that, my Lady.¡±


    Oliver eventually returned, dashing into the solar. ¡°Where is she?¡± he called. ¡°Where¡¯s my wife?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m here, Oliver,¡± said Tash, from the sofa, and Oliver came running across. He pulled her into the tightest hug she¡¯d ever experienced.


    ¡°Are you hurt, Tash? What happened?¡±


    She recounted the story, stopping a few times when the memory¡¯s fear choked her up. As soon as she was finished, Oliver squeezed her tighter still, and turned to Millington.


    ¡°Did you find the man?¡±


    Millington shook his head. ¡°He got away somehow. Evidently the back way, though how he got out I don¡¯t know.¡±


    Lieutenant Sharp, who had just followed Oliver into the solar, sighed. ¡°We¡¯ll have to keep a full guard until he¡¯s found. That¡¯ll be long hours for everybody, I¡¯m afraid.¡±


    ¡°The men won¡¯t like that,¡± said Millington.


    ¡°They¡¯ll like it even less if something happens to Lady Tasha,¡± Sharp snapped.


    ¡°How are you feeling, Tash?¡± Oliver had eased off on the hug, and was stroking her hand.


    She tried a brave smile. ¡°A bit shaken. I¡¯ll get over it.¡±


    Oliver nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll go to the Lord Constable first thing tomorrow. This will get sorted, Tash, I promise you.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll be better staying in the house for the time being,¡± said Lieutenant Sharp. ¡°We¡¯ll be better able to protect you here.¡±


    Tash shook her head. ¡°I won¡¯t be a prisoner. This man¡¯s a gutter rat. I¡¯m not going to let him cow me¡ªI want him to know I¡¯m not afraid of him.¡±


    ¡°But my Lady, your baby¡ª¡±


    ¡°The Lady has spoken, Lieutenant,¡± said Oliver.


    Sharp nodded. ¡°Yes, of course.¡± As he made his exit, Oliver turned to Tasha.


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean you need to go traipsing about on your own. It¡¯s one thing not to be browbeaten by a maniac. It¡¯s another altogether to invite trouble. I don¡¯t want you going anywhere without your maids¡ªSesala at least. And a guard, always a guard. You had a lucky escape this time. If he comes back, you might not get lucky twice.¡± He kissed her forehead. ¡°I love you, Tash. I want you to be safe. That means precautions, until the man who attacked you is rotting in a cell.¡±


    ¡°Or dead,¡± said Tash. ¡°That would be better.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s try not to start executing people,¡± said Oliver. ¡°It won¡¯t end well.¡±


    ¡°He attacked me,¡± said Tash pointedly. ¡°He¡¯d have murdered Jem and left me to bleed out, if Millington hadn¡¯t heard my screaming. He can choke on his own blood, for all I care. I¡¯ll cheer on the man who does it.¡±


    Oliver sighed. ¡°You scare me sometimes, Tash.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± she said. ¡°Perhaps that grubby wanker will be scared of me next time.¡± And she drank her cocoa, now lukewarm, in the company of thoughts of bloody revenge. In her mind¡¯s eye she saw the man with his own knife sticking out of his neck, pleading with dead eyes for mercy, and she laughed at him. Men like that were better dead.

 51. The Foresleepers Dream

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Caroline ~


    It always seemed to be evening when she woke. Lily Day was always there by her bedside with heaped spoonfuls of oats and honey, which her parched lips gratefully accepted. After one mouthful, she slept again. When she awoke, once again to Lily¡¯s offerings of breakfast, it was impossible to tell how long she had slept. Time just wasn¡¯t passing. Or was it flying by days at a time?


    Something hurt. Low down on her body, below the navel. It throbbed and pinched at her innards so much that she forgot any other pain. She thought it was her thigh, perhaps, but it was all just a fog of discomfort. Every one of her muscles ached, a dull ache¡ªor was that just what muscles always felt like? She couldn¡¯t remember not being sick. At times the pain would swell, darting the length of the scar where they cut her daughter from her. Each lash of agony was a cry for remembrance from her poor baby, an accusatory reminder of Caroline¡¯s failure, Caroline¡¯s loss. She thought she could see the little girl in that strange twilight between waking and sleeping, hiding beneath the faded white veil of the curtain that had been drawn around her bed. But she wasn¡¯t there. She¡¯d never lived.


    That was Caroline¡¯s fault. She wasn¡¯t strong enough to be a mother.


    Over time, the scene changed. Was it days that were passing? Weeks? Minutes? Then one time she woke to find Lily wasn¡¯t there. Janna Davis was retrieving her bed pan. She called out for Lily, and got only apology. ¡°She isn¡¯t here at the moment, Miss Caroline.¡± Janna brought her that breakfast, and she ate surrounded by the smell of shit. Lily never came back.


    Her head was in constant pain.


    It was bearable at first. Sure, the ache was there, that dull ache that drew her to the brink of tears every time she so much as moved her eyes some. But there was the company of friends to take her mind off the pain. It wasn¡¯t perhaps the friends she was used to, those from Borrowood, but Tema Caerlin and Emmeline Maynard always made time to talk. Janna brought naughty snacks pilfered from deep in the supplies. But the best times were when Lily was by her bedside.


    Lily had two little handmade puppets, Callista and Grady. Often she¡¯d use them to enact comic scenes at Caro¡¯s bedside. She couldn¡¯t have known, but the Heramey matron Jemessan used to do the same thing when Caro was small. She was transported home with every show, to the tiny five-year-old body she¡¯d once inhabited, tucked in the rickety old bed that was once her grandmother¡¯s, in a room the sun loved to kiss of a morning. She could nearly taste Mother¡¯s special apple-cake. Nearly. It helped that Lily¡¯s wry humour drove Caro to giggle often, just as Jemessan had.


    But it hurt to giggle, so she tried not to do it too often. And in any case, Lily was apparently sick now too. She must have been, or she¡¯d be here. The disease was clearly a contagious one. To think... Lily had to suffer all the same things, but there was nobody to give her a puppet show by her sickbed. All because Lily had devoted herself to Caro. She knew the risks, and she did it anyway.


    The pain had entered her dreams now, too. It wasn¡¯t always the case. To begin with, sleep was her respite. It would lap warm at her, brought on by either tired eyes or chemicals, and cushion her mind in a paradise of nepenthe and homely sensations. Now her dreamscapes were cold. They drowned her in a sea of pain and isolation. Better to stay awake, where at least she could observe. It helped her mind stay active.


    From time to time a nurse would come by to sedate her, whichever nurse happened to be nearby. Oh, how she wanted to scream at them: ¡°Leave me be! Leave me to my pain!¡± But she couldn¡¯t find her voice.


    Tema seemed to understand her best. Kind Tema. Of course she knew about that sort of pain, the pain that never subsided, night or day, but instead grew inexorably, until there was nothing else. When they were just out of Belaboras, it had been Tema who sought comfort, and Caro who served as a kindly ear. Tema¡¯s own pain might have been mental, but Caro supposed it must have given her no less anguish.


    When it was down to Tema to knock Caro out for the night, she¡¯d take her time. She¡¯d pull up a chair and sit, with a smile on her face that said everything will be okay. The others all wore masks to hide their faces. Tema did too, but she entered without it, and always took time to give Caro a smile before their time together ended. She always had a story to tell, one that was probably less than half true. And when she¡¯d finished it, she¡¯d administer the venom that consigned Caro to another cold nightmare, and stroked her forehead gently, to dull the pain for a second before sleep took her.


    It was hardly ever Tema. The others didn¡¯t take the same time and care. Just a single swift gesture and then it was lights out, in many cases without even a word of sympathy. Often she was left alone. When she did have company it was one of the newer nurses, Delphine Janley or Viola Watling or another of that ilk. They lacked the bedside manner of their more experienced colleagues, even if they meant well enough.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Chris?¡± she¡¯d ask, when she could say the words. He¡¯d not been to visit for... how long was it now? Weeks? Months? Years, maybe? Time felt like it wasn¡¯t operating in the same way for her. In her windowless room, permanently drifting in and out of sleep, seeing the same dozen always-tired faces, it was difficult to keep tabs on how much had passed. It was all the same in her hospital bed. But she knew it was a long time since he¡¯d been to visit. Surely he¡¯d come soon.


    Nobody ever had an answer for her. Some would try to dance around the question, soften the blow of their inevitable non-answer. ¡°The Governor is busy, I¡¯m sure,¡± Delphine Janley had said, ¡°but he¡¯ll come as soon as he gets a chance. He¡¯ll be here soon, when the time is right.¡± Others didn¡¯t seem to want to give her an answer at all. When she¡¯d asked Janna Davis, the girl had reddened and stammered something about ¡°Doctor Maynard being the one who¡¯d know.¡±


    Doctor Maynard, for her part, curtly answered that he wasn¡¯t able to visit her, for reasons of safety. And anyway, he was a busy man¡ªit may well be that he simply didn¡¯t have time to visit her. If it hadn¡¯t hurt so, she¡¯d have laughed in Emmeline¡¯s face. Chris was the Governor. He had absolute authority. A heavy workload was nothing to him. If he wanted to see her, he could do so, and consequences be damned. Caro had tried for ages to get an audience with Emmeline. It irritated her to get an incorrect answer for her troubles.


    Their evasions rankled. Caro was a grown woman. She could take a straight answer. Chris hadn¡¯t come to see her, it was as simple as that. No doubt he had more important things to do. Who cares if the love of your life is sick, right? She¡¯s in a hospital bed, she isn¡¯t going anywhere. Meetings must come first.


    He¡¯d visited once, half a day after she¡¯d been admitted to the hospital. That was before she¡¯d fallen into the ouroboros of dreams and daydreams, when she was still lucid of the time of day. He¡¯d brought along David Clifford and Oliver Wrack. The latter she scarcely knew, and the former had been as disconnected from her as it was possible to be while sharing a friendship group for thirty years. They¡¯d lurked awkwardly off to one side while Chris spoke, and his words had been impersonal. Platitudes, the things society expects a man to say to his sick wife. Caro had lapped them up at the time. How could she be so na?ve?


    ¡°I love you, Caroline.¡± That¡¯s what he¡¯d said. ¡°More than anything else, I love you. I¡¯d waste away beside you if I could.¡± She¡¯d melted like a teenager when he¡¯d said that, even though he was paraphrasing a poet from two centuries ago who¡¯d stolen a quote from one of the Books of Lightness. His voice was a medicine for her then, the one thing that took the pain away more than anything else. If he¡¯d been preaching from the Book, she¡¯d have converted. But he was just making empty promises.


    Empty promises like the one where he¡¯d visit her every day, twice if time allowed.


    Bull. Shit.


    She already knew they were going to have a falling out when she got out. ¡°You can¡¯t let that happen again,¡± she¡¯d tell him. ¡°You¡¯ve been remiss in your duties as a husband. You¡¯ve let me down.¡± It was in the vows he¡¯d sworn on their marital dais¡ª¡¯I will not let her down¡¯. Perhaps he should have specified that the vow was contingent on it being convenient for him.


    This morning was a daze. It may not even have been morning anymore. She¡¯d been drifting out of sleep, only ever half-seeing, plugged in to the fever. The chiming of the machine behind her blared a backbeat to her stupor. Through the throes of slumber, she heard approaching footsteps. Breakfast, she knew¡ªbreakfast, then sedatives.


    ¡°Good morning, Caroline.¡± The voice was familiar. She squinted, to try and see better, but it was all half blurry.


    ¡°Who am I speaking to?¡± Her throat was dry. It cracked painfully as she spoke.


    ¡°What, can¡¯t you see? It¡¯s Ian. Ian Fitzhenry.¡±


    Ian. She could see him now. The blurred form seemed to take on a better definition when she knew who to look for. He was stood beside her bed, with a tray of breakfast in his hand, and a pitcher of water which he practically poured into her mouth. It soothed her slightly.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± she rasped.


    There was a mask on his face, one of the fancy ones. It had sculpted itself tightly to his face, so he looked as though he was simply wearing a layer of chiffon over his mouth. Those things were airtight, and in short supply. The hospital had been given no more than three dozen. She wondered how he¡¯d managed to get one for himself. ¡°They said I should bring you your breakfast,¡± he said. ¡°I have to say, it all looks a bit bland. Remind me not to get sick. Somewhere like this, I¡¯d starve.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t really taste it.¡± Talking was making her tired. But she was always tired anyway. Seeing a friendly face made her forget about the pain for a little bit.


    Ian stepped forward, close enough to touch her bed. ¡°Caro, what¡¯s happened to you?¡±


    ¡°Stay away,¡± she croaked. ¡°You¡¯ll get sick.¡±


    ¡°So what if I do? It¡¯s the least I deserve.¡±


    Ian pulled the curtain too behind him; it was just the two of them, alone in their cocoon. How long had it been since she¡¯d been in such proximity to him? Not since they were children. Not since... It had been the night that Dani Carrigan died. Ian had arrived unexpectedly at the door, and Jemessan had let him in. Jemessan was the only company Caro had most of the time by that point. All that remained of her family, Armand and Tessa both spent their time away, only occasionally coming home. In their absence none of their friends came for Caro. Ian was the first friend she¡¯d seen in a week.


    He¡¯d been sombre, and he¡¯d pulled her in a tight hug. ¡°She¡¯s dead,¡± he¡¯d said, ¡°she¡¯s gone. Everything is going to change now.¡±


    Everything had changed. The Borrowood Dynasty had shattered. Armand was gone within the month, for good. Tessa had left by the year¡¯s end. The others, for the most part, stopped talking to one another. They¡¯d cross the street to avoid passing too close by. Only later, when Chris found a friend in Commissioner Irmden and set his sights on the future he wanted, had the group begun to come together. That was all Chris¡¯ doing. Even now, it wasn¡¯t quite the same.


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Chris and Dani had been together at the time. They were the golden pair, the example of what the Borrowood Dynasty could be. They would be the king and the queen, and the rest would follow them. Everyone knew their wedding would be spectacular.


    But Caro didn¡¯t know. Nobody had told her. And so she¡¯d gone, a stupid little girl who didn¡¯t know better¡ªshe¡¯d gone and asked Chris out somewhere. A dance, maybe? She couldn¡¯t remember. Dani had been there with Chris at the time. Caro remembered the look they¡¯d shared, remembered the amusement in Dani¡¯s eyes as Chris had let her down¡ªhe couldn¡¯t go out with her, he was with Dani, and didn¡¯t she know that? He¡¯d kissed Dani then. While Caro watched. Her heart had died and her bones turned to lead.


    She¡¯d run to Ian then. He¡¯d been the only one who would comfort her. He¡¯d let her cry for hours¡ªand she hated that, because she was Caroline Heramey and she did not cry. But Ian hadn¡¯t said a word in judgement. He¡¯d given her his bed. She expected him to make a move, to take advantage of the fact that her heart was just a bloody mess, but he¡¯d left her be. He was always gentle with her.


    Whenever she¡¯d cried, Ian was there for her. He always told her how stupid Chris was being, how one day he¡¯d see sense and leave Dani for Caroline. After Freya Warlin died, a tourmaline ring had appeared on Dani¡¯s finger. She and Chris had become engaged, before they lost what they had. Caroline had cried the whole night away on Ian¡¯s shoulder after that.


    Everything had changed, after Dani¡¯s death. Just as Ian said it would. He¡¯d been distant with Caroline, never allowing her to be alone with him. On her wedding day, Ian never said a word to her. He spoke to Chris, told Chris to pass on his messages of congratulations. They were never quite friends again.


    Her mouth was dry again, so dry her lips had stuck together. She forced them apart even though it hurt. ¡°Why did we stop being friends? Ian, what happened to you?¡±


    She saw him freeze. He sighed then, and looked down at the ground. ¡°I did it,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Caro. I should have told you then.¡±


    ¡°Did what?¡±


    ¡°I killed her.¡± He looked up at her, and she saw his eyes were filled with tears. ¡°That wasn¡¯t the way it was supposed to go, you have to understand that. I wanted to scare her into running away. That way Chris would have no choice but to go to you.¡±


    Dani. But she¡¯d drowned... They said it was an accident.


    She didn¡¯t say anything. What was there to say, that was worth the pain?


    ¡°She was only supposed to be under the water for a minute, tops. Caroline, she wouldn¡¯t stop thrashing. She was screaming something horrid, and I was just willing her to be quiet. ¡®Shut up, stay still, it¡¯ll be over in a second¡¯. And then she did. I must have held her for too long. They say it hurts to drown, Caro. Tell me that¡¯s a lie. Tell me she didn¡¯t feel any pain.¡± Ian was practically screaming at her, his hands quaking.


    But she was silent, and she knew he heard the volumes she spoke. He fell to his knees, and he was weeping.


    Poor Dani.


    His eyes were pleading to her. ¡°Say something, Caro. Tell me I¡¯m a monster, tell me to fuck off out of here, but say something. Anything will do.¡±


    She looked at him through tired eyes. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Ian started to laugh. ¡°For you, Caro. I loved you. I¡¯d have given anything to be with you, to have you as my wife. But you wanted to be with Chris. You had your heart set on Chris. I had to do it, to make you happy. Dani was just in the way.¡±


    How could Ian have loved her? He¡¯d never sought out an argument with her, never tried to make her a queen. All he¡¯d ever done was... was listen to her, give her a place to talk and cry freely. Kill for her.


    And after all that, he¡¯d had to watch her marry Chris, and live out her girlhood dreams.


    But he¡¯d killed Dani. Dani who had been her friend, who¡¯d never done anything wrong. What about her dreams? Ian had stolen them away from her to make room for Caroline¡¯s.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want you to forgive me,¡± said Ian, standing. ¡°I don¡¯t want you to understand. But you needed to know. If you see Dani out there on those cold Hills, tell her I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t do that.¡± She forced herself up, propped on her elbows, a mammoth effort she was already regretting. ¡°I¡¯m not going to die, Ian.¡±


    He shook his head. ¡°No. Of course you aren¡¯t. Goodbye, Caro. I wish it hadn¡¯t ended like this.¡±


    She never saw him leave.


    There came a time when she couldn¡¯t stomach the oats, and the honey was too sweet for her to swallow. She threw it up and her throat closed. The next time she came to, she was hooked up to an intravenous feeding tube. The wound on her thigh was raging, and there was a dull ache in her forehead from too much sleeping. She could feel the sores that had begun to form on her back, but she couldn¡¯t bring herself to care.


    From then on she ceased to be a person.


    Hours melted into days melted into years, in a plasma storm of pain. In her better moments, when she had lucidity, she could think of nothing but how much it hurt and how much she wished it didn¡¯t. In her worse moments, she couldn¡¯t even remember her name. She was the woman without identity. The mystery. She had no sense of self.


    Where was she? It was soft where she lay, soft and warm, though at times the firm metal ribcage reached to dig into her back. The noise never stopped¡ªa clangour of beeps and crashes, a hundred voices talking in unison. Their words were lost to her.


    Amidst the sound, the world came into focus. She was on the damp sandy shore of a windswept beach, alone. A dark sky was imbued with streaks of red. The sea was grey and broiling, each crashing wave spitting foam onto the sand. Cliffs rose up, walling the beach, and as she followed those cliffs to the sky she saw a white tower rising high above it. The sounds all faded away then. Only the song of a soaring nightingale broke over the heartbeat of the tides.


    She closed her eyes, and tower and tide alike vanished. This is all a dream. I¡¯ll wake up soon.


    ¡°Tiriotte,¡± said an indistinct voice, a hybrid of male and female calling out with a dissonant echo. A fanged blade slashed across her vision, and everything shone scarlet. The action brought her brain to focus. All thought of pain slipped away before the allure of a dream. They called her ¡®Foresleeper¡¯, she remembered. It meant something. Quite what she couldn¡¯t recall, but there it was, emblazoned in her mind¡¯s eye. ¡®Foresleeper¡¯.


    The blade dissolved in a cloud of sand, and she was no longer lying down.


    She was a young girl, running barefoot on a dusty beach, cooling her burning toes in the grey water that lapped at her. People watched her from the sea wall. Their skin was dirty and hard as leather, and they wore barely more than sacks. She called out to them, called for her mother, but they only regarded her sadly.


    ¡°Foresleeper,¡± a voice whispered.


    She was he now, an old soldier with one eye gone. He limped through a stone cathedral, tears streaming down the cheek of his surviving eye. Ghosts danced around him, clammy and cold, and they chanted the names of dead men.


    ¡°Foresleeper,¡± whispered the same voice.


    ¡°Old blood,¡± whispered another.


    An aged tree fell with a croak before her axe, and brought clouds of dry dirt up off the ground as it landed. Held within the stump, a book bound in leather. Its cover was a pale face, and the eyes lit up as she beheld it. She gasped and dropped the axe in her shock, and as it fell it took a chunk from her foot.


    ¡°Foresleeper.¡±


    ¡°Pure blood.¡±


    And there she stood, alone, in a great hall. Trestle tables stood abandoned at the sides, and the wooden floor was slick with blood. A man carved from alabaster hung from a high ceiling, weeping onto the floor.


    ¡°Foresleeper.¡±


    ¡°Queen¡¯s blood.¡±


    She walked through a quiet valley. The land was submerged, and the buildings seemed to sway beneath the water. As she gazed up, she saw a dozen black stones on the mount around the valley. Behind each lurked a grey shade of terrifying and undefinable form. The shades beckoned her, and she was compelled to follow.


    ¡°Foresleeper.¡±


    ¡°Favourite of the Gods.¡±


    Now she walked through the air, held aloft by a grey shade on each arm. Beneath her, a line of women walked into paradise, each one naked and shivering. A dark figure stood at the gate, lit only by the light of an uncaring moon. When the figure clicked her fingers, a bell rang distantly. Then half of the women were gone, and the other half bowed their heads in prayer.


    The shades on each arm leaned in to whisper to her:


    ¡°Foresleeper.¡±


    ¡°Heramey.¡±


    And she was stood within an endless tomb of stone, her hair blown by a cruel wind. Flames lapped at her feet, covered the walls, burned her lungs to breathe. To her left and to her right, a man and a woman stood. As the three stretched out their arms and touched one another¡¯s fingertips, so the fire took hold of them, and the inferno was great to behold. Wherever it scorched, purity was born.


    ¡°Foresleeper.¡±


    ¡°Caroline.¡±


    She was Caroline. It all came back to her now. Thousands of images surged through her head, but she could comprehend none of them. A solitary tear begged for the relief of home. It was as if the Gods were listening when they granted it.


    Home was as she remembered it, long ago. She was sat against her favourite tree, the one that had been cut down after the lightning struck it. The rough bark pressed into her neck, as once she¡¯d pressed her name into it. They¡¯d all done that, her and Tessa and Armand.


    Beneath another tree, she could see Nana Raine, there amidst a grove of the most brilliant starfire. She¡¯d never looked this young, not while Caro had known her. She was a siren, tall and regal, with silky hair in the deepest black, and narrow, firm cheekbones. A little girl was dandled on her knee, an angel with a pure face who shared Caroline¡¯s fiery hair and her emerald eyes, and who she knew was her poor baby. Alianor. Nameless in life, but not nameless forever.


    Mother and Father were watching her from across the garden. That couldn¡¯t be. They were gone now, taken by the green pox, but she could see them on the other side of the pond. Father was reading that old book of madrigals that he¡¯d always kept by his bedside. The madrigals had smouldered when the book was consigned to the funeral pyre. Now they were unburnt.


    She could see Tessa skipping on the lawn¡ªTessa when she was a little girl, not the headstrong woman she¡¯d become. Caroline had never realised that Tessa was this sweet. She was just a child, with the dreams of a child, but her future was a mystery, lost in the ether. Did this mean she was dead? Had Caro been reunited with her family in the afterlife?


    But surely not. Armand was there as well. Her brother was throwing his red ball, just the way he always used to. Armand hadn¡¯t died. He was on Arvila, far away from danger, deputy to the governor there. He had no right to be here.


    Her throat was dry, she realised, but there was no pain. She started across the lawn, towards Mother and Father, to drink of the pond. They smiled at her as she approached them, and she could feel her face growing sticky with tears. She¡¯d never thought to see their smiles again. ¡°Come back to me,¡± said Mother, a sparkle in her eyes.


    ¡°Come back, Caro,¡± Father laughed. He¡¯d always laughed, when he wasn¡¯t busy in his study. The fall had taken his mobility, but it had never dulled his humour. Now he seemed to be young again, younger than Caro was, and agile as ever he had been.


    ¡°Please come back,¡± said Chris. She turned to see him stood behind her, beneath the canopy of her tree. His eyes were in shade, but she could hear their call. That was what love did. If she chose, she could go back to him, to life. But perhaps it wouldn¡¯t be so bad to die. The garden was warm, and she was so cold.


    She started to back away from Chris. He called out again: ¡°I¡¯ll see you happy again, Caro. You¡¯ll be a queen.¡±


    She shook her head and turned from him. Her body was pulsing like the tide, every wave drenching her with pain. If she¡¯d had tears to cry, she¡¯d have wept then, but her eyes were dry. She wasn¡¯t even sure if they were open or closed.


    Everything went icy cold for a minute, and the garden faded away. She was in her hospital bed, the only sound an incessant bleeping from the monitor hooked into her veins. Janna Davis was there beside her, watching her without a sound. The girl¡¯s eyes were dark and bright and full of fear. Behind her, a man sat waiting. He wasn¡¯t a man, not really. He was too long, too thin, and he was all in shadow. Caro had seen him before, in those dreams as he led her through the door of the big house on the hill. She screwed her eyes shut, so she wouldn¡¯t have to see him now.


    Her breaths were slow as the bleeps washed over her. There was no pain now, which was nice.


    Then she started to warm up, and she felt the kiss of morning dew on her cheek. She was home again, back in her garden with Mother and Father and Tessa. Armand wasn¡¯t here, though. That¡¯s how she knew she was dead.


    As a child, she¡¯d wished she could stay in the garden forever. She¡¯d hidden herself within the thickets and ignored her parents¡¯ calls, so her playtime didn¡¯t have to end. Now the wish had come true.


    She ran into her mother¡¯s arms, and cried bitter tears.

 52. The Rescue Mission

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Macel ~


    He left at dawn¡¯s first blush. Neither Bess nor Eilidh was awake to see him go. They slept on either side of the little camp, one an angel at peace and the other an old soldier torn by the wounds of war. Eilidh wore a metal daisy on a chain around her neck, smeared with blood. Macel took it with an apology. That was the proof that she was here, and she¡¯d hardly miss it for just the one day.


    Before he went, he stole a kiss from Bess, plucked from the soft skin of her cheek. Lost in dreams, she smiled, and he bade her goodbye.


    The journey back was little more than a blur, and he ran it with blind abandon. There was no time to stop and think of the way, no time to dwell on sore legs; he had to trust in his instinct, and let it guide him, or else he¡¯d take too long. Eilidh was already starting to run a fever. If a cut got infected, if she got sepsis before Macel could bring help to her, that would be her death.


    Every step he took, his surroundings seemed equal parts familiar and strange. Animals scurrying on the ground fled before him, while birds of every feather took indignant flight when he came too near their nesting trees. Their caws were the soundtrack to his journey. The sun had been barely poking its head above the horizon when he left Bess, the lake barely tinged with pink. It was well beyond its apex when Plateau Watch came at last into view.


    Eric Scobie was on sentry duty, sat in the little wooden tower at the corner of the yard. He wasn¡¯t looking Macel¡¯s way. His attention was locked on the arses of the stablegirls in their fitted jodhpurs, busy at work with the horses.


    The only way to get to the tower was to climb the ladder inside, haphazardly made of planks nailed at ten-inch intervals. Macel managed to make his way down the narrow channel, climb up onto the duckboard bridge, and then get to the top of the ladder, and all the while Scobie hadn¡¯t looked away from the girls. He suspected the women hadn¡¯t agreed to star in Scobie¡¯s private show. Scobie wasn¡¯t the sort of man who actually spoke to women.


    When he was only just behind Scobie, Macel spoke. ¡°Lieutenant Bennett,¡± he said. ¡°Where is she?¡±


    Scobie turned, startled and red in the face. ¡°What are you playing at, creeping up on me like that?¡±


    ¡°Where is Lieutenant Bennett?¡±


    Scobie sighed. ¡°Follow me.¡±


    He led Macel down the ladder, abandoning the little tower and giving any nefarious actors who may have been skulking about free reign to do as they pleased without being spotted. Into the scullery they went. Delie was there, scrubbing dried mud off the floors where the sun illuminated it. She waved when she saw Macel. Scobie veered around her with a flushed face, his head cast down.


    For some reason, Scobie sought out Sam Preston, busy sewing a button onto his uniform jacket.


    ¡°Macel,¡± he said with a cheerful smile, setting jacket and button down on a side table. ¡°You missed breakfast. I had your share¡ªI hope you don¡¯t mind.¡± By the time Macel was done relaying the events of the previous day, Sam was no longer smiling. He went straight to Delie, and ignored her scowls as he told her everything Macel had told him. Delie practically pushed Macel into Lieutenant Bennett¡¯s study then.


    Bennett had taken for her study a small corner of the barracks. The room had a cramped, crooked aspect, carved as it was out of space not used for anything more important. One wall was given over entirely to bookshelves, four great oaken ones which ran from floor to ceiling and yet which had maybe a dozen books each. Another wall was bare, aside from one single rectangular window; a dead shrub in a terracotta pot was placed centrally on the sill.


    Macel felt hemmed in. Lieutenant Bennett was sat behind her desk, with Sergeant Malleston flanking her. Behind him, Delie and Sam were cramped in the doorframe. Bennett didn¡¯t look happy at the interruption, but she bade him speak.


    When he was done, she glanced at Sergeant Malleston. ¡°I hope this isn¡¯t a joke,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m swamped enough as it is.¡± Which made perfect sense. After all, who else but an overworked commander would have her soldiers alternating between free time and pointless busywork day on day?


    Macel frowned. ¡°Why would I joke?¡±


    ¡°If you ever find yourself in a position of authority, Donea, you¡¯ll learn not to assume that other people¡¯s idea of common sense is the same as yours. There¡¯s a certain breed of soldier whose entire self-worth hinges on ¡®jokes¡¯ like this.¡±


    He pulled Eilidh¡¯s daisy pendant from his breast pocket. ¡°Is this proof enough? It¡¯s her pendant.¡±


    ¡°She was wearing that the day she disappeared,¡± said Delie from the doorway. ¡°I told her it was pretty. I remember she told me all about it.¡±


    Lieutenant Bennett sniffed. ¡°And you¡¯d be able to find her again?¡±


    Macel nodded. ¡°Absolutely.¡±


    ¡°Then we go.¡± She pointed at everybody in the room in turn. ¡°Courtyard, now. Sergeant, fetch some aid material. Preston, a tent.¡±


    They were waiting in the courtyard for a solid hour. Their numbers had been bolstered by Scobie and Wilding. The former, who¡¯d been pulled off sentry duty, was fuming. ¡°What¡¯s the use in sending me up that tower if I don¡¯t even get to have a proper look at all the girls?¡± he muttered. In his stead, Sulphur Strangward took a place atop the tower. The girls were safe from stares with Strangward on duty. His interest in men was just about the only thing anyone knew about Strangward aside from his putrid body odour. Indeed, on more than one occasion during their wait, Macel glanced up to see Strangward staring down at Scobie with a smirk on his face.


    ¡°Are we sure the Lieutenant¡¯s coming?¡± Wilding wondered aloud, after they¡¯d been stood in the full sun for fifteen minutes. Sergeant Malleston assured them that she was, though when another half hour had gone with no sign of her even he began to wonder. He went in to see what was keeping her.


    Delie had been smiling all too broadly¡ªcircumstances given¡ªfor as long as they¡¯d been out there. Now she started to laugh.


    ¡°What¡¯s the joke?¡± asked Macel.


    ¡°I¡¯m supposed to be deep-cleaning the scullery,¡± Delie explained. ¡°Me and Issy Cutler got busted pilfering booze for some late-night drinking. I tried to tell Bennett it was for a girls¡¯ talk, but she wouldn¡¯t have it. I don¡¯t think she had a normal upbringing. We¡¯d stolen, she said, and that had to be punished. Manual labour¡¯s the only true punishment of course. And Issy will have to do the lot.¡±


    Delie always seemed to be on punishment duty for some transgression or other. ¡°You¡¯ve got to start following the rules,¡± said Macel. ¡°I¡¯d hate to see you get sent back down to the valley.¡±


    ¡°If you don¡¯t want to share the drinks, you don¡¯t have to,¡± said Delie.


    ¡°You mean you¡¯ve still got them?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± Delie looked bemused. ¡°You don¡¯t think I¡¯d just hand back the contraband, do you?¡± She gave Macel a mischievous wink and mimed drinking from the bottle. ¡°Anyway, who are you to tell me to follow the rules? I¡¯m not the one who took an impromptu camping trip to who knows where.¡±


    By this point, Macel was beginning to grow impatient. Eilidh is hurt, he thought. We need to be on the way by now, not stood around waiting for the flowers to grow.


    At last, Lieutenant Bennett appeared. ¡°What is everybody hanging around for? Come on. Quickly now.¡±


    We¡¯re waiting for you, Lieutenant.


    It was late afternoon when they finally got moving. No chance Macel would be able to find the obelisks in the dark, and they¡¯d have to take it at a run to get there before the sun went down. Which meant Eilidh would have been slowly bleeding out for a full day before help arrived, at the least. He hoped Bess would have the sense to keep her hydrated.


    With half a dozen more, the return journey was slow-going. Scobie and Wilding were carrying a stretcher between them, unwieldy even when folded away. Sam had drawn the short straw. He carried on his back the vast majority of the kit to put together a makeshift camp. This was useful stuff to have, as it happened. By nightfall they¡¯d got at most twenty feet beyond Bartley¡¯s tree.


    ¡°We rest here,¡± Bennett decreed. ¡°Tent up, Preston.¡±


    Macel went to help Sam with the job of setting up camp. Lieutenant Bennett, meanwhile, turned her gaze to Delie. ¡°Find a clear space to send up a flare,¡± she said, ¡°so Donnelly knows we¡¯re okay.¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t a flare mean the opposite?¡± Delie¡¯s jaw was set, Macel noted. She wasn¡¯t in the mood for tasks she couldn¡¯t see the point in.


    Bennett bristled. ¡°If I wanted impudence I would have asked for it. I didn¡¯t, though, I asked for my instruction to be carried out.¡±


    Delie folded her arms. ¡°Even if it¡¯s a fucking stupid instruction?¡±


    ¡°Watch your language,¡± Bennett screeched.


    Sergeant Malleston appeared on the scene. ¡°Lieutenant, Rice makes a good point¡ªthough perhaps her wording could have been kinder. If we start shooting flares, Sergeant Donnelly is going to see it as a distress beacon. He¡¯ll be obliged to send a squad out after us.¡±


    Bennett shook her head. ¡°There aren¡¯t the men for it. Plateau Watch is barebones, if you hadn¡¯t noticed.¡±


    ¡°If he can¡¯t muster the men, he¡¯ll ask for help. General Bradshaw has plenty of soldiers going spare. If they come after us, they¡¯ll be the ones to fetch Cailie. Do you want Bradshaw to get the glory?¡±


    Bennett pursed her lips. ¡°The credit¡¯s mine to take.¡±


    ¡°So don¡¯t fire any flares,¡± said Sergeant Malleston.


    Relieved of her task, Delie relaxed in the crook of an old tree trunk, curled up amidst the years of debris. She¡¯d just opened her mouth¡ªno doubt to take the piss out of Sam¡ªwhen Sergeant Malleston pressed a potato peeler into her hand. ¡°You¡¯ll cook tonight, Rice.¡±


    Sergeant Malleston had evidently never spent any time with Delie in the field. He would have known that she was a terrible cook. Food she prepared inevitably ended up in the grey area of technically-edible-but-nobody-would-choose-to-eat-this that was normally reserved for livestock feed. This evening wasn¡¯t an exception. No plates were cleared.


    The tent Sam had been charged with turned out to be unfit for purpose. Its canvas walls were thinning, and torn in parts, and it had just room for one person to sleep. Cloth awnings sewn onto the tent¡¯s outer offered a token piece of shelter for two more. Bennett insisted on taking the interior of the tent for her own rest. The awnings were unoccupied.  Sergeant Malleston could have pulled rank on the others to get himself a guaranteed dry bed, but pushed instead to draw lots. Nobody ever got around to actually doing the draw, so Sergeant Malleston slept with the rest of them, under the blanket of stars.


    Delie had a knife in her breast pocket. ¡°If you haven¡¯t noticed, I¡¯m the only woman here¡ªthe Lieutenant excluded,¡± she explained. ¡°I don¡¯t trust Scobie not to try something.¡±


    ¡°We can sleep in shifts if you like,¡± said Macel. ¡°So there¡¯s no risk of you putting a blade in Scobie¡¯s throat.¡±


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand why we had to rush out when we did. We should have stayed at the Watch. Proper beds, and we¡¯d have lost, what, an hour¡¯s travelling time? Two?¡±


    She had a point. It had taken them not much more than an hour to get this far, even at their meandering pace. Setting up the camp¡ªand disassembling it come morning¡ªwould waste a similar amount of time. They¡¯d have been quicker had they requisitioned some of Speke¡¯s horses. If he¡¯d heard that Bessily was waiting with Eilidh, he¡¯d probably have saddled up the horses and ridden them here himself.


    But then, they¡¯d have been quicker if there were only a few of them. They were seven in all. Why did there have to be seven? One man and a stretcher would have been fine. Perhaps some bandages for Eilidh. The only reason there were seven of them was because Lieutenant Bennett had said so, and when Lieutenant Bennett said something it happened. Within the walls of Plateau Watch, she was the god. Address all prayers to her.


    Macel didn¡¯t sleep much. When he did, his dreams were of Eilidh¡¯s bleeding body, of Bess all alone, of Bartley hanging in the tree. This last one was the worst, because when he woke up he could see that very tree. Night cast wicked shadows. The thick leaves blowing idly in the breeze could well be a spectral Bartley swinging where his body used to be. For the last five hours of night, Macel lay awake but not daring to open his eyes.


    By first light, most of the others had woken up. Sam started a fire and cooked up the few bits of food they hadn¡¯t eaten the previous evening, ¡°before Bennett wakes up and makes Adela do it¡±. He needn¡¯t have rushed. Bennett was still asleep when the food was cooked and eaten and the rest of the camp disassembled.


    ¡°What¡¯s the hold up?¡± Scobie was kicking stones against a tree trunk.


    ¡°We can¡¯t go without the Lieutenant,¡± said Sergeant Malleston.


    ¡°I say we leave her. We¡¯d go quicker.¡±


    ¡°If you want a court martial, go for it,¡± said Malleston, ¡°but if you want to keep your job and your liberty you have to wait for her.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t somebody wake her up?¡± said Wilding.


    Malleston sighed. ¡°If the Lieutenant wakes up to find a man in her tent, you can bet she¡¯ll kick off. It won¡¯t be a pretty sight.¡±


    Five heads turned in unison to Delie, who had been hanging back. ¡°What?¡±


    It took a bit of cajoling, but eventually Delie agreed to be the one to wake the Lieutenant, only on the condition that somebody else take responsibility for the idea. That somebody else was Sergeant Malleston, as he had rank and couldn¡¯t just be belittled with impunity.


    In the end, though, she didn¡¯t need the security. Only a few seconds after she entered the Lieutenant¡¯s tent, she emerged again, with Bennett just behind her.


    ¡°Apologies,¡± she said with shame on her face. ¡°I overslept.¡±


    As soon as the tattered tent was dismantled and stuffed into Sam¡¯s pack, they set off again. To begin with, Macel could scarcely get his bearings. He was stopping every five minutes to work out whether or not he recognised some piece of terrain or another. Eventually, thankfully, he got his groove, and they started to make decent time.


    Not as fast as if he was on his own, but at least they were consistently moving.


    Morning had become afternoon, and the early clouds had given way to a hot sun, when he led them into the cavern through which the obelisks were reached. ¡°Why were you out this far, anyway?¡± asked Bennett.


    ¡°It was my day off,¡± Macel replied, curtly. ¡°I can go where I want to on my day off.¡±


    She asked him another question, but he didn¡¯t know what. He wasn¡¯t listening. His only concern was finding Bess¡ªand the creeping agony of every muscle in his body that had decided it didn¡¯t want to go any further. It was so tempting to stop and have a sit down. But he kept going, kept walking while he weighed up the pros and cons of stopping to rest, and by the time he¡¯d made his decision, they were nearly there anyway.


    He thought they were nearly there, at least. This pass seemed to have doubled in length since he¡¯d run through it yesterday.


    At last, with his legs burning angrily, he saw the light at the end of the tunnel. A green bush was growing just outside the cave, Macel remembered. It was poking its nose inside. The contrast between the darkness and the bright sun outside made the bush seem almost white.


    ¡°Bess,¡± he yelled, before they were free of the thrall of the cavern. ¡°Bess, we¡¯re here.¡±


    No reply.


    He called out her name, louder than before. As loud as he could. ¡°Bess, it¡¯s Macel. I¡¯ve brought help for Eilidh.¡± The echo of the words bounced off the cave walls. It didn¡¯t draw a response from outside. No worry. She wasn¡¯t exactly close to the cave¡¯s entrance. Macel had left them in the midst of the obelisks. Bess probably just couldn¡¯t hear him.


    ¡°Are we close?¡± asked Delie.


    ¡°Just around the corner,¡± said Macel.


    Emerging out of that cave was like stepping into a different world. There were few landmarks that they could see from the other side¡ªa huge mountain range on the horizon line, but that was it. This was the shore of an unknown bay, and titan constructs of jet-black stone from unknown forebears.


    The reactions of the others were expected. ¡°You didn¡¯t say there was a henge,¡± said Sam.


    ¡°It¡¯s not a henge. It¡¯s just some stones.¡±


    ¡°Just some stones? Macel, none of this should be here.¡± Delie pointed towards the stones. ¡°Does this look like a natural formation? This isn¡¯t the sort of thing you find on unexplored worlds.¡±


    ¡°Enough with the chatter,¡± Bennett interrupted. ¡°Where is Cailie?¡±


    ¡°There,¡± said Macel, pointing. ¡°Under that tree.¡± Bess had done a good job of making her camp blend in with the surroundings. Knowing where it was, Macel didn¡¯t have any trouble finding it, but it would be difficult for the uninformed observer to spot. He ran towards it, and the others ran after him.


    Eilidh was there, bundled up just as she was when he¡¯d left him. She looked so peaceful, at least if you ignored the blood and the wounds. On the ground beside her, folded neatly, was a scrap of paper. That hadn¡¯t been there before. Macel picked it up and slipped it into his pocket. If Bennett saw it, she¡¯d want it given to her. It was probably a note from Bess.


    Because Bess wasn¡¯t here. The camp had been left neatly, and Eilidh untouched, so there probably hadn¡¯t been any wild animals come this way. Bess had just disappeared. All of her things, her clothes and her flask, were gone. The note aside, it was like she¡¯d never been here at all.


    Behind him, he heard Bennett giving orders. ¡°Stretcher out. Load her up.¡±


    He stood back to let Scobie and Wilding do as was bid. Delie leaned in to whisper in his ear. ¡°I thought you were with Bess.¡±


    ¡°I was.¡±


    ¡°So where is she?¡±


    Bennett and Sergeant Malleston were occupied watching as Eilidh was loaded onto the stretcher, so Macel took the folded paper from his pocket and opened it up. The contents were a mess; Bess had used some bluish-red substance as ink, and it had smeared with abandon. The words were readable, though, even if the scrawl was untidy. ¡°Light of the moon called,¡± he read aloud. ¡°Don¡¯t follow. Bess.¡±


    ¡°Well, that settles that,¡± said Delie.


    Macel shook his head. Something wasn¡¯t sitting right. Before he could ponder any on what that might be, Bennett¡¯s voice interrupted them. ¡°We start back at once.¡±


    Macel returned the note to his pocket, and led them back into the cave.


    They ate a sombre dinner that evening, Macel, Sam and Delie huddled together in the dining room¡¯s smallest table. It was pressed tight against one of the thick beams holding the wall up. Macel could feel the wood pressing into his back whenever he leaned too far backwards. He had to sit in the middle. Sam wouldn¡¯t sit next to Delie, and Delie wouldn¡¯t sit next to Sam, and he needed to talk to both of them.


    Eilidh was safe, for now. Lieutenant Bennett had her brought straight to the northern wing of the fort, previously marked off as overflow bunks but seldom used aside from by horny soldiers looking for a private corner to enjoy each other¡¯s bodies. The Lieutenant had sent everyone else away as soon as Eilidh had been laid on a bed, but she herself had not left the northern wing since. Sergeant Donnelly had briefly made an appearance in the dining room to collect a plate for her. The Sergeant never usually showed his face there. Officers never did. Even Sergeant Malleston ate elsewhere more often than not, and he was generally well-liked around Plateau Watch.


    Able at last to stop worrying about Eilidh, Macel had been able to turn his mind towards other matters. Bessily. The note she¡¯d left.


    ¡°I can¡¯t see that she¡¯d go through the trouble to write that for no reason,¡± said Delie, chewing on a mouthful of bread. ¡°What¡¯s she used for ink, anyway? It looks like fruit juice.¡±


    ¡°Who cares what she wrote it with,¡± said Sam. ¡°It¡¯s not blood, so it¡¯s not interesting.¡±


    ¡°You have no imagination, Sam.¡±


    ¡°Oho, is that a fact?¡± Sam held out his hands in mocking showmanship. ¡°Well, why don¡¯t we all listen to Adela while she and her amazing imagination explain what fascinating insights we can learn from the ink Bessily used?¡±


    Delie scowled at him. ¡°For a start, it says she didn¡¯t have a pen¡ª¡±


    ¡°Pen, no pen, it¡¯s all noise,¡± said Macel. ¡°All that matters is the words. I need to go after her.¡±


    ¡°Macel, are you mad?¡± asked Sam.


    ¡°It says ¡®don¡¯t follow¡¯,¡± said Delie. ¡°That¡¯s the one part that¡¯s actually clear.¡±


    He shook his head. ¡°She doesn¡¯t mean it. She¡¯d want me to go after her.¡± A memory stirred, a conversation once shared with Bessily. She¡¯d asked if he would follow her. He hadn¡¯t said yes. Maybe he should have. What if this was a test?


    Delie wasn¡¯t convinced. ¡°If she wants you to follow her, she wouldn¡¯t have written exactly the opposite.¡±


    ¡°I dunno,¡± said Sam. ¡°In my experience, girls are quite happy to say the opposite of what they mean. She¡¯ll probably get into a strop if you don¡¯t read between the lines. Isn¡¯t that right, Delie?¡±


    Delie stood fast, her chair scraping on the floor. At several tables nearby, faces turned to her. ¡°That¡¯s it. I¡¯m done.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t go,¡± Macel said. ¡°Ignore Sam if he¡¯s being a dick. Please, Delie¡ªI need your help right now.¡±


    She paused for a second, then sat down again.


    ¡°Whatever it says, you can¡¯t very well go after her,¡± said Sam. ¡°You don¡¯t have a clue where she¡¯s gone. How are you going to find her?¡±


    That was a good point, one which Macel hadn¡¯t thought of. Still, it didn¡¯t make him less determined to go. He took a bite of salted beef and chewed on it as he read over the note again.


    ¡°Light of the moon?¡± Delie leaned over Macel¡¯s shoulder and pointed at the words. ¡°It¡¯s not right, is it? There are two moons.¡±


    ¡°They phase,¡± said Sam. ¡°Was one of them dark last night?¡±


    Delie rolled her eyes ¡°Dark doesn¡¯t mean gone. Bess isn¡¯t a child, she knows this.¡±


    ¡°But it¡¯s hardly relevant,¡± Sam pointed out. ¡°She¡¯s trying to tell us which way she went, not give us a lesson in the firmament. What would you have had her write? ¡®I¡¯ve gone in the direction of the moons¡ªeven though I couldn¡¯t see one of them, and thus it had no bearing on which way I went¡¯?¡±


    Macel shook his head. ¡°What if she isn¡¯t talking about the sister-moons?¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡±


    Like a mysterious woman in the clouds who keeps giving her messages, perhaps? But no. He¡¯d promised Bess he wouldn¡¯t spread her secrets. ¡°Bess is from Tol Manase, right? Perhaps it¡¯s a local expression.¡±


    ¡°And she expects us to understand that?¡± Delie looked sceptical.


    ¡°Or she doesn¡¯t realise it¡¯s an uncommon phrase,¡± said Macel. Growing up beyond the Merrowain, he knew all about that. When he and Tanis had come to Pattinsdale, their funny little mannerisms had been thrown into sharp relief. Once, he¡¯d gone to the town¡¯s market to buy a guinea-fowl for supper; the stallkeeper¡¯s wide eyes and his young son¡¯s confused laughter when Macel asked for ¡®galleenie¡¯ had left him in a cold sweat for a couple of nights. ¡°Bess spent her whole life in the arse end of nowhere, till she came here¡ªand who has she really talked to but us? She¡¯s never had the chance to figure out that local slang¡¯s a thing.¡±


    ¡°The moon on Tol Manase goes west-to-east,¡± said Sam. Macel and Delie both looked at him. ¡°Tema Caerlin grew up on Tol Manase,¡± he explained. ¡°She said her bedroom was in the western gallery of her house, and she used to stay up and watch the moonrise from her window.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t remember her saying that,¡± said Macel.


    Sam shrugged. ¡°I can¡¯t help what you remember. It¡¯s true.¡±


    ¡°So she¡¯s gone east?¡± Delie asked. ¡°How could she keep track?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s not many different ways to go, from where I left her,¡± Macel mused. ¡°You saw the landscape there. Unless she can scale sheer walls, it¡¯s either forward or backward.¡±


    ¡°She could have swum across the water,¡± Sam pointed out.


    ¡°Or followed those stones,¡± added Delie. ¡°There was a pass in the cliffs I saw. She might have gone that way.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Macel, maybe a shade too firmly. ¡°She didn¡¯t go that way. I¡¯m certain of that much. Bess was...¡± He paused. Neither Delie nor Sam knew about Bess. ¡°The stones affected her,¡± he said.


    ¡°Affected her how?¡± Delie asked.


    ¡°Like a headache or... I don¡¯t know. She didn¡¯t like going near them. She wouldn¡¯t go that way.¡±


    ¡°So east then,¡± said Sam, ¡°and maybe she only walks at night.¡±


    ¡°That would be foolish,¡± said Delie.


    ¡°And Bessily isn¡¯t foolish?¡±


    ¡°She made ink out of fruit,¡± said Delie, exasperated. ¡°She must have some sort of head on her shoulders.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll go east,¡± said Macel. ¡°I¡¯ll go east and I¡¯ll keep going until I find her.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll get lost,¡± said Sam.


    ¡°And then we¡¯ll have to go after you,¡± Delie added.


    ¡°Preston!¡± Sam stiffened at the sound of Lieutenant Bennett¡¯s bark. She was stood just a way behind them, with the Sergeant loitering behind her. Macel stuffed the note in his pocket, surreptitiously as he could. ¡°Preston, I¡¯m told you have a sweetheart in the valley. Today¡¯s your lucky day. Go to her.¡±


    Sam said nothing immediately, no doubt suspecting a trick. Macel didn¡¯t blame him. Bennett seldom showed any awareness of her soldiers¡¯ private lives, let alone supported them.


    ¡°Quickly now,¡± she said. ¡°Master Speke¡¯s been kind enough to lend you one of his horses.¡±


    ¡°Lieutenant?¡±


    She laughed silently. ¡°You don¡¯t trust me, do you? You think I¡¯m up to something. Preston, it¡¯s as simple as this: Cailie¡¯s in a bad way. She needs medical help. Somebody needs to go to the valley and fetch a doctor, a since it¡¯s now evening and you have a place to stay for the night, you¡¯re the obvious choice to go.¡±


    Sam nodded. ¡°A doctor?¡±


    ¡°Or two. And hurry. Cailie¡¯s life is in your hands.¡±


    Sam ran to the exit, leaving his dinner half-uneaten. When he was gone, Bennett looked over to Macel and Delie. ¡°Eat quicker tomorrow,¡± she said. ¡°This isn¡¯t social time.¡± And then she turned on her heel and slinked out, the Sergeant clinging tight to her back.


    ¡°Bitch,¡± whispered Delie, loud enough for Macel alone to hear.

 53. Beyond Quarantine

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Tema ~


    The ward grew quieter with each passing death. When the lockdown began, Lily Day had tied ribbons of silk around the base of every patient¡¯s cot. One by one, the ribbons had been cut free and gathered into a box, as the sick lost their fights. Poor Lily Day had died in the end, and it had come quick when it came. She¡¯d complained of a headache at the end of one shift, and by the next she was unconscious on a bed beside the patients she¡¯d attended hours earlier. She was the third one to die, the second of the hospital¡¯s staff, and her death had been met with an outpouring of grief. Tears had been shed when they wheeled her away to the morgue.


    By the time Doctor Ballard died, the staff had only silence to give. They were the sort of conditions that almost seemed to encourage mental breakdowns. It felt like they¡¯d been stuck here for years. The hospital was a prison, a place for them to stay forever without sunlight or respite, watching on as nearly a dozen of their friends grew steadily weaker and eventually passed away. The occasional bright patches gave rise to false optimism, optimism soon crushed. Oscar Paisley, who¡¯d been unconscious and waiting for a ventilator to be prepared, woke up one morning well enough to eat solid food and chat to young Lucy Jaine, attending him. An hour later he was dead. Callie Huston¡¯s recovery¡ªto the point where the red welts had gone, and the fever had broken¡ªwas hotly followed by Martha Salcombe falling ill.


    The shifts were longer now out of necessity. There just weren¡¯t the numbers for eight hours on and sixteen off. Masks, thankfully, were still plentiful, but the numbers were dwindling. Tema had put Viola Watling to an inventory the other day, to give her a break from the front line pressure. It had needed Grant Radge to relay the instructions to Viola, who¡¯d not dared face Tema since outing her to Staniforth and the rest. Grant had relayed the results, too, and they made for grim reading indeed. The masks were running out. At a noticeable rate. If they carried on using them without thought to rationing, within a month they¡¯d be short.


    And there was no indication of how long the lockdown might last. Tema had made the call to ration the masks now, limiting them to two in each shift, in the hopes that at least they¡¯d have something, even if they were forced to stay here far into the future.


    Of course, when Ruth Fletcher caught the illness, and keeled over beside the bedpan she was in the middle of emptying, Tema got the blame. ¡°She¡¯s sick because her mask failed,¡± somebody had said, pointing an accusing finger. The truth was that they didn¡¯t know if that was true. How could they know?


    Tema had come to tune out most of what the others said. It was better if she just got on with her work.


    When Caroline stopped breathing, Janna Davis called her over. ¡°She won¡¯t wake up, Miss Tema. I think she¡¯s gone.¡±


    Janna went with Caroline¡¯s gurney, and Fran Dunn stepped out of the room to grieve. And all of a sudden Tema was on her own, nothing to disturb her thoughts but the constant caterwauling of Caroline¡¯s lifesign monitor. No longer plugged into anybody, it was pitching a fit at the fact it hadn¡¯t been immediately switched off. If it was covered in feathers rather than aluminium, she¡¯d have thought it to be a bird in heat rather than a medical instrument.


    She turned it off at the mains and it thankfully fell silent. In its place, she could hear the monitor attached to Doctor Maynard. That one was beeping quietly, periodically, not enough to become a nuisance. The sound of its activity was heavenly. Never stop, she willed it. To stop would be to fail.


    In the peace, a wafting scent came. It was a bitter smell, acrid, like rotten meat left too long to swelter. Emmeline¡¯s flesh had greyed. She could see the waxy pallor from across the room. Poor Emmeline¡¯s breathing was constant, the rise and fall of her chest still natural in its rhythm. How long would that last? Others had gone the same way. The fighters. Their bodies had curdled, and in the end their melted lives had drained through Tema¡¯s fingers. Every name was burned in Tema¡¯s mind. It was her roll call of failure, far too long.


    Doctor Maynard would not be adding to that list. She refused to allow it.


    Each death heralded a sombre ritual. The body was carried to the morgue, carefully labelled and consigned to the ice. The empty bed was wheeled away and the bedding doused in disinfectant. Tema removed the ribbons which had been tied to the end of each bed, a reverent continuation of Lily Day¡¯s habit. She washed each by hand, and placed them folded in a strongbox. When at last the lockdown was over, she¡¯d take the box to some breezy headland, somewhere where wildflowers grew in the sunlight and wheeling birds sang, and bury it in remembrance. For now, she kept it under the desk in her office.


    To stay the spread of infection, Tema had mandated that every patient¡¯s principal attendants clean themselves thoroughly in the showers, twice over. An unused ward had been converted into an isolation room. There was a two-day quarantine in place for those who had been closest to the deceased. If they showed signs of infection, even so much as a runny nose, they wouldn¡¯t be allowed to return to the hospital floor. It had been hard to keep resolute in this policy when the deaths started to ramp up, and the numbers dropped. She¡¯d pulled a few shifts of twenty-four hours or more to smooth things over. But the spread had declined. She liked to think her efforts had helped.


    At Doctor Staniforth¡¯s insistence, Tema had loosened the seal to permit visitors. The sick had friends and relatives who they¡¯d want to see again, Staniforth pointed out, and it would be a defeat for morale if that wasn¡¯t allowed to happen. As a condition of this, any visitors were to spend two days in the quarantine ward before they were permitted to leave the hospital, and a further week in their homes. Tema had slipped a message to one of the guards outside the door, to inform the Governor of this development. If anybody showed a peep of infection, out in the valley, they were to be returned post-haste, and the lockdown would return to its firm seal until there was no trace of sickness anywhere within.


    It wasn¡¯t often that a visitor braved the lockdown. The first had been the Governor¡¯s deputy, Ian Fitzhenry, a day or so before Caro passed away. He¡ªand the few that came after him¡ªwas sent to the same empty ward before they were allowed to leave, whether they¡¯d been in for an hour or a few minutes. Some complained, tried to leave anyway, but the guards on the outer door had clear instructions. Only a letter of clearance signed by the head doctor would enable someone to leave the hospital, and Tema refused to sign too soon. Maybe they weren¡¯t sick. It was too dangerous to take the chance. She would have no more blood on her hands.


    They all reacted to the quarantine in different ways. Tommy Morton had sat on a metal bedframe for the full forty-eight, staring with clenched jaw at the windowscreen through which Tema watched him. Ian Fitzhenry had spent his isolation on the brink of tears, begging for forgiveness over and over until he collapsed into sleep. The reeve Goulden Aster, who had come to sit by the bedside of his sick daughter Bedegrayne, talked in hush tones to no-one in particular.


    Nobody had come to visit in the past two weeks.


    An unspoken rule had developed over time, that the dead weren¡¯t mentioned by those who remained. Once they were tagged and in the mortuary, their names went unsaid. ¡°We should let their spectres pass unseen,¡± Betsy Clanackan had pronounced, during one of their informal evening round-tables. ¡°After all, that is the proscription found in the Four Fiefs: ¡®let the ague of their ghosts fade away¡¯.¡± A prayer should be read each morning, reciting in full the list of the fallen, and thereafter the Gods should not be tempted.


    Betsy Clanackan was ill herself. Her prayers had lasted for three days, before she was found convulsing beside a trolley of supplies. Nobody had taken up the prayer in her stead, and nobody had seen fit to test the Gods anymore.


    So after each death, the remainder of the hospital staff rallied around the dwindling patient population. They were down to ten now, ten people in sickbeds. All stank of fever. Without a cure presenting itself, half would die. More, if luck wasn¡¯t on their side.


    Tema squeezed close her fist, around a green ribbon. This one is Caroline Ballard. She turned it over in her hands as she walked towards the box. It was almost overflowing. Lily had never said where she¡¯d been getting the ribbons from, but she¡¯d had a healthy supply. Dozens of them, in all the major colours. Every one was a human being, not so long ago living and healthy and happy. Tema couldn¡¯t say who any of the ribbons had belonged to. They had no name, no identifying features. They were anonymous, one among a hundred. Indistinct.


    Caroline Ballard was far from indistinct.


    I will not do it, she thought. I will not add Caro to the pit. It would be no justice. She reached around and pulled on a tuft of hair, tied the ribbon tight around it, tapped it until she was certain it wouldn¡¯t fall. I will wear Caroline, and keep her close beside me until her kindness has been earned. I will wear her in my hair forever.


    She started for the admin block with trepidation in her step. Much as she didn¡¯t want to face him, Doctor Staniforth should be informed. They were the only two qualified, certified doctors this side of the lockdown¡ªit wouldn¡¯t be right to keep things from him.


    Her feet led the way. They eschewed the lifts in favour of taking the main staircase. As the lockdown went on, it had become a far busier place. Fake and gaudy as the waterfall was, when put against the boredom of everywhere else in the hospital it was practically paradise. And it also meant she¡¯d take longer to get to Staniforth¡¯s office. Passing through, she found Callie Huston taking lunch with Maponane Lombard. Callie had finally returned to health, and gone through the quarantine period without ill effect. She was the first, and so far only, full recovery. Hopefully she wouldn¡¯t be the last. Tema had put her on easy duties for this first shift back, mentoring Maponane and running errands for the tyro nurse. Tema passed the two with a wave, not reciprocated, and headed up the stairs with the rush of cascading water filling her ears, leaving them to their frumenty.


    The admin block, by contrast, was silent. Of course it would be. Nobody else had any reason to visit. The air here felt heavy, almost morose. It was hard not to be drawn to Doctor Ballard¡¯s office. All the others had been positioned surrounding it; Caroline, as chief doctor, was the heart of the hospital, and everybody else was a body in her joyful orbit. She¡¯d gone supernova now. The orbit was off kilter, the joy gone. The frosted glass didn¡¯t hide the darkness inside. Caroline¡¯s office had fallen silent as she did.


    Across from it, Doctor Staniforth¡¯s showed the only signs of life. The glow coming from it was like a tonic. As Tema approached, so she tuned in on the echoing of her footsteps. The soft rubber soles were muted, compared to the clacking heels she¡¯d have worn in easier times, but they weren¡¯t silent. They beat out a countdown to her coming face to face with Staniforth. If only there was somebody else who could relay the message.


    She¡¯d reached his office. There was nowhere further to walk, no reason for delay. Nothing to do but knock on Staniforth¡¯s door. She breathed in deep, and she knocked.


    It wasn¡¯t any surprise that he chose to ignore her. Loathe as she was to admit it, she¡¯d probably have done the same were the roles reversed. And with the offices all fully soundproofed, the chances were he hadn¡¯t heard the knock anyway. There were intercoms on all the doors in case the doctors needed to be contacted while they were inside their offices, but Staniforth¡¯s lacked the telltale green light. He¡¯d disconnected it. Tema could only contact him at his own liberty. So there she stood, like a lemon.


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    She couldn¡¯t just stay there all day. That would be wasting time she couldn¡¯t afford to waste, when her time was most precious. She knocked once more, on the off chance, but still Staniforth ignored her. She could see him through the window, if she squinted; he was reading a battered book and chowing down on an oat bar, hand down the front of his trousers. Research, he¡¯d said. The semi-naked girl on the cover of his book was in a position that suggested lots of things, but research wasn¡¯t one of them.


    Tema turned away, an idea forming, and headed for her own office. She grabbed the metal chair behind her desk and took it to Staniforth¡¯s office. Then, lifting it high above her head, she swung with great force at the glass. The noise was great, but not enough for Staniforth to hear. So again she swung, and a third time. By now she was sweating from the exertion. A chip had formed in the glass. That was her target. She focused her aim on that chip, swung the chair at it, and suddenly the chip had doubled in size, and a slim crack was shooting from it.


    This had drawn Staniforth¡¯s attention. He emerged through his door apoplectic. ¡°Have you gone completely insane? What are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Getting your attention, Doctor Staniforth,¡± said Tema, setting the chair down gently beside her.


    ¡°By smashing through the walls? You¡¯re loopy. Little mad cunt.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no need to be rude,¡± said Tema, keeping her voice calm. ¡°I¡¯m only here as a courtesy to you. And if you¡¯d not insisted on ignoring my knocks, I wouldn¡¯t have had to act.¡±


    Staniforth glared at her. ¡°What do you want?¡±


    Tema sighed. ¡°Doctor Ballard¡¯s passed away,¡± she said. ¡°I came to fill you in.¡±


    A flicker of a smirk crossed Staniforth¡¯s lips, before he replaced it with a stoic expression of indifference. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear that,¡± he said, his tone conveying utter disinterest. ¡°She will be missed.¡±


    ¡°There will be a mourning in the chapel, as usual. Perhaps you¡¯ll be there?¡±


    ¡°I said she will be missed,¡± Staniforth snapped. ¡°Is that not mourning enough? She was no friend of mine. You can leave now, and I¡¯d be very grateful if you could refrain from attacking my walls again. Take your anger out on Ballard¡¯s office¡ªshe doesn¡¯t need her walls anymore.¡±


    Tema stood there as Staniforth turned to return to his office. ¡°You¡¯re a dick. You know that?¡±


    He turned back with a grin. ¡°I¡¯ve been told,¡± he said. The door slid shut, cutting the two off from one another, and Tema didn¡¯t stay there any longer. She carried her chair back to its rightful place and sat on it, crying, for five minutes. Only five minutes. She allowed her anger at Staniforth and at the Gods for taking Caroline to pour in and drown her for those five minutes, and then she turned off her emotions. She needed to be robotic now.


    Stopping only briefly to push her hair back behind her ears, she headed for the wards. Caroline might have lost her battle, but Emmeline Maynard still lived.


    Tema stood alone in the ward, surrounded by the constant beat of Emmeline Maynard¡¯s vitals, until Viola Watling found her. Viola had come running, judging by the sweat on her cheeks. She didn¡¯t meet Tema¡¯s eye. ¡°Visitors,¡± she said. ¡°There¡¯s three of them, scientists. Fran¡¯s with them in the reception.¡±


    ¡°Did they say what they want?¡±


    Viola shook her head. ¡°They asked for Doctor Ballard. I told them that Doctor Ballard wasn¡¯t available, but that I would find Doctor Caerlin instead.¡±


    The three scientists were sat on chairs, masked and gloved, unattended. Fran had left them at some point before Tema was able to reach them. Upon seeing her, one rose. He was short and round, with podgy arms, and a trimmed black moustache poking out of his mask. ¡°Doctor Caerlin,¡± he said. ¡°Dougray Stockton.¡±


    ¡°And what brings you here, Master Stockton? I¡¯m told you¡¯re looking for Doctor Ballard.¡±


    ¡°I am indeed,¡± he said. ¡°Might she be available at any time soon?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said, and then paused. Why was it so hard to say? She touched the ribbon now fastened around her hair. It was as if at once she could hear Caro¡¯s voice in her ear, telling her to breathe and keep calm. Everything would turn out fine. ¡°Doctor Ballard has passed away,¡± she said.


    The sandy-haired woman stood to Stockton¡¯s left gasped audibly.


    ¡°That is a pity,¡± said Stockton. ¡°I can¡¯t say I knew her intimately, but she never gave me cause to doubt that she was a wonderful woman.¡±


    ¡°She was the best,¡± Tema agreed.


    ¡°Can I take it you¡¯re in charge now?¡±


    She nodded. ¡°I suppose I am.¡± It was one thing to be in charge in the interim, while Caro was incapacitated. But she¡¯d figured Caro would get better eventually, and soon enough she¡¯d be back to being just another doctor among many. That wouldn¡¯t be the case. She was the senior doctor, and that was that.


    The woman by Stockton picked up a metal case that had been tucked between her feet, and set it down on the empty chair next to her. She unclasped it and opened it to reveal two glass jars, nested in an excess of soft charcoal foam. Stockton gestured towards the case. ¡°Doctor Ballard contacted us some time ago to perform some tests on a blood sample. I suspect the results will be of interest to you. I only wish we¡¯d been able to bring this sooner.¡±


    Tema walked over to the case and picked up one of the jars. This one contained what looked like the blood sample Stockton was referring to. Not that it resembled any blood sample she¡¯d come across. It looked almost alive, moving about like a jelly. Flecks of black dotted it, like the seeds of a watermelon.


    The other jar, next to it, was half-filled with a black crumb. ¡°You see this powder?¡± said Stockton. ¡°The same substance is in that blood sample. It¡¯s the black spots you can see.¡±


    ¡°What is it?¡± Nothing that belonged in blood looked like that.


    ¡°The very question we¡¯ve been working to answer for the last several months. In truth we don¡¯t have a full answer, but we have made some progress. It behoves us to bring the information to Doctor Ballard¡¯s attention. Or yours, I suppose.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s silicon in there, and carbon, and a few others,¡± said the woman. ¡°Only we¡¯re not sure exactly what. It plays havoc with our microscopes.¡±


    ¡°At a push, I¡¯d say it¡¯s likely to be elements as yet unknown to us.¡± The other scientist, the gangly man with a freckled face, spoke for the first time.


    The woman interjected, talking forcefully as though she thought her cohort a fool. ¡°The issue is that it all appears to be stable. An element that heavy would decay before our eyes. This does not.¡±


    The science was beyond Tema. She¡¯d known from very young that medicine was her path; none of the lectors had ever managed to instil more than a passing understanding of chemistry in her.


    ¡°The short of it is that the sample Doctor Ballard sent my way is possibly the greatest mystery I¡¯ve ever had to work on,¡± Stockton said.


    Tema had questions. Many questions. ¡°You say this came from here?¡± She indicated the blood sample, and Stockton nodded. ¡°Jem?¡±


    ¡°Doctor Ballard never told us anything about the source of the blood, and to be honest it wasn¡¯t our business to know. She just wanted us to conduct some tests to try and explain the anomalies.¡±


    It had to be Jem. He was the only patient to die before Caro fell sick herself. Perhaps he wasn¡¯t human. Boy, that would be a story to reminisce over. She made a point to tell Macel Donea when this was all over. He wouldn¡¯t believe her, but she¡¯d tell him all the same. ¡°This powder must be something endemic then,¡± she said.


    ¡°It would follow. Some weeks back, we received another sample of the powder, from the Constabulary. Captain Clifford seemed surprised we¡¯d not already tested it¡ªapparently it was discovered alongside the body of the soldier.¡± Tema didn¡¯t recall hearing anything about a dead soldier, but she let Stockton continue. ¡°And then a woman was found not more than a few days ago,¡± said Stockton. ¡°Badly wounded, a long way from the valley.¡±


    ¡°Another stranger?¡±


    ¡°No. One of our own. A missing soldier, I believe¡ªI¡¯m not in on all the details.¡±


    It couldn¡¯t be Eilidh, surely? After all this time?


    Stockton continued. ¡°There was more of this powder on the ground around her. No samples, unfortunately, but reports from the officers who found her. We¡¯re operating under the assumption that it¡¯s the same. And whatever it is, it has a very unusual effect on blood. It thins it and batters it until it¡¯s too molecularly unsound to clot, or to even really function as blood.¡± Explaining why no amount of stitches could stop Jem¡¯s bleeding. ¡°Frankly, we¡¯re still at a loss as to what¡¯s happening here. But Ella here did a few tests herself.¡±


    The woman¡ªElla¡ªraised a hand, revealing a plastered thumb. ¡°I used samples of my own blood. Added a fractional quantity of powder and left it overnight. It had the same effect as Doctor Ballard¡¯s sample.¡±


    ¡°Which proves that the powder is the culprit here, and not just another side effect,¡± said Stockton. ¡°But Ella¡¯s results were curious indeed.¡±


    ¡°When I removed the powder, the blood cells reconstituted themselves,¡± she said. ¡°It took a few days, mind, but eventually there was no way to tell it apart from a fresh sample of blood that had never been exposed to the powder.¡±


    Tema frowned. ¡°How does this help us here? We¡¯re not in the business of adding strange powders to people¡¯s blood, you know.¡±


    It hadn¡¯t been meant as a joke, but Ella laughed. She had the same squeal of a laugh that Tasha used to have.


    ¡°Antibodies,¡± said Stockton. ¡°You expose a body to a virus via a vaccine, and the next time the same virus is introduced, the immune system is prepared. The antibodies stop it dead. This powder seems to work in a similar way.¡±


    ¡°When I added more powder to the reconstituted cells, nothing happened at all,¡± said Ella. ¡°A slight increase in haemoglobin, but that could have been statistical noise. Certainly it didn¡¯t suffer from any of the effects of the first test.¡±


    ¡°Are you saying this powder is a virus?¡±


    Stockton shook his head. ¡°The powder¡¯s a powder. That much I¡¯m certain of. There is no criteria by which you can call it life, not if you stretch definitions as far as they¡¯ll go, not if you hold it at a funny angle and squint. It is not alive.¡±


    ¡°But it can still immunise,¡± said Ella. ¡°My theory is that it can be used as a vaccine against something. They¡¯re saying the soldier lady was found in some ancient holy site. Perhaps whoever lived here before us found a solution.¡±


    ¡°You think it¡¯s medicine?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s worth considering,¡± Ella nodded.


    True, Tema thought. It didn¡¯t hurt to consider the possibility. ¡°But we can¡¯t just give it to people and hope for the best,¡± she said.


    ¡°I completely agree,¡± said Stockton. ¡°And since one hundred percent of the people the powder¡¯s been found on had serious, possibly fatal, wounds, I would completely understand if you wanted to steer clear of it completely. But Ella¡¯s convinced.¡±


    Ella was nodding enthusiastically. ¡°It might save lives.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s my best student,¡± said Stockton. ¡°Absolutely devoted to her work, even if she¡¯s slightly idealistic.¡±


    Tema put on a smile. ¡°Thanks for bringing this all to my attention,¡± she said, ¡°but you shouldn¡¯t have broken the lockdown. You¡¯ll have to stay in quarantine for two days before I can let you leave.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Stockton nodded, ¡°the guard did say something about that.¡±


    ¡°Might we be able to look through the hospital library?¡± Ella asked. ¡°I might find a disease that the powder could cure.¡±


    Tema couldn¡¯t help but laugh. Had she ever been that keen, when she was young? She was more occupied with hating herself, and dreaming unachievable dreams of the body she wanted to have. In her younger days she¡¯d have despised somebody as chirpy as Ella, wanted to throttle them. Ella made that enthusiasm endearing. ¡°You¡¯re welcome to try,¡± she said. ¡°But even if you do find something, what then? I don¡¯t have the time or the people to spare to help your project, and I¡¯m not injecting anybody with something that might not even work.¡± That was a quick way to a malpractice suit, and no jury would give her any leeway when the truth of her gender history came out.


    ¡°That¡¯s okay,¡± said Ella, with a grim-set look of determination on her face. ¡°I¡¯ll be the guinea pig.¡±


    Tema waved over the nurse on the reception desk, who today was Delphine Janley. ¡°Phina, find a room for these three to use as a base of operations. Somewhere near the library.¡±


    Delphine frowned. ¡°The library?¡±


    ¡°On the other side of the chapel. The big room with all the books.¡±


    Delphine nodded. ¡°I know it.¡± She led Master Stockton and the scientists through reception and out of sight, and left Tema stood alone.


    This isn¡¯t going to work, she thought. I need not get my hopes up. I must not get my hopes up. But she couldn¡¯t help it. Perhaps Master Stockton would be the saviour. Perhaps the nightmare was nearing its end.

 54. Lake Caroline

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ David ~


    Bright and early on a chilly morning, the wagon train left town. It was the first of the seeding parties, off to establish a fortress two full days¡¯ ride away. The Eia Valley was all grown up. Its children were starting to leave home. Scouts had gone on ahead, following the maps drawn out by the expeditionary team, and returned with confirmation that the intended site was fit for purpose. David hadn¡¯t seen it, but he knew it was coastal. The Shallows, they were planning on calling it.


    Lieutenant Coburn had been invested in her new rank the previous evening, up on the hill where Lord Constable Mannam lay. The fort was hers to command. David had pulled the strings. She¡¯d kissed him all over to thank him, and left him feeling all kinds of uncomfortable.


    It was more than just soldiers who had gone off. A fortress alone couldn¡¯t sustain itself, and it was too far away to keep coming back to the valley. One of the wealthy families who¡¯d come to Essegena to grow their wealth had sent off their full complement of staff, to build a fancy house. A couple of hardy farmers had followed them.


    They were seen off by a smattering of officers. General Bradshaw had come, of course¡ªany excuse to look pompous in his uniform. But there were more besides. David recognised old Colonel Tastock, one-eyed Lieutenant Chalmers, even Captain Munro had decided to show her face for once. She¡¯d probably been with Bradshaw last night, and figured since she was awake she might as well pop along. Of the Council, only the Hookbill George Prendergast was here. Chris should have been. Chris would have been. But at the last minute he¡¯d changed his mind, and sent Naomi Mallender in his stead.


    The crowd began to disperse almost as soon as the last of Coburn¡¯s garrison had set off, but most lingered until the wagons had disappeared over the valley slopes and out of sight. There was nothing left to watch for. None of the garrison would be likely to return to the valley for a few weeks at least.


    As David turned to leave, he caught sight of Colonel Tastock, standing on his own now. Tastock was a friend of Lord Constable Mannam¡¯s. Why had he not been for an interview?


    Still, now seemed like a good time for it. An unorthodox location, maybe, but the fresh air would make a nice change of pace. Offices and interrogation rooms were inevitably stuffy and tiresome.


    ¡°Colonel Tastock,¡± said David, ¡°I¡¯d like to ask you a few questions, if I may.¡±


    Tastock stared at him. ¡°Were you the best they could do? You¡¯re the Lord Constable, by the Lightness. Don¡¯t ask. Demand.¡±


    Presumably that was a yes. ¡°I know you were a friend of Lord Constable Mannam.¡±


    ¡°Friend? Aye. We served together for a good long while.¡±


    ¡°You were together at Tol Manase, if I¡¯m not mistaken.¡± Those had been dark days for the Unity. It had started as a simple protest action by disaffected colliers, unhappy that the taxes taken from their pay were going to the big Unity metropolises and starcraft rather than the communities which needed them. It had ended in wholesale slaughter. The war had lasted six blood-soaked years. Everyone in the forces at the time had a story about it, and none of them were pleasant.


    Tastock coughed into a chequered handkerchief. ¡°I haven¡¯t talked about Tol Manase in years,¡± he said.


    ¡°I was at Preco Beach,¡± David said, nodding, ¡°and at Garrenton too. I don¡¯t talk about it much either.¡±


    But Tastock shook his head. ¡°Both horrible fights,¡± he said, ¡°but both in the latter days, when the war was all but finished. I served with Captain Mannam for a large chunk of that war. Like most of us, he did what he did without enthusiasm. War breeds horrible things. We just have to get on with it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just trying to figure out why someone would want him dead,¡± said David. ¡°I¡¯ve scoured his service record, and he¡¯s clean.¡±


    ¡°And he was clean on Tol Manase too,¡± said Tastock, his voice rising slightly. ¡°I don¡¯t know why anybody would want to hurt Richie, but I can tell you for nothing that he didn¡¯t deserve it. You¡¯re a disgrace to that uniform, trying to smear his name, trying to make out like he somehow deserved to die. Like it was reparations. Richie Mannam was a model soldier. He was hand-picked for Bart Surnett¡¯s special division, because he was a good man.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not trying to smear anybody¡¯s name,¡± said David.


    ¡°Sure you¡¯re not,¡± Tastock scoffed. ¡°I¡¯ve heard it all a thousand times already. From do-gooders in the Unity, arrogant zealots who think their personal morality should be impressed upon the past. I¡¯m sick of it. Blame Tol Manase on the Commissioners, Coningsby and the rest. Not us who followed the orders we were given. If you¡¯re here to cast aspersions on men like Richie Mannam you¡¯re in the wrong place.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just asking questions.¡±


    ¡°Ask someone else.¡± Tastock turned to walk away. David thought to go after him, but he was caught by the hand of General Bradshaw.


    ¡°Not so fast, Lord Constable,¡± said Bradshaw, with his familiar sneer.


    David frowned. ¡°Something the matter, General?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m wondering if you¡¯re intending to hold two of the three Captaincies forever. It¡¯s high time you nominated your replacement.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a matter of finding the right person, General.¡±


    General Bradshaw nodded. ¡°It¡¯s very important not to rush into the wrong decision, I quite agree. But it is coming on months now since you took the role of Lord Constable. That¡¯s ample time to find a suitable replacement. If you don¡¯t suggest someone soon, I might have to take matters into my own hands¡ªand believe me, I have some ideas.¡± No doubt you do. You¡¯ve probably got a whole line-up of lackeys waiting to kowtow to your every whim.


    ¡°I have a man in mind,¡± said David. ¡°But I would like to speak with him first, as a courtesy. Give me two days, and you¡¯ll have your nomination.¡±


    Bradshaw smiled. ¡°Two days, then. After that, I shall choose for myself.¡± And Bradshaw disappeared down the hill with the rest of the procession, leaving David alone.


    ¡°Send for Lieutenant Jackson,¡± he said, reaching the Lord Constable¡¯s Tower twenty minutes later, as Baxendale rushed to greet him in the lobby. ¡°Bring him straight to my office as soon as he gets here.¡±


    Baxendale nodded and strode off.


    A short hour later, she pushed open David¡¯s door. He¡¯d sat himself down at his desk, fully intending to work, but instead had found himself drifting off to sleep. Baxendale¡¯s arrival woke him with a start.


    ¡°Were you sleeping, sir?¡± She had an amused smirk on her face.


    David shook his head. ¡°You should have knocked, Lieutenant.¡±


    ¡°You said I was to bring Lieutenant Jackson straight to you. He¡¯s here, sir.¡±


    ¡°Then send him in.¡±


    Baxendale ducked away, and a few seconds later Lieutenant Jackson stepped into the room, his kepi tucked under his arm. He walked with the slightest of limps. Other than that, there was nothing to say that he¡¯d ever been hurt.


    David rose to greet him. ¡°It¡¯s been too long, Lieutenant. Have a seat.¡±


    Jackson sat gratefully. He perched side-on in the chair, keeping his broken leg stretched out straight. ¡°I¡¯m just about back to full fitness now, the Lightness be thanked,¡± he explained, ¡°but I get awful cramps if I bend it too much.¡±


    It had been well over half a year since the Lieutenant had last reported for duty. ¡°I sent for you, but I wasn¡¯t sure you¡¯d come. I wondered if perhaps you¡¯d got caught in the hospital.¡±


    Jackson laughed. ¡°No, stroke of luck there. They were thinking of keeping me in a little longer, but in the end they sent me home to convalesce. This would have been a week at most before it all went down. I¡¯ve been doing physio to get my strength up.¡±


    ¡°And now you¡¯re itching to get back to work, is that it?¡±


    ¡°Back to field work,¡± Jackson nodded. ¡°I¡¯ve been doing bits and pieces behind a desk, but you know me. I just want to be out there, seeing the world for myself.¡±


    David looked at him. ¡°You¡¯re not planning on going to try and find that tree circle again? Arron, it¡¯s pointless. Best case scenario, you find some trees that are planted oddly. What if you hurt yourself again? It might be your back next time. It might be your neck.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± said Jackson. ¡°It was a freak accident¡ªhonestly, you¡¯re way too uptight sometimes, Captain. Look, you were there before. I want you there again.¡±


    David shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s a fool¡¯s errand. I won¡¯t countenance it.¡±


    ¡°You were there,¡± said Jackson. ¡°You saw the way that tail had been placed there. You heard the noises. There¡¯s something strange up there, Captain. We both know those trees weren¡¯t in a natural formation. I want to know why.¡±


    ¡°I just don¡¯t think you¡¯re going to find any answers. And that rock-face¡ª¡±


    ¡°We can go around it, if need be. Bring climbing equipment. A little bit of rock isn¡¯t going to be a difficult obstacle. Come on, Captain, you¡¯re supposed to be the head of Expeditionary. Aren¡¯t you at least a little bit curious?¡±


    David coughed. ¡°About that. Lieutenant, I¡¯m not Expeditionary any longer. I¡¯m Constabulary. Wanderings to obscure western mountains are way outside my job remit. It matters not a jot whether I¡¯m curious or not. I can¡¯t accompany you.¡±


    Jackson¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°But you can¡¯t prevent it, either. If you¡¯re not Expeditionary, I mean.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said David, shaking his head. ¡°Lieutenant, I¡¯ve been asked to put forward a candidate to take my place. The Expeditionary still needs a leader. I won¡¯t beat around the bush¡ªI¡¯m thinking of putting your name to the General.¡±


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    Jackson leaned back in his seat. ¡°Wow. And that would be a Captaincy, right?¡±


    ¡°It would be a promotion, yes.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d be honoured,¡± said Jackson, his cheeks suddenly flushed.


    ¡°That does mean greater responsibilities.¡± The Essegena mission had been David¡¯s first ever Captaincy, and it had come when he was pushing forty. He¡¯d got the wilder days out of his system when he was still just a junior officer. Lieutenant Jackson was still in his twenties, fresh-faced. A decade ago David might have got a bee in his bonnet about the hooked wheel of Nameth in the mountains, just as Jackson had, but time had matured him and made him more cynical. ¡°You can¡¯t just tear off willy-nilly, not as Captain. Obviously the judgement calls are yours to make¡ªbut if you¡¯re chasing a feeling, you¡¯d best be sure to find something. There are plenty of officers who would love to take that job from you.¡±


    Jackson nodded. ¡°I understand that, sir. But I¡¯ve been out there, and I know there¡¯s more to this planet than meets the eye. How can we be content to blind ourselves? Can we really just hide in this valley forever, and pretend that there isn¡¯t a whole world beyond?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not saying that at all. Just don¡¯t be foolish.¡±


    ¡°I learned my lesson last time,¡± Jackson grinned. ¡°Got a broken leg for it.¡±


    ¡°For what it¡¯s worth, Lieutenant, I think you may be right. There¡¯s more history to Essegena than the Unity would have you believe. Walk with me a while.¡±


    David led Jackson to the Constabulary records hall, one floor beneath the ground. He seldom went there himself. Better to send Lieutenant Baxendale if he needed anything. The staircase down was narrow and winding, and in some places so dark that it simply wasn¡¯t safe to traverse without holding onto the iron handrail. It led to a small antechamber, where the duty guard sat.


    The records hall itself was a rotunda almost as far around as the Tower itself, with walls made from variegated stone bricks. Slits around the perimeter let in sunlight, where ditches had been dug in the earth around the Tower. This light fell in columns, bringing the lingering dust into sharp relief against bookshelves three times the height of a man.


    Most of the shelves were empty. The majority of the records had yet to be moved across from the Eia, or simply didn¡¯t exist yet. It made the whole place feel lonely and empty. When David did come down here, he was sure to be done as quick as he could.


    Lieutenant Jackson¡¯s limp was more pronounced when traversing stairs, so getting down here was slow-going. In future, David resolved to talk with Jackson above ground whenever he could. It wouldn¡¯t take so long.


    The figurine he¡¯d found was one of the first things to be moved to the records hall. He knew that, because he was the one who¡¯d moved it. It was locked away in a mahogany steamer trunk. There were several such trunks, all containing physical objects the Constabulary needed to store safely. Most were labelled in pink pen, with a unique number corresponding to a paper record stored elsewhere¡ªall the easier to find things. David¡¯s carved man was in a trunk with a blank label.


    He fiddled with the trunk¡¯s lock. ¡°I don¡¯t for a minute believe the stories your men were coming out with. There¡¯s no witch-shades in the mountains, no demons or spectres or anything like that. But we¡¯re not the first people to come to Essegena. There was a colony a few hundred years back.¡±


    ¡°So we¡¯re not pioneers?¡±


    David shrugged. ¡°There¡¯s no proof they actually made it to the planet¡¯s surface, so we might well be. But I have a theory¡ªand it doesn¡¯t make any sense at all, not really¡ªbut I think there was life here a long time ago.¡± He released the catch on the steamer trunk, which hit against the top of the shelf as it opened, and took from it the gauze-wrapped figure. He laid it on the empty shelf above, gracefully unfurled the fabric, and let the wrappings fall away to reveal the figure beneath. It was uglier than David remembered. ¡°Call me crazy, but there¡¯s no way this is less than two hundred years old.¡±


    Jackson reached out to touch it. ¡°It looks primitive,¡± he said. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°I found it in the Mettywood, back when it was first being mapped,¡± said David. ¡°Beyond being ugly as sin, I¡¯m not really sure what it is. A child¡¯s doll, perhaps? Mannam reckoned it might be an artefact from Belaboras, brought and lost by someone aboard the Eia.¡±


    ¡°But how did it come to be in the Mettywood?¡± Jackson finished David¡¯s thought for him. ¡°Unless it was put there deliberately. To mess with you.¡±


    David shook his head. ¡°Who would do that? What would it achieve?¡±


    Lieutenant Jackson looked thoughtful for a second. ¡°The Unity¡¯s line was that we would be the first ones to set foot on Essegena. Pioneers. An object like this would go against that line. So if somebody wanted public opinion to turn against the Unity, this would be a very useful tool.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a possibility,¡± said David. ¡°But this was found seven months ago. I knew about it, and Mannam knew about it¡ªand that¡¯s it. If it was deliberately put in the Mettywood to cause discord, it hasn¡¯t worked. Now, I¡¯m no evil mastermind, but if this was my plan, and it wasn¡¯t working, I¡¯d try again. I¡¯d carve another figurine, and leave it somewhere it would definitely be found. And yet there¡¯s not been another one.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps there has, but someone like you found it,¡± said Jackson. ¡°This one¡¯s been hidden away for months. What if someone else is holding on to one?¡±


    ¡°Uh, Lord Constable?¡± Lieutenant Baxendale had crept down to the records hall so quietly that David hadn¡¯t noticed her coming up behind him. He swore loudly. ¡°The Governor would like a word with you,¡± she said, pointedly looking David in the feet.


    ¡°Is he in my office? Tell him I¡¯ll be with him shortly.¡±


    Baxendale shook her head. ¡°No, sir, he¡¯s up at the big lake.¡±


    David sent Baxendale away, then turned to Lieutenant Jackson. ¡°Think about what we¡¯ve talked about. But keep it to yourself, for now. I hope I¡¯m not making a mistake in trusting you.¡±


    Jackson shook his head. ¡°Of course not, Captain. You can trust me. I just want to find out what this world has to offer.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the spirit.¡± He cajoled Jackson with a pat on the back, and walked up the long staircase wondering why in the Mother¡¯s name he¡¯d thought that was a good thing to do. Jackson probably thought he was a weird old grandfather locked in the body of a soldier in middle-age.


    He put the figure back in its mahogany tomb and sealed it up tight.


    The walk up to the lake was a long one but a nice one, even if the wind was bracing as he climbed higher up the slopes. He caught himself thinking of Lord Constable Mannam. Not too long ago, Mannam had worn the same emblem on his cap as he climbed this same slope, not imagining for a minute that he¡¯d be dead the next time he was down in the valley.


    One thing was for sure: David wasn¡¯t going to go anywhere near the cliff edge.


    He found Chris stood on the lake shore, looking out across the water. Far across, the church of Lightness Skerrett stood titanic above the plains, its white walls contrasting sharply with the grey shape of the mountains way on the horizon. ¡°I came here with Caro once,¡± he said. ¡°And I upset her. I never had the chance to apologise. A missive came from the hospital this morning, passed on a scribbled note to one of General Bradshaw¡¯s guards. Caroline¡¯s dead, David. My love¡¯s gone, and I couldn¡¯t even make things right.¡±


    David gurned. ¡°I can¡¯t help but feel that it¡¯s my fault. You asked me to keep that bottle safe. That¡¯s all I had to do, and Caroline would be alive.¡±


    Chris turned to face David, with a curious look on his face. ¡°None of this was supposed to happen.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°No, you¡¯re not.¡± Chris shook his head. ¡°Caro was never your friend. You won¡¯t miss her.¡±


    ¡°But you will. She was your wife, and she¡¯s dead because of what I did.¡±


    ¡°She wouldn¡¯t have blamed you,¡± said Chris, crouching to pick up a pebble from the ground, which he turned over in his hands ¡°Caro would have smiled and squeezed your hand and told you it didn¡¯t matter that you¡¯d killed her, because she forgave you.¡± All of a sudden he turned, and launched the pebble high into the air. Its parabolic flight came to an end with an undignified plop, somewhere in the centre of the lake. ¡°Why does she have to be dead?¡± Chris yelled. ¡°What do I do without her?¡±


    David said nothing. He wasn¡¯t sure there was anything he could say that would make things better. Chris was shaking, he saw, though the Governor tried his best to hide it.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t ever get to know Caroline half as well as you did,¡± said David, ¡°but I don¡¯t think she¡¯d want this to beat you. She¡¯d want you to move on.¡±


    ¡°Move on?¡±


    ¡°Remember all the things we always talked about. The Borrowood Dynasty, all that. Do it all in her name. Let Essegena be a monument to her memory.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not just about Caroline, though,¡± said Chris. ¡°There¡¯s nearly fifty dead, so Stockton says, and no end in sight. That¡¯s more than a tragedy. It¡¯s senseless.¡±


    ¡°That isn¡¯t my fault.¡± David wanted to believe it. But he¡¯d been the one to throw away the bottle. All he had to do was hold onto it, as Chris had asked him to, and none of this would have happened. Every single death was his fault, at the end of the day. ¡°Is it?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be absurd,¡± said Chris. ¡°Of course it isn¡¯t. It¡¯s a force of nature. How can you be held responsible?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m almost afraid to find out. General Bradshaw will probably find a way to blame me, though.¡±


    Chris shook his head. ¡°Bradshaw doesn¡¯t know there was ever an antidote, let alone that you had it. And he doesn¡¯t need to find out, either. In any case I can¡¯t even be sure the antidote was an actual antidote. Caro saw her sickness in a dream, but the dream wasn¡¯t kind enough to tell her what sort of sickness it was. It mightn¡¯t have been poison at all.¡±


    ¡°If it wasn¡¯t poison, the Wracks¡¯ cook should be released. If she didn¡¯t do anything¡ª¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d need a toxicology report to say so for certain.¡±


    David laughed drably. ¡°And until Doctor Caerlin lifts the lockdown on the hospital, we can¡¯t get at her body to autopsy. It¡¯ll be a miracle if she hasn¡¯t rotted away to bone by the time she¡¯s on Curlie¡¯s slab.¡± Chris had gone tense, no doubt at the talk of his wife¡¯s slow decay. ¡°Sorry,¡± David muttered.


    ¡°I never realised the church was so stunning from across the water,¡± said Chris, sighing. ¡°Why are churches always the most fascinating buildings?¡±


    David shrugged. ¡°How else can they lure gullible idiots inside?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re gonna have to pretend to be as devout as anybody, in two days¡¯ time. Skerrett and I have an arrangement. But the ceremony has to go through, and he mustn¡¯t feel as though he¡¯s been slighted by the Governor¡¯s representative in the church.¡±


    David frowned. ¡°You aren¡¯t going to be there?¡±


    ¡°Officially, I¡¯m grieving,¡± said Chris. ¡°The truth is, I¡¯m worried about what Bradshaw might try.¡± Chris was wringing his hands as he spoke. ¡°The ceremony up at the church is his big opportunity to make a name for himself, before the whole colony.¡±


    ¡°What could he do?¡±


    ¡°Ideally nothing at all. All the same, I¡¯ll steer clear. Oh, and David? I think it¡¯s best if we don¡¯t allow private security on the premises.¡±


    ¡°Easy enough,¡± said David. ¡°Bradshaw hardly makes use of his anyway.¡±


    Chris shook his head. ¡°Not just Bradshaw¡¯s. It¡¯ll have to be a blanket ban. You know he¡¯ll cry foul otherwise, bring it up to the Council, and that¡¯s not shit I want to deal with at the moment. Anybody who comes, you have to send them away. It has to be even treatment for everybody.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re expecting something to happen.¡±


    Chris turned away from the water again, a frown on his face. ¡°Why would I be expecting something?¡±


    ¡°At the church, you sent me away so you and Lightness Skerrett could have a private t¨ºte-¨¤-t¨ºte. What did you talk about?¡±


    Chris wrinkled his nose. ¡°A couple of small matters. I¡¯d had a few childhood questions about the Books of Lightness, which I figured Lightness Skerrett was best placed to answer. It was very enlightening.¡±


    ¡°And you had to be alone to ask those questions?¡±


    ¡°I always understood faith to be a personal affair.¡±


    David watched Chris closely. ¡°I can¡¯t say I ever took you for religious.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t say I ever did either,¡± Chris admitted. ¡°I still don¡¯t. Like I said, I just had some questions I wanted answered.¡±


    They stood for a while beside the water, content to share in each other¡¯s loneliness. He¡¯d never have said it aloud, but David was glad it was Caroline who¡¯d died. Her, and not Chris. Without Chris, who was there for him to talk to? Without Chris, he would be truly friendless.


    Chris, perhaps, felt the same way now Caroline was taken from him. Perhaps he felt worse. Love always ends in heartbreak, one way or another. Mother had always said as much. No matter how much you love someone, and how much they love you, at the end of the day you¡¯re destined to die. David couldn¡¯t help but feel at least a little glad that he¡¯d never found love.


    ¡°I¡¯ll name this place for her,¡± said Chris, eventually. ¡°The lake, not the valley. Lake Caroline. I think she¡¯d like that.¡±


    ¡°Lake Caroline,¡± David repeated, muttering softly under his breath. It had a nice ring to it. The leaves of the nearby trees, blown by the afternoon¡¯s breeze, seemed to rustle and sigh their assent. There was probably some funny religion somewhere in the universe that would have believed Caroline was watching through the trees. And David wouldn¡¯t blame them. It was nicer than realising that a friend was gone, and no matter how long he waited, she wouldn¡¯t ever be coming back.


    Funny. He didn¡¯t realise how much he enjoyed Caro¡¯s company until it was gone forever.

 55. The Final Throw

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Tema ~


    At the end of their second day of quarantine, Tema went to visit the scientists. The young Ella had been furnished with more than her body weight in books from the hospital¡¯s library, and was studiously engrossed in a huge volume. Dougray Stockton was glancing casually at another. It looked as though he was reading out of moral support for Ella rather than any actual interest. The third, the spectacled man whose name Tema hadn¡¯t caught, was sat silently in the corner of the room.


    ¡°That¡¯s your time,¡± she said, to the three scientists. ¡°I just have to do a few quick tests, and then you¡¯re free to go. It won¡¯t take a moment.¡± Ella was watching her curiously. She¡¯d been wearing only a cloth mask when the scientists had arrived, so she was probably the first person Ella had ever seen in one of the moulded ones. Hugging the mouth as they did, these masks were an unusual sight, at least a little scary to the uninitiated. But she was not about to take a risk until she was certain the infection hadn¡¯t spread.


    To be fair, it shouldn¡¯t have done. The scientists hadn¡¯t been exposed to anybody else during their time here. But there was nothing to be gained by taking chances¡ª there were few enough doctors here as it was. Morale was tenuously balanced. If Tema fell ill, it would fall away altogether.


    Stockton was gracious and pliable as Tema swabbed the roof of his mouth and drew a sample of blood, and waited patiently for the all-clear which he duly received. The other man, by contrast, scowled the whole time. ¡°What a ridiculous rigmarole,¡± he scoffed, when Tema asked him to open his mouth. He¡¯d said almost nothing on the subject of the powder, and in fact had spoken only to ask to see Caroline¡¯s body. He was a friend of hers, apparently. Tema had allowed it, seeing as he would have to spend time in the quarantine ward anyway. He¡¯d not said a word of thanks. Perhaps he¡¯d have been better off not breaking the lockdown. Certainly he¡¯d not been integral in conveying Stockton¡¯s message.


    ¡°Don¡¯t mind Mostyn,¡± Stockton whispered in her ear, as the man headed for the exit. ¡°He gets a bit cranky sometimes. Truth be told, I¡¯m surprised he volunteered to come. He¡¯s not exactly the studious type¡ªnot like Ella.¡±


    Ella¡¯s proclivity for learning was obvious. She still had her nose in a book when Tema called her over. ¡°I¡¯d like to stay a little while longer,¡± she said, as Tema drew blood. ¡°With your permission, of course.¡±


    Tema syringed the blood into a sample tray. ¡°You don¡¯t need my permission to stay. You¡¯d have to go through the quarantine again, of course, but if you really don¡¯t want to leave I can¡¯t force you. It¡¯s not as if you haven¡¯t already broken the lockdown.¡±


    Ella glanced over to Master Stockton, who nodded reluctantly, and then she smiled. ¡°I¡¯ll stay then.¡±


    ¡°Open wide,¡± said Tema. She jammed a cotton swab into Ella¡¯s mouth, tracing its contours. ¡°Why would you want to stay? Don¡¯t you want to go back to the fresh air?¡±


    ¡°What fresh air?¡± Ella laughed. ¡°I never really leave the lab. Please, I want to help. I think I might know how we can use the powder.¡±


    Tema looked at Stockton. If he¡¯d known this was coming, he did a good job of looking surprised. ¡°Ella, this isn¡¯t another lab. You can¡¯t just do test after test until it works.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need to,¡± said Ella, shaking her head. ¡°Just the one. The powder mutilates the blood cells in the same way as the mawflux virus. I think it might be the key to a cure.¡±


    Mawflux was an exotic ailment, the sort of disease few doctors would ever encounter. Driven to near extinction three centuries earlier, it lingered now only in the occasional outbreak on Kelsiern. Repeated efforts had not stopped it recurring. It was sinister, with a mortality rate in excess of ninety percent; it was only thanks to her own morbid curiosity as a depressive youth that Tema knew of the one possible cure. Emergency protocol. If the body¡¯s temperature was reduced to freezing, and the patient immediately committed to a tevion, there was a chance. A slim chance. But tevions were highly illegal. Just one solitary tube existed, in an institute on Kelsiern designed specifically to accommodate mawflux patients. Without it, death was a certainty.


    She certainly hoped Ella wasn¡¯t about to suggest applying the mawflux protocol here.


    ¡°We don¡¯t have a tevion,¡± she said, ¡°and even if we did, there¡¯s no way I¡¯d sanction using it. They say being inside one is worse than torture.¡±


    ¡°Better than being dead,¡± the gangly Mostyn muttered, darkly.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t going to suggest a tevion,¡± Ella pouted. ¡°The books don¡¯t go into enough detail, but I can¡¯t help but think that if you were to infect your patients with mawflux, one of the symptoms would be the elimination of this other disease.¡±


    ¡°If you think using mawflux as a cure is a solution, you¡¯re more na?ve than Master Stockton gave you credit for.¡± Tema was sure she was missing something. Stockton spoke highly of Ella. She couldn¡¯t really be this stupid. ¡°Even if it worked, they¡¯d all have mawflux. And where would we even get hold of a sample?¡±


    ¡°The mawflux virus is deadly,¡± Stockton cautioned.


    ¡°More deadly than this,¡± Tema added.


    Stockton put a hand on Ella¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Ella, I hope you know what you¡¯re doing.¡±


    ¡°I do. At least I think so. Like I said, this powder seems to do the same thing to blood as the mawflux virus. Why, then, can¡¯t it have the same curing effects? Well, surely there¡¯s a chance, at any rate¡ªand what choice do we have? What happens if we don¡¯t do this?¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t know what that powder would do to somebody,¡± Tema protested.


    Ella nodded. ¡°I know. That¡¯s why I¡¯ll test it on myself, first, just to make sure it¡¯s safe.¡±


    ¡°Ella,¡± said Stockton, setting a hand on her shoulder, but she knocked it aside.


    ¡°I know it¡¯s dangerous. I¡¯ll take the chance. I¡¯m a grown woman. My mind is set.¡±


    Stockton sighed. ¡°Is there nothing that will convince you to rethink?¡±


    Ella shook her head. ¡°It¡¯ll happen, whether or not you support me. Though obviously I¡¯d prefer it if you had my back.¡±


    ¡°This is a foolish thing, Ella. You understand that? I ought to carry you from here myself, to save you from this folly.¡±


    ¡°I have to do it,¡± she said. ¡°If I didn¡¯t try everything I could, I don¡¯t think I could ever live with myself. I¡¯d only end up slipping back here as soon as your back was turned.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t doubt that that¡¯s true. You¡¯re too wilful for your own good, I fear. Ella, if you¡¯re to do this thing, you¡¯ll do it alone. This is where I take my leave of you,¡± said Stockton. He leaned in close to Tema, whispered in her ear. ¡°Take care of her, Doctor Caerlin. Don¡¯t let her die.¡±


    With the hospital¡¯s patients confined to just two wards, there was no shortage of empty space. Ella set herself up in what was intended as an overflow examination room, but which still had sealed boxes full of gear and polythene covers over its taps and outlets. ¡°Give me two days,¡± she said. ¡°That¡¯s all it¡¯ll take.¡± The excitement was admirable. Tema was fairly sure it was misplaced confidence, but it was admirable.


    Six days later, Ella had begun to accept the reality. Tema found her leaning against the wall across from her room, hands interlocked on her forehead, muttering a string of vaguely comprehensible curse-words. She watched for a few seconds then left before Ella noticed her. Better to let her get her frustrations out in private.


    Oddly, when she popped back an hour afterward, Ella was in a radiant mood. She¡¯d raised the mask off her face, which was red and imprinted the mask¡¯s shape. But she was beaming. ¡°What¡¯s put a smile on your face?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s worked. I¡¯ve actually done it.¡±


    ¡°Tell me from the beginning.¡±


    Ella grabbed Tema¡¯s arm and pulled her over to the workstation. ¡°Look at this,¡± she said, pointing at a microscope she had set up. On the slide within was a blood sample, magnified a hundred times. It had a glossy tincture, but was otherwise unextraordinary. ¡°It¡¯s my own blood,¡± Ella explained. ¡°From the sample I showed you the other day¡ªthe one with the powder.¡±


    Tema moved her head away from the microscope. Ella was fiddling with a couple of other slides. She replaced the one in the viewer with a different one: ¡°this one unexposed to the powder,¡± as Ella said. The difference was night and day. The first sample hadn¡¯t looked unusual by itself, but in comparison to this one it was practically angel blood. To look at, this was healthy enough¡ªbut drab, without the warm glow of the other.


    Her vision blurred as Ella removed that second slide, revealing the projection of the lamp on the underside of the glass tray. It was quickly replaced.


    ¡°This is the first one,¡± said Tema. ¡°Why are you showing me this again?¡±


    When she removed her head from the microscope this time, she saw Ella looming behind her with a shit-eating grin plastered on her face. ¡°That¡¯s a new sample,¡± she said.


    ¡°It¡¯s identical to the first one.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s exactly my point,¡± said Ella. ¡°It¡¯s my blood again.¡±


    Tema frowned. ¡°Your blood, with some of that powder put in?¡±


    ¡°Not quite. The powdered blood spreads, you see. Just like how a vaccine affects the whole body, not just the point where it was introduced to the blood. I introduced some powder-touched blood into my bloodstream via my left arm, and took this sample from my right arm. I think we can use this as a vaccination. Maybe even a cure.¡±


    A cure? Wouldn¡¯t that be nice? ¡°A cure is probably getting ahead of yourself, Ella.¡±


    The girl shook her head. ¡°It¡¯ll work. I¡¯m sure.¡±


    Ella was still a student, little more than a teenager. Tema couldn¡¯t question her intentions. Perhaps she was due a dose of realism. Diseases like this, with angry pockmarks and high death rates, sprang up periodically through history. They had thwarted generations of attempts to cure them. The best advice the books had to offer was still to isolate the affected, and let them die before they could pass on their sickness. This wouldn¡¯t be the first epidemic to wither on the vine, starved of new blood, rather than being defeated by medicine. How many young and eager minds had thought they had the cure to one of these ailments, only to face disappointment? Only to die for their hubris?


    But then again, what did they have to lose?


    ¡°Let¡¯s at least do everything properly,¡± said Tema. ¡°Take our time, double-check the findings.¡±


    ¡°Do you have time to take?¡± The question was blunt. ¡°The people who are sick, how long do they have? A few days?¡±


    In truth it was hard to say. The disease¡¯s progression was erratic, and some were fighting it better than others. Doctor Maynard would be lucky to see the following morning, and Betsy Clanackan likely only had a day or two in her. Lucy Jaine, by contrast, had been impressively resolute. Even a fortnight after falling ill, she was still conscious and cognizant more often than not.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    Tema made a decision in a split-second. It might get her fired, even expelled from the physicians¡¯ guild, if she was wrong. Her gender would be weaponised. She would be outcast. Those who hated her for what she was, Harry Baldwin and Rupert Staniforth, Mother and Father, Tasha, they¡¯d all be vindicated in their hatred. She had to be right. She had to be right, and she had to stick to her guns no matter what anybody said. ¡°We¡¯ll try it, then.¡± The rational, clear-thinking part of her brain hated her. But Ella had made a good point, and she wanted to believe that there was a way she could save some lives.


    She¡¯d promised not to let Caro die, and she¡¯d fucked that one up.


    Never again.


    Maynard first. There was less to lose with her. Less to lose, and less time to waste.


    Viola Watling was the one on bedside vigil when they arrived, fully kitted in protective gear as she sat beside the unconscious Maynard. She gave Tema a look of equal parts confusion and apprehension, then scarpered. The girl¡¯s refusal to even talk was growing tiresome. Now wasn¡¯t the time to chase her, but when this was all done Tema vowed to corner Viola, and not let her flee until the air was cleared.


    Clipped to the foot of her bed, a sheet of paper recorded Doctor Maynard¡¯s details. It was just two weeks ago that Tema had sat transcribing these facts and figures from Maynard¡¯s medical file. It felt like a different age. Below the standard information, the twice-daily records of Maynard¡¯s status, in a series of rough scribbles, told a sordid story. Once, if the best you could say for a patient was ¡°responds to stimuli¡± then the prognosis was bleak indeed. The state Emmeline Maynard was in, that same grim sentence became a cause for optimism.


    She turned to Ella. ¡°What¡¯s your blood type? Quickly.¡±


    ¡°Uh, ¡®A¡¯, I think. ¡®A¡¯ negative.¡±


    ¡°¡®A¡¯ negative?¡± She scanned Doctor Maynard¡¯s chart for the same information; there, in black ink, was the selfsame letter. ¡°Huh. It¡¯s a match.¡± The Gods, it seemed, had decided to favour them. About time. She could have done with their favour back before good friends started dying.


    Ella was suddenly at her side with a syringe full of blood. She reached towards Maynard, but Tema grabbed her wrist to stop her. ¡°Let me.¡±


    ¡°I can do it,¡± Ella protested, but Tema shook her head.


    ¡°It¡¯s my job.¡±


    Ella relinquished her grip on the syringe. Tema clasped it tightly in her right hand, running her fingers along it as she turned her full attention to Doctor Maynard. The doctor¡¯s breathing was down to a guttural death rattle, and her eyes sinking pools. She was on her final minutes.


    It¡¯s now or never. Inertia caught Tema for a second, two seconds, three. That was three seconds too long. She screwed her eyes tightly shut, took one last deep breath, then:


    She found a vein at the first attempt. A tiny drop of Maynard¡¯s blood bubbled to the skin, as Tema pushed the syringe down, forced the powdered blood in. When it was done, she removed the syringe and let it clatter to the floor.


    Now we can but hope.


    Her headache had returned. That wasn¡¯t a welcome bit of news. It throbbed a drumbeat in syncopated time with her heartrate, leaving her brain languishing in arrhythmia. Half of her energy was spent on keeping focus.


    ¡°Who¡¯s next?¡± said Ella.


    Tema shook her head. ¡°For you? Nobody. You need to stop.¡±


    ¡°I want to help.¡±


    ¡°You have helped.¡± Double-vision flashed for a second. When this was over, she¡¯d have to look into that. ¡°They won¡¯t all be ¡®A¡¯ negative. Your blood¡¯s the wrong blood. It has to be me. My blood. I¡¯m type ¡®O¡¯.¡±


    Ella frowned. ¡°We don¡¯t have a sample of your blood.¡±


    ¡°So we get one,¡± said Tema. ¡°I¡¯ve got plenty to spare.¡±


    She drifted off as Ella ran back to her little set-up to retrieve some of the powder. Forcing herself to focus only made her dizzy, so she let the blur endure. Sometime later, Ella returned, announcing her presence by piercing Tema¡¯s arm with a needle.


    ¡°Ow!¡± That brought everything back into focus.


    Ella shrugged. ¡°I need your blood.¡±


    Tema looked away as her own crimson was drawn from her arm. Other people¡¯s blood was fine; she could look at it all day long and it wouldn¡¯t bother her in the slightest. The knowledge that it was her own made her somehow queasy.


    It didn¡¯t help that her stomach was turning anyway. Her throat was getting scratchy. Something on her thigh was starting to hurt like crazy, and Good Mother did it itch. She rose unsteadily. ¡°How long before it¡¯ll be ready?¡±


    Ella was already adding tweezer-fulls of the black powder to the petri dish of blood on the bedside table in front of her. She didn¡¯t look up at Tema. ¡°Give me half an hour. It won¡¯t be pretty, but it should work.¡±


    Half an hour. ¡°You¡¯ll be okay if I go to grab some water?¡±


    There was a fountain just down the corridor, she knew. In fact, there was an entire alcove, set back from the corridor¡ªnot just a water fountain, but half a dozen chairs, their fine upholstery never used. How much fun she could have with half a dozen chairs! Nobody need know she was there.


    All the lights were off in the alcove, though, and indeed all along the corridor. It was ghostly quiet. Her stepping feet beat a rhythm, and only the muffled sound of Maynard¡¯s monitor from the other room played along. By now her head was really aching. As soon as this is all over, she told herself, I am going to have the longest sleep that there ever was. Even the Lost Armies in all their might and fury would be helpless to wake her.


    First, though, water. The cups beside the fountain were still in their plastic seal. Why they had to come in a seal to begin with was beyond Tema, but they had, and nobody had yet been along to unseal them. What had everyone been doing here for six months?


    When she tried to break the plastic, she felt the strength in her arms had gone. Her fingers had no grip. The more she tried to put pressure on them, the more it sent a tingling up her all the way to her head. And all the while the cups remained tightly locked away from her in clear plastic.


    Balls to them.


    She threw the package away. It didn¡¯t matter where they ended up, they¡¯d only get picked up by somebody eventually. She just wanted to believe that cups could feel pain, and specifically that these cups in particular could feel it. They were smarmy dicks, mocking her facelessly from within the clear wrapper. Let them fly. Let them gain sentience for just long enough to know that the landing hurt.


    She heard a cry of pain from behind her. It hadn¡¯t come from the cups. Much as she might wish it, they would never feel a thing. It had come from a woman.


    Tema wheeled around to see Janna Davis, holding the cups in one hand and rubbing her eye with the other. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be throwing cups, Miss Tema,¡± she said. ¡°You could have had my eye out.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know there was anybody here, Janna. Did you come for water as well?¡±


    ¡°I came for you,¡± said Janna. ¡°That scientist is wondering where you¡¯ve got to. She said it¡¯s been an hour, and you were supposed to be back by now.¡±


    ¡°I told her where I was¡ªan hour?¡± How could she possibly have been gone an hour? She¡¯d only walked down the hall. It was two minutes¡¯ walk at most.


    Unbidden, Janna ripped the packaging off the cups and pulled one out of the stack. She bustled over to the fountain and filled it, setting the rest down beside the machine. ¡°I also came to tell you that Doctor Maynard¡¯s improving,¡± she said. ¡°She opened her eyes earlier. She¡¯s asking for mango juice, though I don¡¯t think there is any.¡±


    Now that couldn¡¯t be. Tema had only left Doctor Maynard¡¯s bedside five minutes ago, and at that point Maynard had been comatose for well over a week. She snatched the cup from Janna¡¯s hands and emptied it in one go. Even a pint of water did nothing to quench the thirst that had been brewing. She wanted more, but if she had another cup she¡¯d be peeing in five-minute intervals for the rest of the day. She swayed where she stood. All of a sudden, gravity and her body had a falling-out. It was only for the briefest instant, but she all but fell over. She threw out an arm to save herself. In its flailing it did nothing but hit hard on the metal frame of the closest chair. The pain rattled her.


    ¡°Are you alright, Miss Tema?¡± Janna had run to her.


    She nodded. ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± It was just a fever or something, just tiredness. Once Ella¡¯s cure had been spread around, she could rest. Then, and only then, would she have time to be sick.


    Janna didn¡¯t look convinced. ¡°If you say so, Miss Tema,¡± she said, giving Tema a sideways look. ¡°Let me help you back to the ward.¡±


    Tema made no attempt to argue. Janna practically carried her down the hallway, and when they reached Doctor Maynard¡¯s ward she just about fell into Ella¡¯s arms. Only Ella wasn¡¯t expecting her, so they both went tumbling down.


    ¡°Where¡¯ve you been, Doctor Caerlin? Was there no way for you to get water short of synthesising the atoms?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think you can synthesise hydrogen,¡± said Tema.


    ¡°I¡¯ve removed the powder from your blood sample,¡± said Ella. ¡°So I can safely say that what happened with mine wasn¡¯t a one-off. We should be ready to go.¡±


    ¡°Great,¡± said Tema. ¡°Who¡¯s next?¡±


    Ella looked at her. ¡°It¡¯s your hospital, Doctor Caerlin. I don¡¯t know who the patients are.¡±


    Neither did Tema, in truth. Her head was too busy spinning for her to really pay much more attention to what was going on than the basics. The days cooped up in the hospital, making the same cycle between the same people, had imprinted the layout in her memory. Betsy Clanackan and Robin Canterall, she knew, were in adjacent beds in the same ward, just down the stairs from Doctor Maynard¡¯s. The kitchen assistant who¡¯d come in with a cut thumb at very much the wrong time was in a private room not far from the showers. Lucy Jaine wasn¡¯t far from the reception. If they were lucky they could get them all.


    Tema led Ella along this route, pausing every now and then to get her balance right and to squeeze tight her eyes to shut out the impossibly bright overhead lights¡ªthey were a normal brightness earlier, she could have sworn. Every now and then she had to scratch the unbearable itches that had consumed her legs. Those same legs were unsteady, wobbling every third step and threatening to collapse beneath her. She wasn¡¯t ill. Just tired.


    Janna tagged along partway. By the time they descended the main staircase with its waterfalls, she was no longer with them. Tema hadn¡¯t noticed her going her own way.


    Lucy Jaine was awake and sat upright when they reached her bed. The final one. ¡°Doctor Caerlin, are you alright?¡±


    There were few things that could make her feel less secure in herself than a patient supposedly on death¡¯s door telling her she looked rough. Why was everybody asking if she was okay? It was only a headache.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to need you to sit still for me, Lucy,¡± she said. ¡°Can you roll up your sleeves?¡±


    Lucy Jaine obliged. ¡°What¡¯s this for?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re going to try and fix you.¡±


    ¡°You have a cure?¡±


    Tema tried to temper Lucy¡¯s expectations. ¡°We have a theory. We¡¯re hopeful¡ªand it¡¯s better than the alternative, which is to wait and hope for the best. But I can¡¯t make any promises. It might not work.¡±


    A tiny speck of uncertainty washed over Lucy¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°We don¡¯t have to do this,¡± said Tema. ¡°If you don¡¯t want to.¡±


    Lucy gripped her bedframe. ¡°I¡¯ll take the risk.¡±


    Tema dragged a chair next to Lucy¡¯s bed, and sat beside her while Ella fiddled with syringes and the bag she¡¯d filled with Tema¡¯s blood. When she was done, Tema took the needle and¡ªprick¡ªjabbed Lucy. The girl didn¡¯t even wince.


    Now they just had to wait for the blood to go in. It had taken twenty minutes with the rest of them, and right now Tema was certain that she¡¯d fall asleep there and then if it took much longer. But she had to stay awake. She couldn¡¯t rest until it was done.


    ¡°You¡¯re sweating, Doctor Caerlin.¡±


    ¡°The heating system¡¯s on too high, Lucy. That¡¯s all.¡±


    ¡°The temperature¡¯s fine,¡± said Ella, behind her.


    She glanced at the blood bag. It was so slow to drain.


    ¡°Ten more minutes,¡± said Ella.


    Lucy tilted her head to look Tema straight in the eyes. ¡°Do you really think this¡¯ll work?¡±


    ¡°I hope so,¡± said Tema.


    Lucy smiled. ¡°That¡¯s good. I know I¡¯m holding up better than everybody else, so I really shouldn¡¯t complain, but this thing¡¯s a bitch, you know. My head¡¯s always hurting, and I¡¯m always really thirsty. Every night when I go to sleep, I wonder if I¡¯ll have taken a turn for the worse by the time I wake up.¡± She had every right to be worried. They¡¯d all seen what happened to Olwen Kennady and Lily Day and the others. The speed with which they¡¯d gone from healthy to dead was the most alarming thing.


    And since then it had been a fight just to not be the next one.


    All of a sudden, Tema felt a sharp pain on her thigh. It was worse than anything else she¡¯d ever experienced. A hundred knives all had their own grinning way with her, and her feeling of them was magnified somehow. She could feel the nerves shredding. She tried not to scream, and it came out as a squeak.


    She didn¡¯t dare to look. It was better if she didn¡¯t see what was causing the pain.


    If she looked, she¡¯d see the red mark she knew was there. As soon as she looked, it would become real. She¡¯d lose her nerve, and she couldn¡¯t lose her nerve. She had to keep calm for the sake of Lucy.


    She took a deep breath. It helped, a little.


    ¡°Nearly there,¡± said Ella, at last, far more than ten minutes later. Why had she lied about how long it would take? And why had the clock on the wall lied as well? By now, Tema was gritting her teeth just so she wouldn¡¯t scream. She wanted to cry. But how would it look if she cried? How could that reassure Lucy?


    She heard the cue from Ella, and removed the needle from Lucy¡¯s arm. She put it down on the side-table¡ªhard to do, given that she could see two side-tables.


    The cure had to work. Emmeline would be dead if it didn¡¯t, Betsy too. The rest would follow in time. And Tema was sure to join them. She was under no illusions now¡ªit had got her. Perhaps she¡¯d not wake up again. Even if she did, there was no guaranteeing that anybody would be waiting beside her bed. Staniforth, if he had his chance, would probably try to deny her a cure even if Ella¡¯s miracle worked. Let her die, clear the chaff, and then he can take over. A foolproof plan, for a man without a heart.


    Tema was just about crying now, part from the pain and part from the growing fear. What if this was her last day among the living? Nothing had been achieved. She was thus far a failure. Tasha hated her, Viola hated her, she hated herself, and none of it had been fixed. Who died without fixing anything?


    She vowed to wake up. She promised herself she¡¯d get up. Maybe she didn¡¯t have the disease at all. Maybe she really was just tired. Yes, that was more like it. How could she be ill, after all? She was Tema.


    Her energy gone, she collapsed to the floor. It was cold, a soothing cold on her painful arms. I could stay here forever, she thought. Then she closed her eyes. Just to sleep.

 56. The Tavern Incident

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Tasha ~


    At some point in the night, the day¡¯s summer heat broke into a storm. The ground was damp when Tash woke up, and clouds of dull grey spat light rain. This continued throughout the early morning, bringing with it a growing cold, and at Sesi¡¯s instance she put on her new overcoat. It was a darling thing, lavender knit with embroidered wildflowers. A gift from Oliver. He¡¯d had Madame Dravis make it especially, to cheer Tasha up.


    ¡°It won¡¯t keep the rain off,¡± Sesi said, ¡°but it¡¯ll keep you warm and get you looking regal.¡± And once she had her caul on, her hair would be dry anyway.


    She couldn¡¯t have survived without Sesi. Her storybooks had made the life of a Lady seem easy. But there were a thousand and one obscure rules and social graces to remember, and many of them had lost any basis in logic that they might once have had. Guessing wasn¡¯t an option.


    By midday the rain had given way to dry sun, and she took off the overcoat gratefully. Sesi insisted that she take it with her all the same; if the rain came again, it would be no excuse that it was sunny when she left home. A true queen was supposed to be descended from the Gods, after all, and a child of the Emerald Blood would never be surprised by changing weather. So she gave the coat to Eva, who trotted behind her still struggling to fold it neatly away.


    They¡¯d spent two hours on her hair this morning, and a further hour on her face. She was determined to impress. Barbara Flower was her oldest friend, her oldest and dearest. The two had been girls together at home and at school, and they¡¯d roomed together at Raconesta for a term. Tash had dropped out when she fell in love with Oliver, and she and Bab had barely seen each other since. But as luck would have it they were both on Essegena.


    There¡¯d been no more sign of Tasha¡¯s would-be assassin, but Oliver was taking no chances. There was a guard stationed outside her bedchambers day and night, and if ever she left the premises she had to have two with her. Today¡¯s escort was Dallyatt and Kirkham. They kept quiet and held back out of the way.


    The businesses of the plaza weren¡¯t suffering from the morning¡¯s rain. They were thriving. The grass was neatly trimmed, and the jettied buildings resplendent. Last time Tash had been here, many months ago now, most of them were only foundations. Now it was a motley selection. Madame Dravis¡¯ emporium was recognisable from its lavishly painted signage. Dom Beswick¡¯s hunting shop on the shipside corner sold both the equipment for hunts and the product of them. Game birds hung upside down on one side of the door, dripping blood into a wooden trough.


    Next door was the Tavern, the plaza¡¯s only eatery. The place had no other name. Above the door, a crude sketch of a griffin hung¡ªa great identifier if only it were possible for a layperson to realise it was supposed to be a griffin. It looked more like a melted chair. And there was Barbara, leaning against the Tavern¡¯s wall.


    ¡°Tasha!¡± Barbara waved at her excitedly. She hadn¡¯t changed a bit. Her hair was just the way she¡¯d worn it since she was thirteen years old; it was long, but folded back on itself and clipped on the top of her head so it was impossible to tell exactly how long. Two thin prongs hung down over each ear, separated from the rest by little blue bands. The style had suited the child Barbara used to be, and even the young professional learning her trade in medical school. But now, she was in her thirties, her skin slightly waxy and her eyelids faintly wrinkled. On the woman stood in the shade of the Tavern, that hair was infantile.


    She complimented it all the same. That was the right thing to do. ¡°There¡¯s no mistaking little Bab,¡± she said.


    ¡°Nor Natasha Caerlin.¡±


    Tash chose not to acknowledge Bab¡¯s use of her full name. She knew Tash hated it, but then she¡¯d taken Tema¡¯s side in the hospital, when Tema had decided to be a bitch and not let Tash have a scan. Bab had almost certainly called her ¡®Natasha¡¯ on purpose. Tash wouldn¡¯t rise to it. She¡¯d be the better woman. ¡°It¡¯s Wrack, now.¡±


    ¡°Of course. I can¡¯t believe I forgot you were married.¡± Barbara pinched Tash¡¯s cheek gently. ¡°You used to tell me that would never be you. Used to insist on it.¡±


    Tash¡¯s smile was a thin one. ¡°Times change. Perhaps if you¡¯d accepted my invitation, you¡¯d have remembered.¡±


    ¡°I wish I¡¯d been there,¡± Bab said, her tone pure ice. ¡°You could have done with someone to smack some sense into you. Although I suppose it¡¯s bad luck to strike a bride on her wedding day. Even if she is being a bitch.¡±


    ¡°You slapped me once, do you remember? When I told Mac Siner he could find better girls than you in a whorehouse. Didn¡¯t hurt then. Wouldn¡¯t hurt now, either.¡±


    ¡°You betting on that?¡±


    Sesi appeared between them in a flash of russet and green. ¡°Lady, perhaps we should go into the Tavern. Whilst there¡¯s still a table free.¡±


    The guards were decent enough to wait outside. Kirkham promised Tash they¡¯d be there when she was done, though she didn¡¯t really care if they were or not.


    Inside, they were greeted by a canary-haired waitress. She led them to the very back of the Tavern, to a booth tucked out of the way, and bustled off after setting down a menu. A great hearth nearby would have kept them toasty, but it hadn¡¯t been lit. Tash took the innermost seat, and Bab sat herself catercorner, the maids squeezing in wherever they could fit.


    ¡°How has it taken us so long to meet?¡± Tash said.


    ¡°We did meet that one time. In the hospital.¡±


    ¡°Oh yes. When you pretended not to have any room for me? I remember it well.¡±


    Barbara shook her head. ¡°It wasn¡¯t like that, Tasha. I¡¯ve got to stand by Tema. She¡¯s my friend, just as much as you are.¡±


    ¡°So be the diplomat,¡± said Tash, her voice rising.


    Sesi squeezed her arm. ¡°Lady,¡± she cautioned. She had a point. Tash was getting cross. She could feel her temper flaring, and that never ended well.


    ¡°It¡¯s been months since then,¡± she said. ¡°We should have got together at least seven or eight times by now.¡±


    ¡°They keep us busy, in the hospital,¡± said Bab. ¡°Long shifts doing nothing, and then I¡¯m too tired afterwards to do anything other than sleep. But as luck would have it, I was off shift when your sister quarantined the place, so I can¡¯t get to work. There¡¯s always got to be one of us at Peseltane in case somebody needs help, but I think we¡¯ve had maybe six patients since the hospital locked down. The rest of the time¡¯s been my own. Godsouls, I haven¡¯t had time off like this since I got my license.¡±


    Tash laughed. ¡°There¡¯s nothing better than time off.¡±


    ¡°Enjoy it while you can.¡± Bab gestured at her belly. ¡°Once that thing pops you won¡¯t have a day for years. My cousin Greta reckons she learned to function on two hours¡¯ sleep, and that if she was lucky.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m under no illusions,¡± Tash said.


    ¡°You have us to assist you,¡± Sesi purred. ¡°It won¡¯t be any burden, truly.¡±


    ¡°Well, there we go. The perks of high society, Bab. You should have tried it while you could.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not the life I wanted,¡± said Bab. ¡°Don¡¯t get me wrong, I¡¯m enjoying the chance to rest a bit, but I think I¡¯d go crazy if this was my every day. As it is, it feels a bit like a reward for service.¡±


    Eva¡¯s eyes bulged. ¡°Don¡¯t you get paid a wage?¡±


    ¡°That too,¡± Bab laughed.


    The waitress came close by their table, leading a group of women to adjacent seats. Each of the women had the same mustard-yellow powder on their cheeks, and each wore skimpy overcoats and scowls. Tash recognised them all¡ªFiouhart and Peulion, Morningay and Aster, all the usual crowd. No amount of yellow powder could hide Fiouhart¡¯s mole. Tash willed the waitress to walk on, and sit the ladies far away, where Tash couldn¡¯t see them and they couldn¡¯t see her. But the waitress indicated a table directly across from hers. She looked away as Fiouhart sat across from her with a smirk.


    ¡°Would you like any drinks?¡± asked the waitress. Her voice was soft and gentle, the sort of voice made for reading bedtime stories to small children. Tash made a note to speak to Oliver. He might be able to pull some strings and get the waitress brought into their service in time for little Jem¡¯s arrival. They ordered, though the options were limited¡ªspring water or a selection of ales and ciders, and she dared not risk harming her baby with alcohol. At least water came cheap. Barbara and the maids would be glad of that.


    When the waitress turned away, Tash locked eyes with moley Fiouhart. The bitch nudged the lady next to her, and the two shared a laugh. Tash blinked away a tear that had the gall to form in her eye, and turned to Barbara. ¡°When was the last time we ate a meal together?¡±


    ¡°Too long ago,¡± Barbara said. ¡°It feels like another lifetime.¡±


    ¡°I used to think we¡¯d always have each other. I thought our lives would run parallel. What would have happened if I¡¯d never left the academy? Would we still have drifted apart?¡±


    ¡°It happens to us all in the end. I don¡¯t think I¡¯m in touch with anybody from the academy anymore, save for the ones who are working with me here. Do you remember Hannah Thorne?¡±


    Tash snorted. ¡°Hannah Thorne? How could I forget Hannah Thorne? She had such a high opinion of herself¡ªonce, she actually told me she was going to be High Commissioner by the time she turned thirty.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s not too bad, once you get to know her. Lazy, though. Somehow it¡¯s always her turn to man the reception desk. I¡¯m sure she¡¯s got her eye on one of the orderlies, but I can¡¯t work out which one.¡±


    ¡°Whoever it is, I hope he¡¯s ready for a swift rise up the ranks.¡± Tash held her hand out, thumb and forefinger barely an inch apart. ¡°She¡¯s this close to becoming a big shot.¡±


    ¡°Just needs a fair crack at the whip,¡± Barbara laughed. ¡°Anyway, why are we wasting time talking about Hannah Thorne? We¡¯ve got a big shot here. I understand you¡¯re a queen now. Should I kneel before you?¡±


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    ¡°It¡¯s not a proper title,¡± said Tash, acting bashful. ¡°My Jem¡¯s to be the king, when he¡¯s a bit older. I¡¯ve just got to keep his seat warm for him.¡±


    ¡°Good Mother, I never thought I¡¯d live to see a queen. And especially not my friend Tash,¡± Barbara cooed. ¡°You¡¯ll give me great bounties, won¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Lady Tasha won¡¯t have any powers,¡± said Eva, butting in.


    Sesi pulled Eva back, and Tash chastised her. ¡°Thank-you, Eva, but I don¡¯t need your help to talk to my friends.¡± She raised a hand to scratch her nose, and lowered it when she noticed one of the society ladies coming over to their table. If Felicity Peulion wasn¡¯t born with money, she¡¯d have lived a lonely life. Mountaineers had lost their lives tackling less formidable ridges than Peulion¡¯s nose.


    ¡°Mistress Wrack,¡± Peulion said. ¡°Did you enjoy your swim? It did look refreshing. Please, you must introduce me to these friends of yours.¡± She looked at Sesi in her dress of forest-green, and Eva in hers of black. ¡°Oh, are these your maids? Apologies. I¡¯ve never seen a queen sitting with her staff before. They have at least stopped sniffling now.¡±


    Eva reddened, and Sesi scowled at Peulion.


    Bab pivoted in her chair, and stood to kiss Peulion on the cheek in formal greeting. Lady Nose sidestepped the kiss, and Bab sat down again red-faced.


    ¡°You are ever the charitable one, Mistress Wrack.¡± Peulion¡¯s barbed tongue was dripping with mockery. ¡°For someone so clearly important to dine in the company of not only maids but the lesser people too.¡±


    ¡°Who are you calling ¡®lesser people¡¯?¡± Bab spat. Peulion regarded her with disinterest for a second, then batted her away with the back of a hand.


    ¡°Class can¡¯t be painted on, Mistress Wrack. You paint your cheeks yellow instead of pink, and you wear fine clothes, but you don¡¯t fool a single person. And the Governor calls you queen? He must be blind. You¡¯re as far as it gets from being a queen. You wear the mask of society, and it¡¯s repulsive on you. Come and find me when you realise how ridiculous you look.¡± Behind her, the rest of her ladies were in raptures. Peulion returned to her seat, and Tash fumed.


    The waitress returned with their drinks then, and Tash drank half of her water stewing in silence.


    ¡°They¡¯re not worth your time,¡± said Bab. ¡°Who cares what people like that think?¡±


    ¡°¡®People like that¡¯? Bab, those ladies have power. Half of them are married to the people who make the decisions here.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the Queen of the Valley, Tash.¡±


    ¡°Which means exactly nothing,¡± said Tash. ¡°It¡¯s just a target for them to lock on to.¡±


    Bab drank deeply from her cup. She¡¯d opted for an ale, and had a glass full of sticky brown liquid. She swallowed, and then followed that up with a belch that prompted tutting from Fiouhart and Peulion and the other ladies. ¡°They don¡¯t seem like nice people, Tash. Why should it matter what power they have?¡±


    It was a valid question. Why should it matter? But that wasn¡¯t Tasha¡¯s debate to have. The fact was that they had power, and it did matter. The Governor¡¯s whole plan was predicated on optics. Tasha was the figurehead because she looked the part. She was beautiful and elegant, with a noble name and a fertile body. She was to be Essegena¡¯s first mother, just as if she was the rebirth of the Mother. If people started to get the idea that she was somehow unworthy of her status, somehow inferior, that whole house would collapse in on itself. The Governor would cut ties before it brought his plan to its knees. She¡¯d be out in the cold, and Oliver would be too.


    Which was why she had to prove that she was better than the ladies of society. Better than Peulion and Fiouhart. Because she was, and if they opened their eyes maybe they¡¯d see.


    Sesi spoke quietly at Tash¡¯s shoulder. ¡°They think you unworthy. That can¡¯t stand, Lady. You have to show them that you belong.¡±


    ¡°What else can I do, Sesi? I¡¯m dressed the part.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re small-minded, Lady. Act like them, and they¡¯ll forget you¡¯re not.¡±


    ¡°I say you find better company than that, Tash,¡± said Bab. ¡°And the darkness can consume them if they bother you.¡±


    Tash gripped her half-cup of water tightly. ¡°Peulion¡¯s right, though. How can I be like them if I associate with lesser people?¡± She wasn¡¯t sure why she did it, but she found herself standing, holding the cup over Bab¡¯s head. And she poured. Bab and her precious hair were soaked.


    ¡°Tasha!¡± Bab had a shrill cry. It was almost amusing.


    When the cup was empty, Tash cast it aside. It bounced along the table, and Eva caught it before it rolled onto the floor.


    Perhaps if she¡¯d stopped then, the situation could have been salvaged, but she was functioning on autopilot. While Bab was spluttering and dripping, Tash picked up the cup of ale, and upturned it over her friend. Bab sat drenched, rivulets of amber trickling down her face and onto her clothes. She was biting back tears. Her voice quavered. ¡°Why would you do that?¡±


    If I apologise now, we can move past this. ¡°Lady Peulion¡¯s right. I¡¯m the queen. I should find company befitting my status. You¡¯re unworthy. Dirty. It¡¯s what you deserve.¡± She seemed to have no control over the words that left her mouth. Bab was keeping her eyes fixed on her feet. Eva¡¯s eyes were wide. But at least the society ladies knew she was like them.


    She looked over at Fiouhart and Peulion and the rest, hoping at least one of them had seen what she did. It was clear from their faces that they had. Fiouhart rolled her eyes, and all of them were shaking their heads. One of them spat in Tash¡¯s direction.


    Bab¡¯s chair scraped loudly on the floor as she got to her feet, ale still running in beads of sienna off her hair. Tash reached to grab her arm, but Bab shook her off.


    ¡°Bab¡ª¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve changed, Tash. I thought I¡¯d just caught you on a bad day, at the hospital, but clearly I was a fool.¡± There was a clear quaver to Bab¡¯s voice. ¡°I hope you like who you are. I really do.¡± She left the Tavern to the sound of silence, and the creak of the door as it swung shut behind her was agony. Sesi and Eva followed after Bab, to ¡®make things right¡¯, and Tash was alone.


    Her appetite was gone.


    Kirkham came to find her, eventually, and as good as carried her home. She crawled to her comfy chair in the solar and sat in a silent funk for an hour or six or however long it was before Oliver returned from his day¡¯s business. He was sure to be furious with her. He¡¯d express it as disappointment, and try to pretend that she hadn¡¯t really done anything wrong, but she¡¯d feel guilty all the same. She hated feeling guilty.


    The maids picked up on her foul mood, borne partly out of anger at her own idiocy and partly hatred of Barbara for putting her in a position wherein she was forced to make an embarrassment of herself. They stayed clear. Not even Sesi dared poke her head through the door. So Tash was alone with her thoughts, and the more she was alone the worse she felt. By the time Oliver arrived, she was feeling fool enough. She really didn¡¯t need him being disappointed with her.


    He wasn¡¯t. He was angry, in a way she¡¯d seldom seen before. ¡°What were you thinking, Tasha? Have you lost your mind entirely?¡± If he shouted any louder, the beams supporting the ceiling were like to collapse. She cowered away, unwilling to face him. ¡°Well? Do you have an answer for yourself?¡±


    She looked doggedly away. ¡°No.¡± Her voice was barely a squeak.


    ¡°Pardon?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got no explanation,¡± she said, speaking properly this time. ¡°I was an idiot.¡±


    ¡°Yes you were,¡± said Oliver. ¡°An idiot. An idiot who just made a spectacle out of herself in the most public way possible. Have you no eye for the optics? The Council could well decide that they don¡¯t want you being their queen after all, and I wouldn¡¯t be inclined to disagree with them.¡±


    ¡°Oliver, you don¡¯t mean that.¡± He knew this was her dream. He¡¯d always sworn to support her in her dreams, as best he could, no matter what may happen.


    But he nodded. ¡°Yes, I do. Barbara Flower is your friend. Was your friend¡ªI very much doubt she¡¯ll want anything to do with you in future. More than that, she¡¯s a nurse. Do you not know everything that¡¯s going on? The hospital are heroes in the eyes of the people. What could she have possibly said that would provoke you to humiliate her like that? Eva tells me you called her ¡®dirty¡¯. I¡¯ve met Barbara. She¡¯s not dirty. What she is is upset. Sesala had to sit with her for well over an hour just to get her to calm down.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t think she¡¯d be so weepy,¡± said Tasha.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t call it weepy,¡± said Oliver. ¡°If she¡¯d done to you even half of what you did to her, you¡¯d be moaning about it for the rest of the month. The difference is that you¡¯re not afraid to let your anger show. Barbara cries to let off steam instead, and there¡¯s nothing wrong with that. If anything, it¡¯s healthier.¡±


    Tasha pulled away from him. ¡°I don¡¯t know why you¡¯re acting like I¡¯m some sort of irrational block of rage that¡¯s permanently about to go off.¡±


    ¡°Well, aren¡¯t you?¡± Oliver moved across to be closer to her. ¡°Something made you feel justified in drenching Barbara, insulting her, degrading her.¡±


    ¡°The Ladies were there. Fiouhart and Peulion. They were laughing at me, because I was with Sesi and Eva.¡±


    Oliver covered his face with a hand. ¡°Good Mother, you¡¯re unbelievable. Would you just listen to yourself? You were being mocked, so that made it okay for you to do the same and more to somebody else? You bring me to despair sometimes, Tasha. Really you do.¡±


    Her face was running with tears. She wanted to hate Oliver for yelling at her, but she could only muster up hatred for herself. What a prime idiot she was. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she sobbed. ¡°I wish I could take it back.¡±


    Oliver didn¡¯t respond straight away. He stood there before her, his breathing heavy, hands on his hips, watching her. ¡°You¡¯re going to be a queen, Tasha. You need to be better.¡± He wasn¡¯t shouting anymore. This was a voice of disappointment¡ªno, despair. He was despairing of her.


    ¡°I will be better,¡± she nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll stop getting angry.¡±


    ¡°I hope so.¡± He sounded like her father, when he talked to her like this. The realisation made her go cold. With a sigh, Oliver sat down beside her on her sofa. He put an arm around her and pulled her in tight, and she pressed her head into his chest. ¡°I don¡¯t like being cross with you, Tash. I shouldn¡¯t be shouting¡ªhow can I tell you your behaviour was wrong when I¡¯m being just as childish?¡±


    ¡°No, you¡¯re right to shout. I¡¯m clearly not learning.¡±


    He kissed the top of her head. ¡°Come on, why don¡¯t we get you something nice and hot to drink?¡±


    Tash murmured her assent.


    Oliver called out for Eva, who appeared at once, pushing the door open tentatively. ¡°Master Wrack?¡±


    ¡°My wife would like a mug of chocolate, if that¡¯s not too much trouble.¡±


    Eva shook her head. ¡°Not at all. I¡¯ll speak to Nickie.¡±


    ¡°I did have some business with you, too,¡± said Oliver. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m not going to get cross again. Not unless there¡¯s something you haven¡¯t told me.¡±


    Tash shook her head. ¡°The Tavern was bad enough. I couldn¡¯t have done anything else wrong even I¡¯d wanted to.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad of that,¡± said Oliver. ¡°Tash, tomorrow there¡¯s to be a grand ceremony at the church on the hill.¡±


    She looked at him. ¡°What church?¡± She couldn¡¯t ever remember seeing a church on Essegena.


    ¡°The church on the hill,¡± said Oliver. ¡°Up on the north-west side.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know it,¡± said Tash.


    ¡°Well, you¡¯ll see tomorrow. When the time comes, you¡¯ll make a vow there to devote yourself to the interests of Essegena¡¯s people. It¡¯s a necessary step if you¡¯re to become a queen. Tomorrow the church is to be consecrated. They call it the Cleansing ceremony¡ªnot sure why, never looked it up. Presumably the Lightness will read a few passages and say some words, and that¡¯ll be that. You¡¯re to be there. It¡¯s a bad look if you don¡¯t go, and we can both agree that you don¡¯t need any more bad looks at the moment.¡±


    ¡°Churches are boring,¡± she moaned, lifting her head. ¡°Must I be there?¡±


    Oliver nodded. ¡°You must. It¡¯s part of being a queen. You don¡¯t just get to skip out on the boring parts. I¡¯ll be there too, so it¡¯s not as if I¡¯m making you suffer because I¡¯m cross with you. If being a queen is much a dream as you¡¯ve always professed it to be, then I can¡¯t imagine this will be difficult for you at all. It¡¯s just sitting, after all. You won¡¯t even have to speak to people, if you don¡¯t want to.¡±


    Tash sighed. ¡°Fine.¡±


    ¡°Can I rely on you not to cause a scene? Today was bad enough¡ªI spoke to Barbara, and she just wants to forget about what happened, so it should fade away. If you pour a drink over the Lightness, you¡¯ll probably torpedo your dreams of being queen.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t do that,¡± she complained.


    ¡°I know you wouldn¡¯t,¡± said Oliver. ¡°But I need to be sure that you know you shouldn¡¯t too, just in case the temptation hits you.¡± He laughed.


    She flicked his nose. ¡°Careful, or I¡¯ll tip a drink over your head.¡±


    ¡°Please don¡¯t. Cocoa is hot, I¡¯ll be very badly burned.¡±


    As if responding to mention of the word, Eva returned with a piping mug of cocoa, full nearly to the brim, which she held precariously between hands as she minced her way across the room. She set it down on the table beside Tasha and crept out of the solar, keeping her distance as much as she possibly could. Tash watched her go and sighed. ¡°They don¡¯t respect me anymore, do they? The maids?¡±


    ¡°Of course they do. They¡¯ll always respect you, Tash, because you are their Lady. They just might get a bit anxious in your company. I assure you, they have short memories. By this time tomorrow, they¡¯ll have forgotten all about the affair at the Tavern. Trust me.¡±


    Tash smiled at Oliver. ¡°I always trust you.¡±

 57. The Cleansing

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Ian ~


    Late last night in the old stone fortress


    Where our forebears would die to save us


    There I saw, dancing free and careless


    Was a girl come wand¡¯ring


    The voice of the singer carried far, even amongst the noise of the crowd. The valley had become something of a festival ground, and this feeling had only been enhanced by the morning¡¯s heat. Later on the throng would start up towards the church. For now there was only the fun and song. Chris had called today a holiday, a pause in the work to celebrate the consecration of the church, and the bringing of the Gods to Essegena. And a day to forget about the tragedy of the hospital.


    They were still locked up, the doctors. Master Stockton, having recently passed the lockdown, had reported a macabre state of affairs. Caroline was dead. Even thinking it made Ian feel sick. And it never felt real, no matter how often it was repeated, but it was one point on which Stockton was quite certain. He¡¯d been quarantined for two days before he was allowed to leave the hospital, and confined to his quarters for a further week.


    But the sickness hadn¡¯t spread. Day and week went by and no cases emerged in the valley. Those businesses in the plaza which had shuttered their doors in fear were beginning to open them again. Mary Snyder was done with cowering in the walls of her dressmakers, and at last Millie was free to leave. Ian had spoken with her last night. She¡¯d been too happy to be free, and forgotten her capacity for drinking. Ian and Sergeant Pratley had carried Millie home between them. This morning she¡¯d been unresponsive, so Ian had left Sergeant Pratley outside her door.


    Later, they¡¯d meet.


    In the heart of the plaza, people had gathered to watch as two teams played a rough game of hurney. Ian recognised his guard Corcoran as one of eight in powder-blue jerseys battling over possession of a small round ball. Amongst the men of Ian¡¯s guard, Corcoran stood out as the weakest, but here amongst regular people he seemed a physical titan. As Ian moved such that he¡¯d get a clear view, Corcoran received the ball from a ratty woman. He threw the ball such that it curled in the air, sailing over the shoulder of the green-and-yellow opponent closest and landing a direct hit on the rear of the three scoring posts. The post was wrenched from the ground and fell amid cheers.


    ¡°Bravo,¡± Ian applauded. While the post was returned to the ground, he turned his attention away from the game.


    The Hookbill was sat in the shade cast by a huge willow, the tallest tree in the park. It poked hard at the sky, and down at its foot it was as dark as night. Still, somehow, the Hookbill was playing with his cards. Ian had seen him from time to time out of the corner of his eye. The cards never came into the council chamber of Government Hall, but elsewhere he was never without them.


    Ian found himself heading towards the Hookbill, and as he got closer he realised that the Speaker wasn¡¯t trying his hand at another round of solitaire. He held the cards in his hands as he looked over them one by one, a mournful look on his face.


    ¡°You and those cards, you¡¯re inseparable.¡± Ian sat himself down on the grass beside the Hookbill. Hot as the sun was, it hadn¡¯t touched the willowshade. He winced as lingering dew soaked into his trousers. ¡°Put them away, Master Prendergast. Enjoy the festivities.¡±


    The Hookbill looked at Ian, the cards momentarily forgotten. ¡°I don¡¯t see that there¡¯s anything worth celebrating.¡±


    Ian raised his hands to the bright sky. ¡°Look at this weather. What more reason do we need?¡±


    The Hookbill shook his head. ¡°If only you knew. You might think you¡¯re worldly wise, Fitzhenry, but you have a strange way of showing it. No, don¡¯t look at me like that¡ªI know all about you and Daniella Carrigan. It isn¡¯t a secret.¡±


    ¡°It is to people who aren¡¯t you,¡± said Ian through gritted teeth, his light mood suddenly darkened.


    ¡°True,¡± the Hookbill nodded. ¡°But I have the misfortune to be people who are me. A lot of poets like to pretend that the weather is changeable, that it can somehow come to reflect the day. Thus people celebrate the sun, because what bad could happen on a clear day like this? Those same people will wish away the rain¡ªthe life-giving rain, without which we¡¯d all die¡ªout of some misguided belief that the rain is for the bad days.¡±


    ¡°In my experience, it holds true enough,¡± said Ian.


    ¡°Does it? Tell me about Daniella Carrigan¡¯s last day.¡± The Hookbill peered close into Ian¡¯s eyes. ¡°I think we can both agree that it counts as a bad day.¡±


    ¡°You know everything you need to know already, Master Prendergast. Don¡¯t try to make me to relive my worst day. I¡¯ll not dwell there.¡±


    Prendergast swung himself around, leaned in closer to Ian. Their faces were just a foot or so apart when the Hookbill whispered: ¡°Tell me.¡±


    And by some strange compulsion, Ian spoke. ¡°She was head over heels, talking all about Chris and how they were going to be married. And that wasn¡¯t right. Chris was supposed to marry Caroline¡ªthat¡¯s what Caro wanted, and what Caro deserved. How could I let Dani Carrigan win? Caro was crushed when she found out about Chris and Dani, and every time she heard them talking about their nuptials it was just another boulder on her. She was about to break¡ªthis beautiful girl, this clever, funny girl¡ªand nobody could see it. So I went to Dani. I told her Chris had sent me. He wanted to meet her up on the Irdingley Hill. A lie of course, Chris didn¡¯t know anything about it.¡±


    He paused to take a breath. All those old emotions were back with him, and somehow worse now that Caroline was gone. She¡¯d been the cork bottling them away, the reassurance that things were alright in the end. Without her all the darkness spilled out. He heard the song Dani had sang as they walked up the hill. He saw the fear on her face when she saw Chris wasn¡¯t there. He felt the wet hair on his hands as he held her beneath the surface. The day played out in flashes¡ªDani¡¯s clammy face, blue and unmoving, as he begged her to wake up; Mistress Carrigan howling in her husband¡¯s arms as the watchman carried their daughter into Borrowood; Caroline¡¯s face when she heard the news, the grief for a friend and yet the unmistakeable flicker of relief behind it.


    That was the day he¡¯d let Caroline go. He¡¯d lost her, too, just as he¡¯d lost Dani. And all he¡¯d gained was an unending weight on his heart, which was slowly pressing the life out of him.


    ¡°It was raining, of course,¡± said the Hookbill. ¡°Being a bad day.¡±


    ¡°What difference does it make? Yes, probably.¡± But no. No, it couldn¡¯t have been raining. Dani had worn only a little dress and no jacket. She¡¯d have been soaked, if it was raining. ¡°No, it was sunny,¡± said Ian. ¡°It was a bright, sunny day, just like this one.¡±


    The Hookbill nodded. ¡°The bright sunny days have a way of being the worst of all. I had a good friend¡ªHetty, her name was. It was a bright sunny day when she died, just like this. She was murdered, Fitzhenry, for loving the wrong person.¡±


    ¡°Harsh penance,¡± Ian muttered, his voice hoarse.


    ¡°It was long ago. Why dwell on the past?¡±


    Dani¡¯s face swam into Ian¡¯s thoughts. ¡°Because sometimes the past is all we have,¡± he said.


    He made the long walk up to Skerrett¡¯s church while the sun was at its apex, the noonday heat toasting him and drawing sticky sweat out of his feet. Millie met him outside Hultry¡¯s stables. She looked resplendent, wearing a ceremony gown of bright blue and gold that hugged tightly to her figure. ¡°If I wear something frumpy, they might think I want to join them,¡± she explained.


    There was no Sergeant Pratley today. Ian had promised not to pry into his past, but damn it if he wasn¡¯t curious. Whatever had happened between Sergeant Pratley and the church, its effect had been powerful. The man would not even entertain the prospect of accompanying them. When Ian reminded him that he was an employee, and his refusal to go where asked could constitute grounds for termination¡ªnot as a way to threaten Pratley but out of curiosity as to what lengths the Sergeant would go to stay clear of the church¡ªPratley shrugged and said he¡¯d rather be fired.


    Playing the Sergeant¡¯s part today were a pair of low-level guardsmen, burly bearded Harry Gorman and acne-ridden stick Harry Lappeter. The Harries had been hand-picked by Sergeant Pratley to come to the church today. There wasn¡¯t a man alive who was better than the Sergeant at what he did, but two of them combined was almost equal.


    Ian said little to Millie during the walk. It was time for his thoughts. To her credit, she seemed to understand not to interrupt. Ian was the highest authority today, divine ones excepted¡ªthe government¡¯s representative at the ceremony. Chris would not be there. He¡¯d not left his chambers since he heard of Caroline¡¯s death.


    Ian had never had the chance to grieve. Caro was married to Chris, not to him. She was not his to mourn. And somebody must be there to carry on even after the loss of a dear friend. That was all Caro was to him, a dear friend. He¡¯d been disavowed of any pretences at something more when he was still a boy. He was always the one she came to when she needed to talk, when she was scared. He would have killed for her. He did. But she was not his to love, then or ever. He¡¯d married Elise to escape that love for Caro, and he¡¯d come here to escape that marriage. He thought the love had gone.


    The past week had been an alien experience for him. Everything was faded and dull, like he wasn¡¯t really living it. As best as he was able, he had tried to fill Chris¡¯ weighty shoes. The Council was more than shouting matches. But Ian couldn¡¯t be certain he¡¯d actually been there. His memories were of somebody else, a stranger occupying his body. Twice already Millie had found him alone in his bedchamber, hours after he got home, without even having taken his shoes off. Apparently she was now such a familiar sight that the guards were happy to just let her in.


    She kissed him, the first time, to cheer him up. But his mind had been occupied by his grief, and the guilt¡ªthe absurd guilt¡ªthat he felt for daring to feel that grief.


    The second time, she¡¯d sat with him, and listened while he told her all his childhood stories. All except that one. That one he¡¯d never tell. He felt better when he¡¯d said it all. Less of a fool. He returned to occupy his own body, and once more he was really there. Only in the evenings, when he was alone, did he stop to think of lost things.


    Millie squeezed his hand as they wound their way up the west hill.


    They were greeted at the top by none other than Molly Bradshaw, dressed in a robe of pure white, and with her face painted almost an equal shade. An escoffion trimmed with gilded beads adorned her head. She ran to embrace Millie, like the two of them were long-lost friends. ¡°Mils. You came.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m so happy for you.¡±


    Ian watched their excited gabble with wry amusement. They spoke as though Molly Bradshaw was a blushing bride awaiting her wedding. And just as suddenly, they parted. At once Molly¡¯s tone became that of a professional damsel, courteous and respectful and brimming with brevity.


    ¡°Welcome, Master Fitzhenry.¡± She offered a hand for him to shake, and he did so. He watched her face closely. The lie had to fall away at some point, give way to some tell. Nobody could keep up this pretence forever. But she only stared at him, with a resolved frown that said ¡®I know you know, and I won¡¯t give you the satisfaction of evidence¡¯.


    As expected, Molly¡¯s father wasn¡¯t long in arriving. Mark Bradshaw had cleaned up for a change. He looked a respectable statesman in well-fitted clothes, a brown tailcoat and matching boots of leather, shorn of the half-beard he always had. His face was a smile. He hugged his daughter as soon as he saw her, lifting her off the ground. ¡°My sweet girl, I¡¯m so proud.¡±


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    ¡°Daddy, I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d be here.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re my little fr¨¦a. There isn¡¯t a mountain or a monster or a stubborn policymaker could stop me from being here to see you.¡± General Bradshaw turned to Ian. ¡°My Molly¡¯s been chosen. The Lightness says she¡¯s the most devout he¡¯s ever seen.¡±


    ¡°You must be so happy for her.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I am.¡± Bradshaw shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s not the path I imagined for her, but then she always listened to her mother more. You know what it¡¯s like.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t,¡± said Ian. ¡°I¡¯ve never had any myself.¡±


    Bradshaw pointed a finger at Millie. ¡°You want to get busy then. That one¡¯s prime breeding stock, she¡¯ll give you headstrong babes. Oh, there¡¯s nothing better than watching them grow.¡±


    ¡°Where¡¯s Megan?¡± Molly Bradshaw looked suddenly worried. ¡°Is she here?¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t hold out any hopes, Molly. You know how your sister is. She knows her own mind, better than you. If she¡¯s not already persuaded, there¡¯s no persuading her.¡±


    Molly cast her eyes to her feet. ¡°I hoped she¡¯d come.¡±


    ¡°There, there.¡± Mark Bradshaw consoled his daughter. ¡°I¡¯ll save a seat for her, just in case she¡¯s on her way. And afterwards, Molly, we¡¯ll go to the Clearwater and you can tell me all about today. How does that sound?¡±


    Molly nodded. ¡°Yes, that would be lovely.¡±


    General Bradshaw smiled and squeezed his daughter¡¯s hand. ¡°I¡¯ll see you inside, I suspect,¡± he said, with a glance, to Ian. And both Bradshaws walked away.


    Millie was scowling as she watched them go. ¡°Breeding stock? Does he think I¡¯m cattle?¡±


    ¡°Sir.¡± One of the Harries stepped into view. They¡¯d been keeping their distance effectively until now, and Millie jumped upon seeing him. ¡°Captain Clifford wants a word.¡±


    ¡°Captain Clifford?¡±


    Sure enough, David was there, talking to the other Harry. He nodded his head to Ian.


    ¡°David! I didn¡¯t know you were religious.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m as religious as you are, Fitz,¡± David laughed. ¡°But the Constabulary¡¯s here as security today. I¡¯m on business.¡±


    So will I, thought Ian. And I¡¯ll get to do my business from a comfortable gallery, in the company of a pretty girl. So I win. David had always countenanced a career at arms. ¡°That¡¯s where the ladies are. They open themselves for soldiers.¡± The evidence borne of the last twenty years didn¡¯t follow. Nobody had ever seen David in the company of a gushing girl. Today, he¡¯d be standing in the swelter. Today wouldn¡¯t be his breakthrough.


    Ian could have said any of this, but he chose not to. ¡°I don¡¯t believe you¡¯ve met Millie Farmer. Millie, David is a long-standing friend of mine.¡±


    ¡°Charmed,¡± David grunted. ¡°Look, Ian, your guards are going to have to go.¡±


    ¡°I beg your pardon?¡±


    David sighed. ¡°Don¡¯t be difficult. You heard me plain. There will be plenty of security here from my Constabulary, I don¡¯t need private squads confusing things.¡±


    Ian wasn¡¯t the most enamoured with his personal security, but he had a curious condition whereby his resolve to keep something hardened when he was told to give it up. ¡°My soldiers aren¡¯t yours to dismiss.¡±


    ¡°Chris insisted¡ª¡±


    ¡°Did he?¡± He didn¡¯t recall the last time he was angry at David. It was probably a long time ago, in greener days, over a forgotten matter between children. Now again the serpent rose in a surge of fire. ¡°Chris has impressive foresight, it seems. He¡¯s shut himself away for a week, David. A week. So tell me when he insisted.¡±


    He felt a tugging at his arm. Millie. ¡°Leave it,¡± she implored him.


    ¡°Don¡¯t cause a scene, Ian. I know you¡¯re prone to temper.¡± David looked at him coolly. ¡°Dani is testament to that.¡±


    ¡°You leave Dani out of this. Especially if you¡¯re going to lie about her.¡± It was a lie, wasn¡¯t it? He didn¡¯t go up that hill with a temper. He didn¡¯t come back down with one either. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll concede. But I won¡¯t hear Dani¡¯s name from you again.¡± He didn¡¯t know what he would do if David did decide to talk about Dani, but he suspected the temper remark might be borne out by reality.


    He hooked his arm into Millie¡¯s, and gently eased her along.


    ¡°Oh. Are we going inside already?¡± She trotted gamely alongside him.


    ¡°If we want to get good seats.¡±


    He¡¯d expected a fair turnout, but he hadn¡¯t expected it to be as packed as this. At least a thousand had turned up, from all creeds and corners of the colony. The lower stalls of the church were packed to bursting; some were standing tucked against the columns at the edges of the room. The upper gallery was less filled, but even there the seats were limited. Ian spotted two unoccupied front-row seats and sidled into them. It was only after he¡¯d sat down that he noticed Mark Bradshaw in the seat beside him. By then it was too late. It would be poor form to move now.


    From up here, he had a great view of proceedings. Acolytes had positioned themselves in a crescent around the central dais; some were milling around the edges of the church, hanging censers on every dangling surface. Lightness Skerrett was nowhere to be seen.


    ¡°I thought General Bradshaw was saving his daughter a seat,¡± said Millie, her voice a whisper. Ian nudged her in the side, to beg silence. The General was close enough to hear every word she said. Ian didn¡¯t want him souring on her. But he still stole a glance to his right. There was no empty seat beside Bradshaw; he was sandwiched between Ian and Junius Morningay, whose wife was a reeve.


    ¡°What¡¯s the capacity on this place?¡± said Arthur Mannion, sat a little way behind Ian.


    ¡°They shouldn¡¯t be letting anybody else in,¡± said Oliver Wrack beside him. ¡°They want guards at the doors, turning people away.¡±


    ¡°And ruin the Governor¡¯s big event? Pah.¡± Mannion spat onto the ground.


    From up in the gallery it was impossible to see the main door, but a sudden hubbub told Ian that the Lightness had arrived. The crowd parted with an absence of decorum to let Skerrett through. Those who had failed to find seats, and who were consequently stood between the rows, squashed up against the filled benches, where they were pushed back by those who had already taken their seats. Flashes of green-and-yellow were dotted here and there. A couple of David¡¯s Constabulary guards, positioned close enough to intervene if the throng turned nasty, were looking nervously in the direction of the benches.


    ¡°Look at them,¡± Bradshaw said, his voice bitter. ¡°There¡¯s not a spine in them, you can see it in their faces. They¡¯re not a patch on my own people. If Clifford¡¯s going to insist on having only his men here, he should make sure they¡¯re up to the task.¡±


    ¡°They don¡¯t want to interfere,¡± said Ian.


    ¡°They¡¯re afraid to interfere. They won¡¯t do a thing unless they need to, and then they¡¯ll be far too slow. What if we have a crush on our hands?¡± Bradshaw shook his head and muttered something about ¡®amateur disgraces¡¯.


    Luck was on the side of the Constabulary today. Nothing happened beyond a few bad-tempered but ineffectual shoves. Lightness Skerrett passed by the crowds, and everything spilled back into shape behind him. Some of the aisle-dwellers, once they were free to move again, shuffled to the back of the church with their tails between their legs. Others remained, stood on tip-toes to try and see properly.


    Skerrett moved to the middle of the platform, directly beneath the highest point in the church. From there, the light of the sun shone on him. ¡°Today is our escape from the tyranny of the Unity,¡± he said, the last fragments of chatter dying as he began to speak. His voice boomed, bouncing off the walls. ¡°They saw fit to dictate to us how we should worship, how we should convene with the Gods. Ways which the Faithful have followed for tens of thousands of years were deemed immoral.¡± He chuckled as he said this. ¡°How can it be immoral to follow the wishes of the Gods? No, what is immoral is the conceit a man needs to apply his view of the world to a power higher than he can hope to achieve.¡±


    Millie frowned. ¡°I didn¡¯t know there was going to be a sermon.¡±


    ¡°My friends,¡± Skerrett continued, ¡°today we say ¡®no more¡¯. The Foundational Council are in agreement with us on this issue¡ªit is not the place of the secular man to speak for the Gods. Their commands are clear, and they are written for us in the Nineteen Books. They are the rules by which mankind lived as it grew to rule the stars. As once it was, so shall it be again. And we all will bear witness as a volunteer of the Faithful brings this church into the house of Nameth, the bosom of Fr¨¦reves, the safe realms of the Gods.¡±


    At the back of the church, a dozen or so congregants were sat on a flimsy bench. In the middle, her black hair contrasting with the pearl-white dress she wore, was Molly Bradshaw, sans her escoffion. She was very clearly the chosen one. Next to the rest of them, with their murky brown tunics, she was a gleaming pearl.


    ¡°Come to the front, Molly, dear.¡± Lightness Skerrett gestured to her. Those on either side of her turned and looked. Beside Ian, Mark Bradshaw was beaming, craning his neck to get a better view of his daughter. She rose slowly, and trembled as she walked towards the pulpit. Skerrett took hold of her hand as she reached him. He whispered something in her ear, and her cheeks flushed red.


    Skerrett turned to face the crowd again. ¡°Molly here has been a part of our congregation for many months now. She has prayed faithfully. It will be her honour to become our devotee, to mark this site as holy in the eyes of the Gods.¡± A general smattering of applause rang out. Bradshaw clapped the loudest. Skerrett smiled at Molly, then stood back, leaving her alone in the limelight. She seemed shy at the centre of attention, but she smiled nonetheless. She raised her hands in a half-hearted wave, then¡ªapparently thinking better of it¡ªlet them hang limp by her side.


    There was a certain girlish elegance to her. Ian had hated her for her father¡¯s sins, mistrusted her for her father¡¯s lies, but to see her there, bathed in the soft firelight of the church¡¯s many lanterns, that seemed unfair. Now, she was no more than a child in his eyes. And yet she could grow to be much more. Bradshaw had said she was destined for great things. Ian could agree with that. By the time she was her father¡¯s age, Molly might be a governor. In times of yore, she¡¯d have been the shy girl at the ball who drew the eye of the prince.


    ¡°I love you, Moll!¡± She looked up in response to her father¡¯s cry, waved at him.


    Forth then came Silent Jen, in her hands a silver crown. It was little more than a tiara, encrusted with lightly shimmering gemstones. Silent Jen placed the crown upon Molly¡¯s head while the girl watched with a nervous twitching of the eyes. Skerrett nodded his approval. Silent Jen bowed her head and returned to the amassed congregation.


    Bradshaw was beaming, Ian saw. His chest was puffed out with pride. Down on the dais, Molly had her hands to her head, touching gently the silver tiara, getting a feel for exactly how it was fitting.


    ¡°She looks so pretty,¡± Millie murmured.


    ¡°I can get you a crown, if you want,¡± said Ian.


    Millie shook her head. ¡°I¡¯d look terrible in a crown. And anyway, it¡¯s only pretty because of the honour.¡±


    Lightness Skerrett was moving forward again. Two more of the congregants were flanking him, lengths of rope clutched in their hands. Their faces were stony, expressionless.


    Millie nudged Ian. ¡°What do they need rope for?¡± she whispered. A good question.


    Molly only seemed to notice Skerrett as the old man reached her. As she turned to him, so one of the acolytes grabbed her arms. She jerked her arm as if to pull free, but the acolyte¡¯s grip was too firm. This wasn¡¯t something she¡¯d expected. She squealed and squirmed. Skerrett, hands locked together in front of him, shook his head. The two acolytes forced their rope around her wrists. They bound her arms tight together, hands clasped at the small of her back, then spun her roughly around to face the crowd. Even from the gallery, Ian could see that her cheeks were damp.


    Bradshaw was sat in his seat, his hands clenched so tightly that his knuckles were bright white. He shook his head faintly.


    ¡°In accordance with the teachings of our faith,¡± Skerrett said, ¡°we must anoint our church in the light of the Gods. A darkness is coming, and when it comes this temple must be a haven. There can be no quarter given for those who would undermine us.¡± He grabbed Molly from the acolytes, who scurried off to the back of the church. ¡°This girl has no faith. She comes to us to spy, to sow discord and disunity.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Molly wailed. ¡°It¡¯s not true. I swear it.¡±


    ¡°Recall the sad lesson of Berengue of the lilacs. An innocent girl she was, perhaps, but a faithless one, and ignorant of her appointed role in this society of mankind. Recall how she bled, and how in her death she cleansed the ground upon which that blood fell.¡± Skerrett¡¯s preaching was growing ever sinister. A heavy pit had formed in Ian¡¯s stomach, a knuckle squeezing itself ever tighter. Something¡¯s wrong.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Millie whispered.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t right,¡± said General Bradshaw. ¡°Somebody stop this.¡±


    ¡°The fruit gone bad cannot be allowed to spoil the rest,¡± Skerrett said. ¡°But we can still be enriched by its juices.¡± In a single deft movement, Skerrett pulled from the pocket of his tunic a small steel dagger. ¡°In death, she can bring us salvation.¡± He flicked his wrist. The dagger¡¯s blade slipped inside Molly¡¯s soft belly. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a gasp escaped. A strangled gasp. A growing wave of red stained the white fabric of her dress. Her hands grasped for the wound as if she meant to hold herself together. Fingers scraped at the cotton, blood spilling through them, and then slipped weakly away. Still the blood fell.


    Behind Ian, a woman cried out. He looked to see Oliver Wrack holding tightly onto his wife, who had buried her face in his bosom. Mark Bradshaw was whispering his daughter¡¯s name, over and over again, until it didn¡¯t feel like a real word. Down below, cries and shouts blended into a strange caterwauling. Those green-and-yellow shapes were not moving.


    Molly whimpered as Skerrett pulled the dagger out from her. Blood gushed onto the polished wooden floor. He grabbed her roughly by the arm, held her before the congregation. ¡°It is the will of the Gods that we consecrate our church with a maiden¡¯s blood,¡± he yelled over the crowd. ¡°Even ill intent cannot sour the blood of a virgin. The girl will die, and in return so shall we all survive.¡±


    Blood was beginning to come from Molly¡¯s mouth, streaming like twisted raindrops down her face. Each drop was sadistically engrossing. She openly wept now, and the tears met the blood in morbid congress. There on that platform, before the massed crowd, the martyr bled. Her eyes flickered upwards. Called for her father. For help.


    Down in the throng, David stood to one side, watching proceedings coldly. A couple of the Constabulary guards had taken up a perimeter around him, but none moved towards the dais. All over, none of them moved.


    ¡°Captain Clifford,¡± Ian heard himself saying¡ªscreaming, even. ¡°Why aren¡¯t your soldiers stopping this?¡±


    Bradshaw was in no fit state to step forward and order them along. He seemed to be frozen in shock, staring at his daughter. Molly¡¯s flesh was as pale as her dress had been this morning. She met her father¡¯s gaze with lifeless eyes, desperate eyes. And her father, like the whole church, watched, enraptured. Even as Skerrett stabbed her again, even as he thrust his dagger into each breast in turn. Even as the life left her. Molly tumbled to the wooden ground, deathly still. ¡°Let her blood run thick into the earth,¡± Skerrett boomed, his eyes and hands looking up into the high tower, into the sky. ¡°And let us see that this house is now in your protection.¡±

 58. The Heat of the Blood

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Tasha ~


    The sun was a ripe blood orange as it set, lighting the funeral pyre of a grim day. Tash greeted the twilight from her porch seat. A welcome breeze had crept in as evening had fallen. The sweat which had gathered on her body in the heat of the day clung clammy-cold to her skin. She should have taken off the fancy things like Sesi had told her. The overcoat, at least. But she hadn¡¯t. She¡¯d waited for the temperature to match her attire.


    Molly Bradshaw was dead. Oliver had confirmed it, when he came out to the porch. The wounds were too grievous, the blood loss too great. By the time they¡¯d carried her out into the fresh air, there was nothing left of her to save.


    Time had seemed to freeze after the girl was stabbed. Tasha remembered a vague awareness of her cries, and Oliver¡¯s hand squeezing her shoulder. A dozen soldiers were stood near to the dais. Any one of them could have run forward and stopped Lightness Skerrett. They¡¯d all stayed still for far, far too long. They had let the girl die.


    Eventually, one of the soldiers seemed to wake up. He¡¯d hopped up onto the platform and dived into Skerrett, sending the priest tumbling to the ground. That had got them going. The soldier had pinned Skerrett in place as others ran to join him, pushing their way through the crowd. The Corrack, Ian Fitzhenry, got to his feet and began to run for the stairs. Oliver whispered something into Tash¡¯s ear. She didn¡¯t hear what he said, but she knew what he meant. They were up, following in Fitzhenry¡¯s wake, riding the slipstream he¡¯d made. Sesi was probably right with them. The whole gallery was. If someone had slipped then, they¡¯d doubtless have been crushed. Tash¡¯s heels somehow held firm beneath her, all the way down the spiralling stairs.


    She¡¯d thought about her maids down below. The throngs were clambering over one another in panic, some to escape the bloodshed and others to help. Goodwife Mabeth was big and brash enough to fight her way out of the crush if it came to it, but Eva Renet was still a teenager, and small for her age. Emmy Cordewane wasn¡¯t much bigger. Tash hoped they hadn¡¯t been caught in the middle.


    By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, she was breathless. She leaned against the wall, hunched over, to catch her breath. Something was stirring inside her. Little Jem, making himself known? His kick tightened her stomach.


    ¡°Come on, Lady,¡± she heard Sesi yell. ¡°Let¡¯s get you into the fresh air.¡±


    She didn¡¯t remember anything after leaving the church, not until Sesi came to her with Eva. Apparently she¡¯d cried for a while, for Molly or for the monstrosity of the situation she couldn¡¯t have said. Her eyes were damp and sore, so she supposed it must have been true.


    The two maidservants sat with her for a little while. Eva was convinced that she was overstepping her place, sitting beside a lady of society. She¡¯d blubbered and blushed until Tash explained that Eva was as much her friend as her maid. It wasn¡¯t strictly the truth, she barely knew the girl, but she could well imagine the bruises she¡¯d pick up in the midst of chaos. Come the morning she¡¯d be hurting all over.


    Sesi was a different beast. She seemed entirely at ease with the company of ladies. Her tongue was devilish; she had an uncanny knack for knowing exactly what to say to lift Tash¡¯s spirits. There were only a few women who Tash had been as comfortable with, and none who gave her due respect. Mother always said there was one true friend waiting for her somewhere, a platonic soul mate. She¡¯d thought she¡¯d found that in Bab Flower, and in Janie Hockley before her. Janie Hockley had let her true nature show when she didn¡¯t come to Tash¡¯s eighth birthday celebration, and then cried to the lectors when Tash confronted her about it the next day at school. Bab was better with her mask, but it had fallen away at the Tavern. Eventually, she would come back, begging for Tash to forgive her. But really Tash ought to thank her. Now she knew her true face, she didn¡¯t have to cling to her friendship anymore. Sesi was the only friend she needed.


    ¡°They¡¯ll punish him, won¡¯t they?¡± She wasn¡¯t sure why Sesi might know the answer when she didn¡¯t. She didn¡¯t believe for a moment that Sesi would give her any answer but the one she wanted to hear. That didn¡¯t make her want to hear it any less.


    And sure, Sesi did say the right thing. ¡°Murderers always get what¡¯s coming to them.¡±


    ¡°I hope he dies for what he did. I want the rest of them to know that they¡¯re wrong.¡±


    ¡°Haven¡¯t you had quite enough of death?¡± Never had there been a more welcome voice than this. Oliver was walking towards her, and with him Jon Sharp and Goodwife Mabeth. He smiled that lopsided smile he always used to tell her everything would be alright. ¡°I think we¡¯d all benefit from a nice hot drink.¡±


    Goodwife Mabeth nodded behind him. Her bonnet had come loose, and was hanging half-off; like her billowing skirts, its once-pure white was soiled by dark earth-stains. Her matronly smile was unaffected. ¡°A wonderful idea, Master Oliver. I¡¯ll run ahead and wake Nickie.¡± She bustled off down the hill towards the house.


    A couple more of the household guard arrived, Kirkham and Quant. Kirkham was carrying Emmy in his arms, the maid weeping in a torn dress. ¡°This one had a lucky escape,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s chaos in there.¡±


    ¡°Another minute and she¡¯d have been trampled,¡± added Quant.


    ¡°We couldn¡¯t find Goodwife Mabeth anywhere,¡± said Kirkham. ¡°It¡¯s possible she got out before the trouble started. If not, she¡¯s a strong bugger. I¡¯m sure she¡¯ll be alright.¡± He looked worried.


    ¡°Goodwife Mabeth¡¯s already started down the hill,¡± said Tash. ¡°She¡¯s fine.¡±


    The flow of people had yet to abate. It came in fits and starts, but it was constant, and mainly a frantic running. Most of Skerrett¡¯s acolytes had remained in the church. Those that left with the masses had mostly kept their heads down. One or two seemed determined to cause a scene. A big bruiser with a bushy monobrow rounded on a man and woman walking away arm in arm, backing them against a nearby thicket of trees. Before he could swing a punch, half a dozen others had jumped on him. Tash saw an officer of the Constabulary binding the hulk¡¯s wrists in oiled rope and start to lead him away.


    Elsewhere, a waifish woman in a pearly smock was embroiled in a screaming match with a wren-faced woman in a bustled dress of midnight black. A crowd had begun to form around them, egging either one of them on, and yet the entire incident had yet to be noticed by any of the soldiers trying to keep order. The skinny woman, her hand bound in a gauze bandage, suddenly dashed forward and grabbed at the other¡¯s skirt, pulling her by her crinoline. The wren-faced woman dug in her heels to keep from being pulled further; her leg caught in a rut in the dirt and stayed fast as she was pulled. There followed a sickening snap, and she cried out in a piercing scream. The gathering crowd roared in collective fury.


    ¡°There¡¯s trouble brewing,¡± said Jon Sharp, as a scrawny bearded man shoved the waifish woman to the encouragement of the watching crowd. ¡°Will you excuse me, sir?¡±


    Oliver gave his blessing, and Lieutenant Sharp vanished to control the crowd. As soon as he was gone, Oliver put his arm around Tash. ¡°Come along, it¡¯s not a good idea to stay here.¡±


    Progress down the hill was slow despite their efforts. In the confusion, people seemed unsure which way to go. The result was congestion, only exacerbated by the darkness and the panic. All around, different shouts could be heard. ¡°Justice,¡± some called for. From others came cries to ¡°kill the fuckers¡±. Somebody had taken perch atop an outcropping rock, and from this vantage was preaching a vigilante sermon to an eager audience. ¡°The church must burn,¡± he was saying. ¡°We¡¯ll light it up. If they¡¯re so holy, they¡¯ll come to no harm, and if not we can listen to them squeal.¡±


    There was a rattled look to Oliver. He tugged Sesi¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Miss Roe, can you take over from here?¡±


    ¡°Certainly, Master Wrack,¡± Sesi purred.


    Tash nudged her husband. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± she whispered.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like this. It smells like trouble. Things are going to kick off if we aren¡¯t careful. Quant, you¡¯d best go ahead, make sure the path¡¯s clear.¡±


    Quant nodded and headed off.


    Kirkham was still holding onto Emmy, and Oliver turned to him. ¡°Miss Roe can handle herself. I don¡¯t need you to fight her battles. If there¡¯s any trouble on the way, run to the house and bring the others along.¡±


    ¡°Emmy can¡¯t walk, sir,¡± said Kirkham. ¡°I¡¯d rather not put her down.¡±


    ¡°Then don¡¯t. Carry her while you run, if needs be.¡± Oliver looked down the hill, into the valley, and Tash followed his gaze. It all looked so peaceful, so oblivious to the panic at the church. ¡°I doubt there¡¯ll be trouble. But be safe.¡±


    ¡°Where are you going?¡± Tash asked, as Oliver made to return to the church.


    ¡°I won¡¯t be long. I need to find Captain Clifford. Before this whole thing blows up in his face, and ours too.¡±


    He started back up the hill before she had time to respond, and running as well. ¡°Oliver, wait,¡± she started to yell, but she couldn¡¯t muster the willpower to finish her sentence. Sesi dragged her along, and she noticed that the ladiesmaid was shepherding Eva along beneath her arm like a bird under her wing. Snap out of it, she told herself. You need to stay together. It¡¯s weakness if you don¡¯t.


    The journey passed in a trance from there. She remembered flashes of it¡ªa man stumbling and falling into a mire of horse shit, a woman with strong arms and cropped hair crying softly against a tree, the scary moment when a roar of flame rose up somewhere up the hill only to be extinguished again almost instantly. And she remembered Sesi holding her hand tight,


    When she was eventually woken to her senses, safely in her own solar, by the wafting smell of what was basically a cup of sugared caffeine, she had the dazed recollection and dry mouth of a woman just awoken from her midday nap.


    Sesi was sat with her, and Eva. Across the room, Emmy was laid on a sofa, her leg covered by a bloody towel. Kirkham was crouched dutifully beside her. Goodwife Mabeth had stoked the fire, and perched beside it. In the wake of its heat, she¡¯d removed her bonnet and the formals she usually chose, and was wearing a thin camisole dress. All were nursing mugs of coffee, and quaffing Mam Argent¡¯s sugar-spun cakes at a mouthful apiece.


    Tash stretched out her legs. ¡°Where¡¯s Oliver?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not back yet, Lady Tasha,¡± said Eva.


    ¡°I shouldn¡¯t worry,¡± Sesi added. ¡°It has only been a few minutes, after all. He¡¯ll need time.¡±


    ¡°He should have stayed with me,¡± said Tash. How dare he run off? Did he not think that maybe she would be scared and traumatised and in need of her husband¡¯s touch?


    ¡°It¡¯s a brave thing he did,¡± said Eva. ¡°Going to help stop the trouble.¡±


    Goodwife Mabeth spoke, spraying cake crumbs as she did. ¡°Eva has the right of it. Forgive me, Lady Tasha, but if there shall be violence those at the church need his help more than you do.¡±


    Tash scowled. ¡°He isn¡¯t married to them,¡± she spat. ¡°I¡¯m his wife. Why should some filthy murdering zealots take my husband away from me?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re doing them a disservice, by branding them all with the same mark. There are a great many good people within the faith, devoted people.¡± Goodwife Mabeth was starting to irritate Tash. She was supposed to agree, not make Tash feel stupid. Did she not have the experience to understand this? She looked more than old enough to know better. Tash was about to say something borne of the red mist when Sesi, in her magic ways, touched her lightly on the wrist. The anger dissipated then.


    ¡°Lady Tasha, it has been an upsetting day for us all,¡± she said. ¡°It will do none of us good to dwell on it, least of all today. Might I suggest we occupy the time with something of a distraction? There will be time to talk of these events tomorrow, when the emotions are no longer raw.¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    ¡°I have some cards in my nook,¡± said Eva, and off she trotted to fetch them.


    It had to be said that Sesi was talking sense. Now was the time for her anger, her fury, that rage against the barbarous world. This was what Oliver called the heat of the blood. He always said she should contain herself until it passed, and at their Belaboran home there was a sideboard full of knife-marks which was testament to this. Better to play cards, and laugh, and sleep her way to rationality.


    Eva wasn¡¯t long returning, cards in hand. The deck was well-used, and the girl seemed to know all the games. Some of them were simple. One, which they played for half an hour or so, involved pairing cards by the value on their face. Others were substantially more complicated. Sesi proposed one with rules she promised to explain as they played. Selicke, it was called. Tash couldn¡¯t grasp what was going on. On the surface it was straightforward, the aim being to complete sets of cards according to certain criteria. But the contraindications were plentiful. Every card seemed to have a few others that, for some reason not bound by logic, they simply couldn¡¯t be paired with it. Some cards required the next player to add to their hand, or skip a turn altogether.


    Very quickly it turned into an uphill struggle for her. Emmy, dealed in at the last minute to make up the numbers, had never been more than a pedestrian in the game. Her being unable to leave the sofa couldn¡¯t have helped. Every time it was her turn, Kirkham came to look at the state of play, then relayed the information to Emmy before returning to make her move for her. It would probably have been easier just to have Kirkham play instead. With Emmy, Tash was competitive, but both Eva and Sesi were making headway substantially faster.


    And then came the game-changer. When her turn came, she drew a card from the pile¡ªthis one bearing the number seven. Excellent. That completed a set. Cards from number four to number eight, with a queen card to boot, and she¡¯d be down to the last one in her hand. She played them with triumph, but Sesi coughed. ¡°You can¡¯t do that, Lady.¡±


    What? ¡°It¡¯s a set, Sesi. Five little peons and a queen to rule over them. Isn¡¯t that the rule?¡±


    Sesi shook her head. ¡°That¡¯s the Uncrowned Queen. She has no power over the peons.¡±


    That wasn¡¯t the rule Tash had had explained to her. ¡°I¡¯m sure you said a queen can command a set.¡±


    ¡°I did,¡± said Sesi, ¡°but not the Uncrowned Queen. It¡¯s a special case.¡±


    Of course it was. Half the cards in this game seemed to be special cases, and they all seemed to have ended up in Tash¡¯s hand. ¡°Then how do I play her? I can¡¯t be stuck with this one card forever, surely.¡±


    ¡°You need the familial set,¡± said Eva. ¡°A king and the matching princess.¡± That was another element of the game that Tash couldn¡¯t quite wrap her head around. Most games using a standard deck conformed to certain rules. The six suits were usually immutable, any two cards from the set being compatible. Not selicke. No, for selicke they had a genealogy. Matching kings and queens could not be paired together, because that would be incestuous, and the prince or princess was dependent on the combination of king and queen used. It took a focused head to keep tabs of all these rules.


    Tash was far from focused. Much as she was trying to keep her head in the game, she couldn¡¯t help but think of Oliver, up at the church. Was he alright? She should have been scared for him. Instead she was just angry that he¡¯d left her. It was no wonder she couldn¡¯t concentrate on all the rules.


    She took her cards back and signalled that she couldn¡¯t make any move. At once, Eva leaned forward. She placed three cards without so much as stopping to pick one up, tagging on to a set Sesi had just started. As quick as lightning it was over. Eva dusted her hands triumphantly. ¡°That¡¯s me cleared,¡± she said. ¡°I win.¡±


    Tash looked to Sesi for confirmation. She didn¡¯t understand the rules well enough to know for sure that Eva¡¯s move hadn¡¯t gone against some obscure rule deep in the codex. Sesi nodded.


    ¡°Darkness take it,¡± she cursed, throwing her cards onto the table. ¡°I¡¯m bored of cards. What else is there?¡±


    There was no time for any other suggestions to be made. At once, there was a commotion outside. Voices. Oliver. Tash leapt to her feet and ran as fast as she could to greet him. Pregnancy had proven a significant impediment on her mobility, so the door opened before she¡¯d even made it halfway across the room. Oliver wasn¡¯t the first to come through.


    He wasn¡¯t the second either. Quant led the way, with Millington close behind. ¡°She¡¯s through here,¡± Millington was saying. ¡°We¡¯ve kept it covered, but there¡¯s a pretty nasty bleed.¡±


    And Tash stopped dead when she saw the third person to come in.


    ¡°Like I said, most of our supplies are still behind the lockdown, but I¡¯ll do my best,¡± said Barbara Flower, her face unmade and her hair undone, wearing a lilac pinafore over a thin cotton nightdress. There was an image of a butterfly hovering over a globe-thistle flower on the breast of the pinafore. The mark of Iscan¨¦. Her uniform. She saw Tasha, and looked away. What in the Good Mother¡¯s name is Barbara Flower doing here? And where¡¯s Oliver? Tash peered around Barbara, through the open doorway, but the hallway beyond was empty. Oliver wasn¡¯t with them.


    Barbara took up a position beside the sofa on which Emmy lay, crouched down with a little bag beside her. She didn¡¯t even acknowledge Tash. The rudeness! After all she¡¯d done to embarrass Tash in the Tavern, she had the gall to invite herself into Tash¡¯s home and couldn¡¯t even work up the humility to say ¡®hello¡¯.


    Tash opened her mouth to say something, but spotted Sesi shaking her head. She kept quiet. It was obvious what Sesi meant. Barbara was here to give aid to Emmy. Now wasn¡¯t the time to hash out their old argument. So Tash sat down.


    ¡°She got trampled pretty bad,¡± Kirkham was saying. ¡°Two or three people stood on her that I saw, and who knows how many before we found her.¡±


    Barbara lifted the bloody towel and recoiled when she did.


    ¡°Is it bad?¡± asked Emmy.


    Barbara shook her head, and spoke in the soothing voice she¡¯d always been good at. ¡°It¡¯s just a lot of blood. There¡¯s a lot of superficial wounds can look horrible before they¡¯re cleaned. I¡¯m sure it¡¯s nothing to worry about.¡±


    ¡°It hurts a lot.¡±


    ¡°I carried her down the hill,¡± said Kirkham. ¡°I didn¡¯t think she was up to walking. As soon as we got to the house, I laid her here, and she hasn¡¯t moved since.¡±


    ¡°That was wise,¡± said Barbara, reaching into her bag and pulling a glass thermometer. ¡°Emmy, I¡¯m going to need you to open your mouth so I can take your temperature.¡±


    Emmy nodded and opened her mouth a fraction, and Barbara inserted the thermometer.


    Tash turned to Sesi, sat beside her. ¡°Is Emmy alright? I thought it was just bruising.¡±


    Sesi was grim-faced. ¡°That leg¡¯s broken,¡± she said. ¡°When Kirkham put her down, you could see the bone poking through the wound.¡±


    Tash winced. ¡°I didn¡¯t realise.¡±


    Barbara was walking directly towards Tash, she noticed. She stood. ¡°Barbara, it¡¯s good to see you.¡±


    ¡°Lady Wrack, I¡¯ll need to remove your maid for a time, somewhere she can be better treated. Is there anything here I can use as a stretcher?¡±


    ¡°Leave it to me,¡± said Sesi, who disappeared into the hallway. Barbara had already returned to Emmy¡¯s side before Tash had a chance to say anything, so she sat back down, and tried not to think about Emmy¡¯s dicky leg.


    A few minutes later, Sesi was back, awkwardly clutching a stretcher far too big for her to carry easily by herself. ¡°It¡¯s tarpaulin from a roll, around some hurney stakes,¡± she explained, presenting it to Barbara. ¡°Will that be strong enough?¡±


    Barbara thought for a second, then nodded. ¡°Hurney stakes are sturdy things, I think. It¡¯ll have to do.¡±


    She¡¯d run a bandage around Emmy¡¯s leg, and given the girl an anaesthetic. She was no longer making a noise, Tasha realised. Emmy¡¯s grunts and groans hadn¡¯t registered with her until they¡¯d stopped. Looking back, she¡¯d been making an awful racket.


    ¡°I¡¯ll need help carrying her,¡± said Barbara. ¡°I don¡¯t have the strength by myself.¡±


    Kirkham stood. ¡°I¡¯ll take the other end then,¡± he said. ¡°Provided you can spare me, my Lady?¡±


    Tash nodded, not really bothered either way. It wasn¡¯t like the household guard was doing anything to protect her now, anyway, and she¡¯d survived the absence of Quant and Millington.


    When Emmy was loaded up, Barbara and Kirkham hoisted the stretcher between them¡ªslowly at first to be sure it would carry the weight, and then at chest height.


    Eva was crying. ¡°I hope she¡¯ll be okay,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ll be lonely in my nook without her.¡±


    Barbara wouldn¡¯t be back, Tash realised. She was going to take Emmy and that was it. And she wasn¡¯t prepared to let that stand. Why did Barbara think she could get away with turning up at Tasha¡¯s house and not talking to her? She had another thing coming.


    Tash met them in the doorway. It was only wide enough for one to go through, so as long as she stood there nobody could pass. So Barbara was forced to wait inside the solar, holding the stretcher behind her.


    ¡°Can we have a word, Barbara,¡± said Tash, a smile on her face. She wanted to be friends again. If Barbara would just apologise for putting her in an untenable position in the Tavern, they could go back to how they used to be.


    Barbara huffed. She looked ugly enough without make-up¡ªpulling a face didn¡¯t do her any favours. ¡°I¡¯m trying to transport a patient with a badly broken leg. Now¡¯s not the time for a conversation, Mistress Wrack.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s with the Mistress Wrack?¡± Tash asked. ¡°It¡¯s Tasha. Come on, Barbara, you know that. We¡¯re friends.¡±


    Barbara shook her head. ¡°Kindly stand aside, Mistress Wrack,¡± she said. ¡°I need to take Emmy at once.¡±


    Tash moved away, conscious of the glare coming from Goodwife Mabeth, and Barbara strode past. Kirkham, bringing up the stretcher¡¯s rear, didn¡¯t meet her gaze as he went by. She followed them through the door, catching Barbara at the front entrance. ¡°Why won¡¯t you talk, Barbara? A friend would say hello, at the least.¡±


    Barbara didn¡¯t even turn around. ¡°We¡¯re not friends, Mistress Wrack,¡± she said. And then she was gone.


    Tash ran up the stairs to her chambers. Nickie called out to her as she went, or perhaps Eva. Whoever it was, she ignored them. She wanted to be alone.


    The door slammed behind her with such force as to make the walls shake. Tash didn¡¯t care.


    She¡¯d made the right choice, pouring that ale over Barbara¡¯s head. Perhaps she should have poured more. Barbara Flower, it turned out, was a bitch of the highest order. Felicity Peulion had nothing on her. At least when Felicity Peulion came calling, she didn¡¯t treat Tasha like a stranger. Emmy¡¯s leg might have excused Barbara not stopping for a long conversation over mugs of chocolate, but work didn¡¯t preclude her from being civil and respectful. That was her own choice.


    So good riddance, Tash thought.


    She reached into the drawer in the table beside her bed, still beholden to the red mist of anger and the heat of the blood. There was a knife there, one she¡¯d taken from her father¡¯s possession. He didn¡¯t know he had it. Neither did Oliver. Either one of them would have kicked up a fuss if they did. The knife was a razor-sharp monster half a yard long, with the Caerlin mark embossed on the handle. Her father would be furious that she¡¯d taken an heirloom from him. Oliver would be furious that she was keeping a knife. She saw no need to make either of them furious.


    The took the knife and slashed at her pillow. Rip. It tore with ease, the fabric giving in meekly to her blade. Down spilled everywhere, sticking to her arms. She ignored it. She slashed again, and again, until there was nothing left of the pillow but fine strips of fabric. In her mind, the pillow was Barbara Flower¡¯s smarmy little head, and the feathers her blood. Let her suffer, the rude bloody bitch. Let her be run through by a sharp blade. Then see how superior she could act.


    No, that was too far. Tash didn¡¯t want to see Barbara dead. It was just satisfying to imagine.


    There was a knock at the door. She didn¡¯t have time to tell whoever it was to sling their hook. The door opened immediately, and Sesi stepped through. ¡°Lady¡ª¡±


    ¡°Get out,¡± Tash screamed, coming to her senses and seeing the mess she¡¯d made. ¡°I¡¯ll clean this up myself.¡±


    Sesi didn¡¯t say a word. She walked forward and took the remains of the pillow from Tash, too dazed to resist, and carried them out of the room. A couple of seconds later¡ªit couldn¡¯t have been longer, because Tash still had her palm out where the pillow had been¡ªSesi was back. She had a dustpan now, and a fresh pillow. She put it on Tash¡¯s bed without comment.


    ¡°Sesi, what are you doing?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s good to let your anger out, Lady,¡± said Sesi, busying herself cleaning up the scraps of loose down. ¡°Otherwise it just builds up until it explodes. A pillow makes a good target¡ªyou can¡¯t hurt a pillow.¡±


    ¡°I can bloody well try,¡± said Tash.


    ¡°Please don¡¯t attack any more pillows tonight, Lady. I¡¯ve no more replacements to give.¡±


    Tash nodded. ¡°Deal.¡±


    Sesi made diligent work of the cleaning, and it didn¡¯t take long for the room to look as if nothing had happened. As she was about to leave, a thought came to Tash. ¡°Sesi, I couldn¡¯t help but notice that Barbara was wearing a nightgown.¡±


    Sesi turned. ¡°That may well have been the case, Lady. I did not see myself.¡±


    ¡°She was,¡± said Tash. ¡°Millington must have found her at her home. How did he know where to go?¡±


    Sesi shook her head. ¡°I cannot account for what Millington might know,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s possible he¡¯s acquainted with the nurse.¡±


    ¡°Quite a coincidence, then, that she just happens to be my oldest friend. You went to her house, after the Tavern. To comfort her.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like your implication, Lady,¡± said Sesi. ¡°I was not involved in the decision to seek help for Emmy, and I¡¯ve never felt the need to tell anybody where Barbara Flower lives. I can scarce remember myself. It isn¡¯t an important detail.¡±


    Tash nodded. ¡°You¡¯re right, of course.¡±


    ¡°You should get some sleep, Lady. You¡¯ll feel refreshed come the morning.¡±


    ¡°Do you know Miss Mae the Milkmaid?¡±


    Sesi frowned. ¡°You want milk, Lady? I¡¯m sure Nickie has some. I can fetch you a cup.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Tash shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s a story. ¡®Miss Mae the Milkmaid had a pail of silver¡¯. You must have heard it?¡±


    Sesi chuckled. ¡°Pardon me, Lady. Of course I know the story, though when I was growing up the milkmaid was called Molly, and her pail was of starlight.¡±


    ¡°Tell me the story.¡± Tash sat down on the bed. ¡°I¡¯m too old for bedtime stories, I know, but I¡¯d like to hear it again. Everything was alright in the world when Jaina used to read me Miss Mae the Milkmaid. Everything made sense. That¡¯s how I want little Jem to feel. I can¡¯t have him growing up in a complicated world. I¡¯ll read it to him every night, and it¡¯ll be his favourite.¡±


    Sesi smiled, and set the dustpan of feathers down. ¡°That¡¯s a very good idea, Lady. You get comfortable, and then I¡¯ll tell the story.¡±


    Tash kicked her shoes off and nestled beneath the covers. She was still wearing her dress, and Sesi hadn¡¯t taken her make-up off, but that didn¡¯t matter. It would keep until tomorrow. She lay on the fresh pillow, and closed her eyes. ¡°I¡¯m comfortable, Sesi.¡±


    And Sesi told. ¡°Molly the Milkmaid had a pail of starlight held upon her arm. ¡®Molly,¡¯ said her mother, ¡®I will always love you. You will never come to harm.¡¯¡±


    The story took her back to home, to innocent days,


    You hear that, Jem? You¡¯ll be like Molly the Milkmaid. You will never come to harm, I promise.

 59. Justice

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Ian ~


    No man had ever been as angry as Mark Bradshaw was today. He¡¯d arrived for the session red-faced, with rims of even brighter scarlet around his eyes. Tearmarks. Bradshaw had been absent for the past week, alone to his grief.


    He was never going to miss this day. The agenda was dominated by the events at the church. Justice for Molly Bradshaw, imprisonment for Lightness Skerrett, criticism for the Lord Constable¡¯s handling of the riots that broken out in the aftermath. Master Dombric had arrived with a black eye and two missing teeth, having become embroiled in a brawl. His wife¡¯s leg had been broken, apparently, and things had escalated from there.


    The Hookbill, in his usual position chairing proceedings, opened the meeting with a few perfunctory comments before handing over to Bradshaw, who by then was practically glowing.


    He¡¯d not stopped talking since. An hour had passed already, and Ian was starting to get restless. He was pretty sure he wasn¡¯t the only one.


    ¡°It¡¯s not right that this can happen,¡± Bradshaw was saying. ¡°It¡¯s an embarrassment. It¡¯s a disgrace. How many soldiers were there? How many members of this council? The witnesses were in their hundreds. And¡ª¡± He hesitated briefly. His hands were balled into quivering fists. ¡°And my little girl is dead. My little fr¨¦a. How is that fair?¡± For a while his words hung in the air, unchallenged. The silence was absolute. And then, at last, Bradshaw sat down.


    ¡°We didn¡¯t know this would happen,¡± said Chris, rising to talk. It was his first appearance since Caroline¡¯s death, and he¡¯d been sat solemn and silent in his seat. ¡°Nobody would have allowed the ceremony to go ahead if we¡¯d known.¡±


    ¡°We should have known.¡± Oliver Wrack shouted across from his seat.


    ¡°And how can we know what a madman will do?¡± Chris replied.


    ¡°No.¡± Wrack shook his head slowly, pointedly. ¡°No, we don¡¯t get to excuse ourselves. The ceremony is well-documented, every action, in sources we have here.¡± He slid a heavy-set leather tome across the table before him. It came to a halt in front of Doug Stockton, who picked it up. ¡°This book is explicit about the Cleansing and what it entails,¡± Wrack continued. ¡°If any one of us had thought to read this, we¡¯d have known what Skerrett planned. We took him at his word. We didn¡¯t do the research. The blame is on our shoulders equally.¡±


    At once, Bradshaw was back to his feet. ¡°You take that back. Retract it. My daughter is dead. I will not take the blame for that.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the truth. We¡¯re all guilty, by our failure to see if not by our actions.¡± Wrack was resolute.


    Master Holden was next to raise a hand. When the Hookbill noticed him, he stood. ¡°Perhaps we do indeed share the blame, in a technical sense.¡± (¡°Not all of us,¡± yelled Bradshaw.) ¡°But it¡¯s clear to me that for some the blame is more than for others. The Governor, for instance. Was it not the Governor who brought Skerrett¡¯s demands before the council? Was it not the Governor who argued the case for this ceremony to be legitimised? And was it not the Governor who vouched personally for the character of this Lightness Skerrett?¡±


    ¡°Ask the Governor where he was,¡± Bradshaw interjected.


    ¡°You can ask him yourself,¡± said Holden. ¡°The fact is he wasn¡¯t there. A tragedy has taken place at a ceremony the Governor specifically argued for, and he didn¡¯t show up. He left it to his deputy¡ªwho, by the way, is far from blameless here.¡±


    Ian had wondered when his name would be brought up. The fact was that he had been duped. Skerrett was more skilled and duplicitous than he¡¯d imagined, and he¡¯d been caught hook, line and sinker. To a certain extent, the buck stopped with him.


    Chris had stood again, and was trying to argue his defence. ¡°I was absent, yes,¡± he said. ¡°And perhaps that was wrong. But am I not entitled to my bereavement, as Master Bradshaw is?¡±


    ¡°Why did you foist this ceremony to us? You met with Lightness Skerrett personally, did you not?¡± Holden, apparently, had briefly practiced law before he answered the call of the Unity. Here, it showed, as he peppered Chris with questions.


    Chris nodded. ¡°I met Lightness Skerrett. He gave me no reason to think anything bad might happen.¡±


    ¡°Then are you really fit to be the Governor? Is it not a prerequisite for the role that you are a good judge of character?¡±


    Chris shook his head. ¡°Like I said, Skerrett gave me no reason to distrust him. I can¡¯t see the future, and nor should I be expected to.¡±


    ¡°Your wife can,¡± said Bradshaw. ¡°Or could, I suppose. She isn¡¯t seeing much anymore. When you have access to a Foresleeper, would it not make sense to utilise that?¡±


    Chris had paled at the mention of Caro. Ian rose with blood rushing to his head. ¡°Caroline was not a Foresleeper. Don¡¯t slander her memory.¡±


    ¡°That Caroline Ballard was in possession of the dreams of foresight is not in question,¡± said the Hookbill. ¡°She admitted as much to me on more than one occasion. But she was in the hospital, grievously ill, before the Governor ever met with Lightness Skerrett.¡±


    Caro¡¯s replacement was a stocky blonde, Emmeline Maynard. Today was her first time sitting at the council, and up until now she¡¯d been quiet. For the first time, she spoke. ¡°The hospital was on lockdown,¡± she said. ¡°Doctor Caerlin gave the order. There were armed guards at every entrance, night and day, to keep people out.¡±


    ¡°And that could be bypassed, by somebody with sufficient clearances,¡± said Doug Stockton. ¡°I myself entered the hospital during its lockdown, with some of my scientists. The Governor visited his wife on at least two occasions.¡±


    Ian coughed loudly to make himself known. ¡°I visited Caroline as well,¡± he said. ¡°But I don¡¯t believe the Governor ever went to the hospital after the doors were locked.¡±


    ¡°Doctor Caerlin made no mention of the Governor having visited to me,¡± said Stockton.


    Arthur Mannion scratched his nose. ¡°Do not forget that quarantine procedures were in place. The Governor would have been absent for several days had he visited his wife, yet¡ªMaster Dombric will correct me if I¡¯m wrong here¡ªI don¡¯t believe the Governor missed a single session of council until after poor Caroline died.¡±


    ¡°He did not,¡± Dombric confirmed.


    Oliver Wrack tutted loudly. ¡°I hardly see the point of this. Was Caroline Ballard a Foresleeper? Could she have been visited by her husband? It¡¯s neither here nor there. The Foresleeper cannot look into the future at will. His sight comes at random, often in the form of dreams. There¡¯s no reason to think Caroline ever saw a thing connected to the church. And this debate will not bring justice to Molly Bradshaw.¡±


    Bradshaw stood. ¡°Master Wrack is right. I¡¯m not... I wasn¡¯t the biggest fan of Caroline Ballard. I make no bones about that. But she isn¡¯t on trial here. I shouldn¡¯t have brought her into this. I apologise, Governor.¡± He looked at Chris, waiting on a response.


    Soon, every eye was looking to Chris, who said nothing. Instead he was sitting with eyes narrowed to slits, glaring at Bradshaw. ¡°We¡¯ll move past this,¡± he said, at last. ¡°The real issue here is Lightness Skerrett. He¡¯s the only person who¡¯s committed a crime.¡±


    ¡°He hasn¡¯t, though,¡± said Ben Holden. ¡°What happened in that church was a vile act. A cowardly act. But by the letter of the law it wasn¡¯t a crime. Our votes specifically allowed his ceremony to take place. I don¡¯t see how he can be brought to justice for it.¡±


    ¡°He will be,¡± said Bradshaw. ¡°If we can¡¯t pin murder on him, I¡¯ll send some soldiers up to his little church.¡±


    Chris rose. ¡°That would do you little good, General. Lightness Skerrett is in custody for his own safety, until such a time as we decide what to do with him. Since you¡¯ve decided to bandy about vigilante killings as an option, he¡¯s probably better remaining there.¡±


    Bradshaw sniffed. ¡°You mustn¡¯t take any threats I make seriously, Governor. Anything I say is out of grief.¡±


    Edward Ruddingshaw was sat quietly in the corner, Ian noticed, and shaking his head. Nobody else seemed to have spotted. ¡°Master Ruddingshaw,¡± he interjected, cutting Chris off mid-sentence. ¡°What¡¯s your take?¡±


    Ruddingshaw was far and away the oldest member of the council. Grizzled and grey, he was a distinguished veteran before any of the others had been born. It wasn¡¯t often that he had something to say, but when he did, it was usually worth hearing. ¡°Thank-you, Master Fitzhenry. It¡¯s nice to know that somebody is still cognizant of the older generation among us. I must say, the preoccupation with the word of law is concerning. Laws are not infallible texts.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re wrong, Ed,¡± Holden shouted.


    ¡°You spent two years as a paralegal, Master Holden¡± Ruddingshaw replied. ¡°I served for twelve years on the Commissionary Judicial Council. It behoves you to listen to what I have to say.¡±


    The Hookbill spoke up, actually doing his job as mediator for a change. ¡°Master Ruddingshaw has the right to be heard,¡± he confirmed.


    Ruddingshaw nodded. ¡°I remember a case concerning a man who, while walking his dogs, saw a woman aflame in the grounds of a Unity facility. Being a good citizen, he jumped the fence and put her out. Were it not for his actions, the woman would have undoubtedly died. Thanks to him, she was saved, and went on to live a long and happy life. By all good moral codes, he did nothing wrong. Indeed, he should be commended for what he did.


    ¡°But in Vascelia, where this took place, there were laws in place prohibiting the act of trespassing on Unity property. There were also laws in place prohibiting unwanted sexual contact. While putting out the flames, this man happened to place his hand across the woman¡¯s breast. By the word of the law, he had committed two crimes. That¡¯s a decade of hard time in an open-air cell. I ask you, what kind of person would arrest him for these crimes?¡±


    There was silence for a few seconds. Stockton was the first to speak up. ¡°You¡¯d have to be mad to lock a man up for that.¡±


    ¡°He did the right thing,¡± said Dombric. ¡°Why should he be sent to jail?¡±


    ¡°If he was found guilty, he would have faced worse than jail,¡± said Ruddingshaw. ¡°There have been some barbarous punishments on the statute books in the past. Human beings excel at hurting those they feel have done wrong. But the man was not sentenced. The Council, myself included, judged that¡ªwhile technically he may have broken them¡ªhe acted in the spirit of the laws. He was acquitted.¡±


    ¡°What point are you making?¡± Holden yelled.


    ¡°The same applies in reverse. Lightness Skerrett might not have violated any of our laws as they are written, but it¡¯s hard to argue that he went contrary to the spirit of the law. The fact is that he repeatedly stabbed an unarmed woman¡ªa girl, really¡ªwho had made no transgression against him or anybody else. Murder, in other words.¡±


    The word whipped everybody up into a state of excitement. The Hookbill raised his hand in a call for silence, but nobody heeded it.


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    Oliver Wrack stood and spoke over the crowd. ¡°Master Ruddingshaw is right, of course. I would even go so far as to call it a religiously-motivated murder. Funny, they have been few and far between in the last several centuries. Our laws on the subject are in need of some updating.¡±


    ¡°What laws?¡± Bradshaw snarled.


    ¡°When the Unity was founded, it inherited the laws of Belaboras in full. Obviously, a good deal has changed since then¡ªlots of things have been added, or repealed. But the framework is the same.¡±


    ¡°Tell us something we don¡¯t already know,¡± said Bradshaw. He had a point, Ian conceded. There were plenty of people even on the Essegena mission who wouldn¡¯t be familiar with the Unity¡¯s legal history even in its broader strokes, but these people were unlikely to be found in the ranks of the Foundational Council. Nothing Wrack had said yet was new.


    Wrack, for his part, nodded. ¡°The Punishment of Heretics act has never been repealed,¡± he said. ¡°That dates back two thousand years. In all that time, it¡¯s only been relevant once, and the Cook¡¯s Hold incident angered people enough that they were happy to follow precedent.¡± At the mention of Cook¡¯s Hold, the Hookbill gripped the arm of his chair, so tightly his knuckles turned white.


    Bradshaw bashed his fist on the table. ¡°Get to the point.¡±


    ¡°I will. Don¡¯t worry.¡± Wrack looked directly at Chris. ¡°Governor, far be it from me to undermine your role as arbiter of justice, but in this instance our decision should be clear. The Punishment of Heretics act mandates that any person found guilty of an unjustified killing, with religious motivation, should be executed¡ª¡± He was drowned out by cheers of approval from Bradshaw. Wrack glanced at the Hookbill, who shouted Bradshaw to silence. ¡°As I was saying,¡± Wrack continued, when quiet was restored, ¡°any person found guilty should be executed by burning. It¡¯s written into law.¡±


    There was quiet for a time when he was finished. People, no doubt, were processing this new information. For his part, Ian was dubious. Lightness Skerrett deserved punishment, there was no doubt about that. And the fitting punishment was probably death. After all, he had been rather savage in the way he executed Molly Bradshaw, and Molly was just a child. But burning struck Ian as an extreme option. They always said it hurt to burn. Much more than it hurt to drown, they said¡ªthe most unimaginable agony, until the nerves were melted away.


    It couldn¡¯t happen. Nobody would go for it. How could they?


    ¡°Let him burn,¡± said Bradshaw. ¡°Nobody forced him to hurt my Molly. That was his choice. He can burn for it.¡±


    Holden brought up the chant. ¡°Let him burn!¡±


    ¡°That isn¡¯t right,¡± said Ian. ¡°Are we no more than our ancestors? We¡¯re supposed to be better. If he must die, then do it with kindness.¡±


    ¡°The kindness he showed my Molly?¡± Bradshaw¡¯s face had never been so red.


    ¡°Somebody has to face justice,¡± said Dombric, his face hard. ¡°If not Skerrett than perhaps it should be you.¡±


    ¡°Governor, what say you?¡± Bradshaw leaned across the table to get a better view of Chris. ¡°Should Lightness Skerrett burn?¡±


    Ian turned, in unison with everybody else, to face Chris. The Governor paused, breathed in, and nodded. ¡°If that¡¯s the will of the council. Lightness Skerrett will go to the flames.¡±


    In a rare scene, Bradshaw actually applauded Chris. ¡°I didn¡¯t think you had it in you, but that was the right call, Governor. My Molly will be avenged.¡±


    Ian looked around. Half the council looked disquieted. Ruddingshaw, Mannion, Stockton¡ªall had uncertain looks on their faces. The Hookbill seemed lost in a daze. Wrack was staring off into the distance as though he regretted bringing the law up in the first place. It was too late. The mob had spoken.


    And the worst part was, it wasn¡¯t even a mob. It was only three people.


    The anger of three people had brought savagery to Essegena.


    He stood automatically, a passenger in his own body. ¡°If that matter¡¯s decided,¡± he heard himself say, ¡°I¡¯d like to tender my resignation. I won¡¯t see anybody burned, and I won¡¯t be part of a government that condones it.¡± He fixed Bradshaw with his most angered stare. ¡°You¡¯re a monster, General, if this is what you want. Vengeance isn¡¯t going to bring your daughter back, no matter how much you turn up the heat. The dead don¡¯t stop being dead when the killer is sufficiently punished. I¡¯m out.¡±


    Only after he¡¯d left the council chamber did he process his own words.


    Then he chuckled.


    For the rest of the day, he wandered, lost in thought. Briefly he spoke with Millie. He¡¯d have stayed longer, but Mary Snyder needed her to work¡ªand anyway, seeing Ian made her think of what had happened, and that made her sad. So he left Millie, and went off alone. He sat for a time by the edge of the Clearwater, cooling his feet in the river. Dani wasn¡¯t with him today. For so long he¡¯d wished for her to leave, but now he wanted her ghost back. It might serve as a welcome distraction. But day faded into evening, and Dani never appeared. Nobody did, dead or otherwise.


    Ian stood with the setting sun, his mind still numb, and let his feet carry him where they wanted him to go. Yellowing as it entered the waning phase, the beige moon mocked Ian from up high. The streets were quiet tonight. They had been ever since the incident. Those small handfuls of people who felt like going out and about were congregating in the Tavern, or on the plaza, or else they walked in silence. It meant that Ian was able to get very easily to the Lord Constable¡¯s Tower.


    A bearded man with a sergeant¡¯s patch on his kepi stood at the tower doorway to greet Ian. ¡°Fitzhenry. The Governor said you¡¯d be along. With me.¡±


    Instead of going into the tower, the sergeant led Ian around the back. Behind the tower, a set of shallow steps had been cut into the ground, marbled and lined by seedling trees. Below them there was something of a garden. It was a little grove, walled by trees that reached to the sky and joined their canopies together to block off the sky. Paper lanterns hung from the trees mitigated the problem of darkness. From their light, everything was cast in a warm glow.


    At the centre of the grotto, the lanterns were reflected in the stagnant greens of a small pool, verged with whitewashed rocks. A huge willow tree rose above the pool. The tree was the very heart of the grove; its canopy reached and enveloped all of the others.


    The man sat watching his own image in the pool was none other than David, smartly dressed in a pressed uniform. He gave Ian a cursory glance before returning his attention to the water.


    ¡°Evening, David,¡± said Ian, as he passed.


    David didn¡¯t turn back to Ian. ¡°You¡¯ve been causing Chris some trouble, I hear. There was supposed to be a pact, Ian.¡± There was never a formal pact, not that Ian recalled. Years of friendship had woven some strong bonds, and with them came the unspoken agreement to support each other, but Ian had never signed anything. Nor had he meant to undermine Chris. He¡¯d only spoken out for the sake of his conscience. That was what he had to do.


    He didn¡¯t reply to David.


    Chris was to be found further on, along a winding trail through these trees that climbed and declined and meandered left and right before coming to a halt at a flat clearing. Here, looking out over a deep drop at the distant waterfall of the Clearwater, Chris stood.


    ¡°Master Fitzhenry to see you, sir,¡± said the sergeant.


    Chris turned with a smile on his face. ¡°Ian. I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d be a long time coming. Have you come to beg for your position back? It¡¯s not too late, you know. I¡¯ve not accepted your resignation yet.¡±


    That wasn¡¯t why Ian had come. After the meeting he¡¯d gone to see Millie, to console her. Molly¡¯s death had hit her hard. It wasn¡¯t difficult to see why. Millie didn¡¯t associate with anybody else. Ian aside, the life of Millie Farmer was made up of sewing for Mary Snyder and the occasional chat with Molly. Take her first and only friend away and Millie was bound to feel empty.


    But Millie hadn¡¯t cried. She¡¯d sat sombre on her bed, her head rested in Ian¡¯s chest, and she¡¯d whistled an elegy.


    ¡°They say the Lightness will die for this,¡± she said. ¡°Mistress Snyder reckons he¡¯s to be burnt alive.¡±


    ¡°Does she?¡± News seemed to travel faster than Ian could walk.


    Millie turned to Ian with saucers for eyes. ¡°I told her she must have got it wrong. The Council are good people, I said. Good people wouldn¡¯t condemn somebody like this. Would they?¡±


    Ian sighed. ¡°I wish you were right,¡± he said. ¡°But I can¡¯t say you are. Mistress Snyder had it correct. The Council voted to execute Lightness Skerrett, and he¡¯ll burn a week from tomorrow. They¡¯ve already chosen a site to erect the stake.¡±


    ¡°No, Ian, that isn¡¯t right. Can¡¯t you make them stop?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve already resigned from the Council,¡± he told her. ¡°One voice isn¡¯t enough to rail against the majority. There¡¯s nothing more I can do.¡±


    She¡¯d been so plaintive when she looked at them then, begging him to put a stop to it. ¡°The Governor¡¯s your friend. Can¡¯t you talk to him?¡±


    And here he was. ¡°I won¡¯t be sitting on the Council again,¡± he said. ¡°I wonder if we could talk about today.¡±


    Chris gestured towards a wooden bench in the midst of this raised clearing, one that overlooked the stars and the cliffs. ¡°Sit,¡± he said. ¡°I had this garden built for Caroline. She always did like her alone time, and I thought this would give her that time. It was meant to be a surprise. You know, next month it will be fifteen years since we were married. This was going to be my gift to her. Alas.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯d have liked it here,¡± Ian murmured.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been coming here a lot,¡± Chris continued. ¡°To think. It¡¯s easy to imagine her with me.¡± He pointed at a bed of flame-red flowers that grew in the wake of tall trees. ¡°Look, starfire. It was always her favourite. I had a whole field of them picked from the hills behind her old house in Borrowood. I hoped it would be somewhere to make her think of home.¡±


    ¡°Caroline wouldn¡¯t have stood for this,¡± said Ian. ¡°Chris, how can you let Skerrett burn? I know it¡¯s in the laws, but damn the laws. Wasn¡¯t the whole point of the Borrowood Dynasty to get away from what the Unity says?¡±


    ¡°The Borrowood Dynasty was a childish dream,¡± Chris snapped. ¡°This is real life. The Council has spoken¡ªSkerrett will die.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the Governor,¡± said Ian. ¡°You¡¯re in charge.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not all-powerful. I¡¯m not a god, I¡¯m not a king. Dammit, Ian, I can only do so much.¡± Chris sat on the bench, beside Ian. ¡°Why did you send me to speak to Skerrett? Things were fine before. Now Bradshaw¡¯s baying for blood, half the valley wants to lynch the other half. Half the Constabulary¡¯s camped outside the church to make sure those zealots don¡¯t get shanked while they sleep. How do you thing I should fix this? Show me the easy answer.¡±


    Ian was silent.


    ¡°At least this puts a line under things. Skerrett dies and the matter ends.¡±


    Ian shook his head. ¡°But he doesn¡¯t need to burn.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the letter of the law. If I stick with what¡¯s written in statute, we can proceed and get the whole thing behind us. The moment we start making amendments, the whole thing comes up for debate. Bradshaw will fight for his vengeance. It¡¯ll drag on for months and the tensions won¡¯t stop in the meantime. Essegena won¡¯t move on until the matter¡¯s settled, and the colony¡¯s not strong enough to withstand so much division.¡±


    Ian sighed. How could this grove be so peaceful? It didn¡¯t seem fair, when so much was going wrong outside. Even being here felt like a lie. He looked at the starfire, blazing so brightly in the golden glint of the sun. ¡°Don¡¯t let him burn, Chris. For Caroline¡¯s sake.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure you won¡¯t come back? I could use your voice to back me up.¡± Chris looked hopefully to Ian.


    But he hadn¡¯t come here to about-face. ¡°I resigned. I stand by it. I¡¯ll never sit on the Council again.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll be missed.¡± Chris laughed, more a snigger. ¡°Say, Bradshaw won¡¯t be able to complain about nepotism anymore.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯ll find something else to complain about,¡± said Ian.


    ¡°He¡¯s like a curse. Look, I wonder if you¡¯d consider rescinding your resignation. Not to sit on the Council¡ªyou¡¯ve made your views clear. But somebody needs to go to the Hive to do the link-up. It¡¯ll be half a year there, probably a few months more while they tinker with everything. By the time you get back to Essegena, there¡¯ll have been elections. Your position will be filled, and you can retire with some grace.¡± Chris patted Ian on the shoulder. ¡°What do you say? One more favour, for a mate?¡±


    The Hive. Now that would be a sight to see. It was the largest space station in the breadth of space¡ªlarger, some said, than half of the planets in the Unity. Without the Hive, there would be no Unity. The vast reaches of space were too huge for that. It was only through the complex technologies of the matter transporters that all the disparate systems could be kept together. Ian would be sent off in a sublight vessel, laden with files of obscure data that the boffins on the Hive would plug into their systems. And then, like magic, Essegena would be joined to the nexus.


    Joined to the Unity.


    ¡°One more favour,¡± Ian repeated, mulling it over. ¡°I ought to tell you where to stick it.¡±


    ¡°But you won¡¯t.¡±


    Ian shook his head. ¡°No. I¡¯ll go. But not until Caro¡¯s at rest. I need to say goodbye.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no rush,¡± said Chris. ¡°Take as long as you need. Oh, but I almost forgot. There¡¯s going to be a second contingent coming to Essegena, once we¡¯re linked with the Hive. Before we left Belaboras I asked that Elise be among them. She¡¯ll be coming to Essegena too.¡±


    ¡°Elise? My wife?¡± Ian rubbed his ear¡ªperhaps he¡¯d heard Chris wrong.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know of any other Elise. Do you?¡±


    Ian shook his head. ¡°Chris, you had no right to do that.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s your wife, Ian,¡± said Chris. ¡°She needs to be here with you. That¡¯s the least she deserves.¡±


    ¡°This isn¡¯t her place. I have a new life here, a new start. There¡¯s no room for her.¡±


    Chris was stern. ¡°Then make room. You swore a vow, Ian, and you should uphold it.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve done this to spite me,¡± said Ian. ¡°You don¡¯t like that I quit the Council.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you remember our dreams? The Borrowood Dynasty is falling apart. I need Elise. I need her here.¡± Chris had turned cold.


    Ian breathed in the poisonous vibes. ¡°I understand. You have her, Chris. Stick her on the Council, do whatever you need to do to get her to vote your way.¡± He stood, a hand clasped around the bright starfires. An umbel of them broke free with his pull. ¡°I¡¯ll go to the Hive, but I¡¯ll not be returning. I¡¯ll go to Arvila or somewhere¡ªback home to Borrowood, maybe. Anywhere but here.¡± He pushed past Chris, who only stood and watched.


    He didn¡¯t let on that he was shaking as he went.


    ¡°You were always the best at running away,¡± Chris shouted after him. ¡°How far are you going to run, Ian? The Gods will judge you in the end, same as the rest of us.¡±

 60. The Kindling Shed

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Macel ~


    Lieutenant Bennett was pacing. That was never a good sign. If she was pacing, it meant she was pissed off.


    As soon as Sam had returned with what little help the hospital could spare, Bennett had disappeared to her office, and there she¡¯d stayed. In her absence, it had fallen to Sergeant Malleston to oversee the fort¡¯s daily operations. The few medical personnel had been put up in the northern wing. They were to get any help they asked for. There had been barely any takers to Sam¡¯s enticing offer of a long trek out of the valley and past the lake, so¡ªhaving once attended a course in basic aid¡ªCraig Armitage had been roped in to assist. He¡¯d moaned about it until he discovered that the medic¡¯s armband entitled him to a double portion at mealtimes.


    Eilidh had been fairly solidly sedated for most of the time since then. Once or twice she¡¯d woken up¡ªalways screaming, like she¡¯d just had a nightmare. Usually they doped her up right away. Sometimes she¡¯d be awake long enough to calm down. She¡¯d even talk, asking for water or fresh pillows. Apparently Sam had happened to be around one such time, and asked her what was causing her daily night terrors. He didn¡¯t get an answer. She¡¯d just stuttered until Doctor Fleming arrived to knock her out again.


    Doctor Fleming was the most senior of the four staff who had come up from the hospital. Round-faced and softly spoken, and with a fierce humour, she¡¯d easily ingratiated herself with the men of Plateau Watch. That was when she was off duty. When she was treating Eilidh, she held fearsome command. But she knew what she was doing. She¡¯d quickly established a rota for keeping watch on Eilidh, taken steps to minimise the time Eilidh spent awake and in pain. On the second day after her return, she¡¯d haemorrhaged from a wound that looked to have healed, a tricky bleed that was dangerous more for the sheer volume of blood than anything else. Doctor Fleming had not long retired for the night, but even sleep deprived she¡¯d managed to apply stopgap sutures to stop Eilidh from bleeding out.


    After a week, Lieutenant Bennett finally showed her face again. Macel was dining on honeyed oats at the time, and lamenting the absence of milk. No cattle had been brought out to the Watch, and he couldn¡¯t abide the powdered stuff. In any case, the sight of Lieutenant Bennett was enough to put him off his appetite. She looked half dead. Her hair was a mess, and red rims ran under her eyes. Her feet, characteristically, were bare; the soles had begun to blister.


    If those blisters hurt her feet while she paced, she didn¡¯t show it. Not even a wince escaped. The whole fort watched with a macabre sort of fascination, waiting for her to get to speaking. Even the staff from the hospital had cottoned on. ¡°She¡¯s scary,¡± one of the nurses whispered, when Bennett was facing away. She had a young face, gentle dimples beneath faintly stippled skin, framed by hair that looked as soft as eider.


    ¡°You wait till the moons align,¡± said Sam.


    ¡°Why? What happens then?¡±


    ¡°Every time the two sisters are full together, she picks the youngest, prettiest girl in the fort and eats them, one limb at a time. She¡¯s especially fond of dark-haired girls.¡±


    The nurse shuddered. Behind her Delie was cracking up. ¡°Where do you come up with this crap, Sam? Don¡¯t sweat it, babes, the Lieutenant¡¯s never eaten a soul.¡±


    Sam scowled at Delie. ¡°I spend weeks¡ªweeks¡ªcoming up with these scares. Could you give it at least five minutes before you go all nest-mother and give the game away?¡±


    Behind him, Lieutenant Bennett coughed. It was the artificial cough that called for silence, and its call was heeded. She pivoted on fungus-ridden foot to face Sam. ¡°Do you mind? I¡¯m thinking.¡±


    Sam had paled. ¡°Sorry,¡± he said, in a sort of throaty rasp. Delie was stood stifling a fit of silent laughter.


    ¡°You were alone when you found Eilidh?¡± Bennett rounded on Macel suddenly. Her question took on an accusatory nature in the sparkling glare of her eyes, and he shrank back a little.


    He shook his head. ¡°I was with Bess,¡± he said. ¡°Bessily Edwards.¡±


    Bennett considered this. ¡°I don¡¯t know her.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s not a soldier,¡± said Macel. ¡°She works with the horses. At the stables.¡±


    ¡°And she¡¯s not seen fit to make her report,¡± said Bennett. ¡°Which strikes me as rude. Typical of those horsefuckers, they make their home on my land and yet they act as if they don¡¯t owe us so much as a courtesy.¡±


    He gritted his teeth to dust. ¡°Bessily¡¯s missing,¡± he said. ¡°She wasn¡¯t there when we went back to get Eilidh, and she hasn¡¯t come back. You know this. You were there.¡±


    Bennett shrugged. ¡°If she¡¯s missing, Speke should file a report with the Constabulary. How else will Captain Clifford know to send out a search party?¡±


    ¡°Does it not concern you?¡± Liz Hamish shouted from a corner of the room. ¡°That¡¯s four people lost under your command.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not responsible for the stablegirls,¡± said Bennett. ¡°And neither is anybody else here. I need all hands on site. Starting tomorrow, Sergeant Donnelly will be taking the roll each morning and each night. If you miss it and you¡¯re not dead, there¡¯ll be a disciplinary for you.¡± She pointed a bony finger at Sam. ¡°I know you like to use noble causes as an excuse for slacking off, but that isn¡¯t going to wash here. There¡¯s a set of irons in the stores that will hold you well enough if you think of running off after this Bessily.¡±


    Sam held her gaze with a determined stare that lasted until she bored of him and turned her back.


    ¡°Tomorrow,¡± she said, ¡°I shall report to Captain Clifford. I suspect Miss Cailie is not long for this life, and the Captain will want to be informed.¡± A hubbub arose at this, an angry whispering. The terrified little nurse was shaking her head.


    ¡°She¡¯d be fine if we had more medics,¡± someone shouted.


    ¡°I fail to see how that is true, and neither is it relevant.¡± Bennett straightened her back. ¡°Sergeant Malleston will serve as proxy commander in my absence.¡± Just like he already had been, for the week that had been the most enjoyable since they came to Plateau Watch.


    Most of the Watch¡¯s garrison was elsewhere throughout the Lieutenant¡¯s talk, Sergeant Malleston included, so she duly traipsed off on a progress of the fort to relay her message to the others. As soon as she was gone, the room erupted into chatter.


    ¡°Is she serious?¡± said Delie. ¡°Is Eilidh going to die?¡±


    ¡°It was only a couple of cuts,¡± said Macel. Was he kidding himself? It had only been a few wounds¡ªdeep nicks admittedly, but the sort of thing that some stitches and a few nights¡¯ bedrest wouldn¡¯t fix. He poured the remainder of his oats into his mouth, wincing slightly as they tore at his throat on the way down, and started out of the room.


    He met Doctor Fleming outside Eilidh¡¯s room. Up until a week ago, the north wing had been used for the storage of dry goods; the goods themselves had been stacked up in the hallway outside, and their containers filled with the doctor¡¯s supplies. This must have been the rats¡¯ version of the Hills of Al¨¦nor, the fabled paradise of the afterdeath. Fleming was mixing a tincture when he found her. ¡°I¡¯d like to sit with Eilidh a while,¡± he said. ¡°If that¡¯s possible.¡±


    She nodded her assent, and his suspicion was confirmed and disavowed in the same instance. ¡°She¡¯s on the mend at last, I think,¡± Fleming said. ¡°No more screaming, and she¡¯s able to keep down some solid foods. Still not fully stopped the bleeding though, so go gentle.¡± She thrust the bowl she¡¯d been mixing into his hands. ¡°Make sure she eats this. I¡¯ll be here if you need me.¡±


    Aside from the pain, the worst part of Eilidh¡¯s situation had to be the food she was given. This bowl was full of a sickly green soup, viscous as treacle, with some suspect lumps poking through at the surface. The smell of something nasty came from it. A heel of floury bread stuck out like an island of heaven. Plateau Watch had a baker who excelled, a woman by the name of Clara, and for that Macel was thankful. It was heavy enough to soak up the worst of Eilidh¡¯s soup as well.


    He found her sat up. Her bed was a series of crates, covered over with thick woollen blankets and pillows stuffed with down. The bedding had been taken from the stores, but the little felt doll poking out from under the covers had come from Delie. It helped her sleep, she¡¯d explained. But she could make do without it for a while. Eilidh needed it more. Delie had promised to shank Macel in the guts if he ever told anybody that she slept with a doll. He trusted her to keep that promise, so he pretended it had come from his own room. The mockery faded away after a day or so.


    Eilidh seemed completely out of it at first, but livened up when she saw him. Her face was white and scabrous. She smiled a little, and a touch of colour came to her. ¡°Macel Donea,¡± she said. ¡°Come to eat in front of me?¡±


    ¡°This is for you,¡± he told her, offering her the bowl. ¡°Doctor Fleming told me to give it to you.¡±


    She pulled a face. ¡°What¡¯s in it?¡±


    ¡°Medicine,¡± he shrugged. ¡°Maybe something that was once a vegetable.¡±


    Eilidh took a long sniff of the bowl, and shuddered. ¡°It doesn¡¯t smell like vegetables.¡±


    ¡°It probably tastes nicer than it smells. Lots of things do.¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡±


    ¡°Your soup, for one.¡±


    Reluctantly, hesitantly, Eilidh scooped some up with the bread, and brought it to her lips. They were cracked and dry. She could probably do with some water, he thought. But she licked them moist as she ate, and they seemed to take on a more normal visage. ¡°You lied to me,¡± she said, ¡°this tastes exactly as bad as it smells.¡±


    ¡°Sorry,¡± he grinned. ¡°Doctor¡¯s orders.¡±


    There was a jug half-filled with water standing on top of a large wooden barrel, now serving as a table. He ambled over to it and poured its contents into a cup, which he passed to Eilidh. She drank gratefully. ¡°It¡¯s nice to wash this taste out of my mouth,¡± she said. ¡°Tell Doctor Fleming I want real food next time.¡±


    ¡°I think you should leave it to the medical professional to decide what food is best for you. Look, if you don¡¯t mind, I¡¯d like to ask you a question.¡±


    ¡°Ask away,¡± said Eilidh. ¡°But if it¡¯s sexual I¡¯m not interested. And that would be the case even if I wasn¡¯t bleeding from a dozen holes.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not sexual,¡± Macel reassured her. ¡°What happened to you? You were missing for months¡ªwhere did you go?¡±


    ¡°I was waiting for someone to ask me that,¡± she said. ¡°I hate to disappoint you, but there¡¯s not really much to be said. I remember... a shadow. Like there was somebody following us, but there wasn¡¯t anyone. Next I can recall, everything hurt, and you were standing over me with the dead girl.¡±


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°The dead girl?¡± Was she talking about Bess? Who else? But Bess wasn¡¯t dead.


    ¡°She wasn¡¯t dead when you were with her,¡± said Eilidh. ¡°She was dead before, though. She¡¯s been dead a long time. I saw her in the tunnel.¡± Her voice rose to a whine, and trailed off. Her lip was quivering. A dark shadow flitted across her eyes.


    Macel waited a few seconds, but she didn¡¯t elaborate. ¡°What, er, what tunnel would this be?¡± He tried to probe her gently, to keep her calm. Otherwise she might not answer at all.


    Eilidh shivered bodily. ¡°When I¡¯m asleep, I go to a tunnel. It¡¯s cold there, cold and muddy. It feels like all the life has been sucked out of it. She¡¯s there too, the dead girl. She never moves. That¡¯s how I know she¡¯s dead.¡±


    ¡°How can you be sure? Did you see her up close?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°I can¡¯t move around in the tunnel. They come if I do...¡±


    ¡°Who comes?¡±


    She shook her head again, more vigorously. ¡°No. Don¡¯t ask me about them.¡± She screwed her eyes shut tightly. Her breathing was getting heavier by the second, and drops of sweat were beetling down her brow.


    He backed away slowly. The air seemed denser, somehow hostile.


    Eilidh called to him as he reached the door. ¡°I don¡¯t want to sleep again,¡± she said. ¡°Tell Doctor Fleming. I want to stay awake.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell her.¡± He slipped out of the room and shut the door behind him. All the tension vanished at the moment he did so, and he let out a deep breath he¡¯d apparently been holding in. Doctor Fleming wasn¡¯t there, but one of the nurses was, the one with the big teeth. She smiled at him, and he smiled back.


    The dead girl. In his mind¡¯s eye, the nurse had the face of Bess, pale and bloated and blackened in the extremities.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± He blinked, and Bess was gone. It was only the nurse, not dead at all. She looked at him with concern in her eyes. He turned away from her and retreated to his own chambers. There, he could sleep.


    It wasn¡¯t until he was without her that Macel had realised just how much he¡¯d made his life dependent on Bess. Every night since they¡¯d moved out to Plateau Watch, he¡¯d visited her, and they¡¯d whiled away the evening hours with empty talk and childish jokes. On the first night after, while everybody else was occupied with thoughts of Eilidh, he caught himself halfway across the yard to Speke¡¯s cottage.


    That day there had been some rain. It hadn¡¯t lasted long, but the deluge had been a heavy one. The ruts in the muddy ground had flooded. By the light of the moons, he saw his face reflected in these shimmering pools. The Macel in the reflection was gaunt and tired. It was a long day, he¡¯d reasoned¡ªthat was why he¡¯d let his autopilot take him halfway to where Bess wasn¡¯t. Romantic notions of being lost without her simply didn¡¯t enter into it. He was overtired, so he would be best turning in for the night.


    The following evening, he¡¯d been awake enough to catch himself before he left the fort¡¯s cookhouse. That night, and every night since, he¡¯d sat alone in the quiet of his own quarters until he drifted off to uneasy sleep.


    Tonight, the autopilot kicked in again. Eilidh¡¯s words still lingered at the forefront of his mind, and with them worries for Bess. He stole through the empty cookhouse, past the great steel pans that held the remnants of the stew, and into the cold scullery. There was a wooden bench there, beside the outer door. He sat down with his boots in his hand, and stuffed one on. He had to hurry. Bess would be waiting.


    No. She wouldn¡¯t. ¡°She¡¯s not there,¡± he muttered to himself.


    ¡°Who¡¯s not there?¡± The voice had come from the darkness, and made him jump. It was the nurse from before¡ªa small shadow, fair skin framed by hair of deep umber and eyes of steel grey. She stepped into the dim light of the back hallway, laughing like a child. He supposed he must have looked a real picture, stubble unkempt, one shoe off and the other unlaced.


    ¡°Nobody,¡± he said quickly. ¡°I don¡¯t believe we¡¯ve ever properly met. Look, I¡¯m Macel.¡±


    ¡°Janna.¡±


    He held out a hand. ¡°It¡¯s nice to meet you, Janna.¡±


    Janna, it turned out, had jumped at the chance to come to the Watch. She¡¯d spent the last few months locked inside the hospital, unable to leave. She¡¯d only been out for a few days. ¡°I know I should have been happy to be in the sunshine, but I had to come and help,¡± she explained. ¡°Everybody down there looks at me like I¡¯m dirty. It¡¯s just cause I was there. I¡¯m not a leper.¡±


    There¡¯d been a sickness in the hospital. The details hadn¡¯t reached as far as Plateau Watch, but the sentiment had. It had been a bad one. Many were dead, the Governor¡¯s wife apparently among them. He wondered if Janna had known the Governor¡¯s wife.


    She looked lonely either way.


    ¡°We don¡¯t have lepers here,¡± he said. ¡°Come with me.¡±


    Macel brought her along to the shed in the yard where the kindling was kept. He knew Sam and Delie and the others were inside drinking, like always. He¡¯d heard them from his bunkroom, as he was sat there thinking about Bess. Somehow the kindling shed had never been closed to them. Lieutenant Bennett definitely did not approve of their using a storage facility for their recreation. She¡¯d also never put a stop to it. Sam reckoned she knew all about it, and just didn¡¯t care as long as they were able to do their jobs by the morning. Macel had come to think that Sam didn¡¯t know Lieutenant Bennett well at all.


    He should have anticipated the first words they said to him. ¡°On to the next one already?¡± Matt Grogan was slurring his words already. He had the unfortunate combination of a low tolerance for alcohol and a taste for the especially strong spirits. Whenever he drank, and he drank most nights, he ended up paralytic. Macel gave him the finger and searched for Delie. She was perched on a bushel-box of smaller cuttings of wood, wide enough for three people to sit comfortably. Perfect. He bundled Janna onto the crate and sat between the two women.


    ¡°You don¡¯t mind if Janna joins us?¡±


    Delie shook her head. ¡°The more the merrier. What are you imbibing, babes?¡±


    ¡°Whatever¡¯s going. I¡¯m not fussy.¡± Janna accepted the drink she was given graciously, and sat politely to sup on it, but the face of disgust as it hit her throat suggested that she might well start being fussy from this point on. She coughed and spluttered and drew laughs from the small group centred around Matt Grogan, some of whom took to imitating putting a bottle to their mouth and retching it up.


    Delie shook her head. ¡°Idiots,¡± she muttered. Then, grabbing another drink for herself, she scooted to the very edge of the bushel-box. Positioned very precariously on the very edge, she tipped her head back to drink... and shunted off the box onto the floor. Sticky amber cider spilled all over her. Matt Grogan and his chums roared with laughter, and Janna was forgotten.


    A shadow fell over the kindling hut, unnoticed by everyone. There was a spectre amongst them, and it took the form of Bess¡ªa dark, dead phantom amidst the merry. Why could none of them see her? She was stood right next to Eric Scobie, practically touching his shoulder. A silent plea came from her eyes.


    ¡°Are you alright, mate?¡± Sam asked. ¡°You look spooked.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± said Macel. And he was. The phantom was gone. Bess was never here.


    And she never would be.


    Eilidh Cailie¡¯s words came bouncing back. ¡°The dead girl.¡± Bess was out there, all alone. Could she find her way back if she wanted to?


    ¡°I¡¯m going to find her.¡± He spoke before he was even conscious of this newfound resolution.


    ¡°What? Macel, we¡¯ve been through this,¡± said Sam, moving to block Macel¡¯s escape.


    ¡°She¡¯s too far gone,¡± Delie chimed in. ¡°You¡¯ll never find her.¡±


    He pushed past Sam. ¡°I¡¯ll take that chance.¡±


    ¡°The Lieutenant said no,¡± said Sam.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t think you were the sort who cared about what Lieutenant Bennett said,¡± Delie said.


    ¡°I¡¯m not.¡± Sam pointed at Macel. ¡°He is.¡±


    ¡°Not this time. If I don¡¯t look for Bess, who will? I owe it to her.¡± Macel handed his bottle, still sealed, to Sam. ¡°You have this, Sam. I want to keep a clear head.¡±


    He turned and left the kindling shed, before he changed his mind.


    The halls of Plateau Watch were silent and rife with shadow. Moonlight crept through the windows, bathing all it hit with a warm glow. Around it the darkness was impenetrable. Beneath his feet, the floorboards squealed. He stopped dead the first few times it happened, strained his ears to listen, but there was no sound but the distant sound of laughter from the kindling shed, muffled by several walls.


    In the kitchens, he found everything he could need. Two steel pots had been left upside down beside a sink; these he helped himself to, stacking one inside the other to better carry them. Into the pots he threw a fistful of cutlery. The rest he¡¯d taken from his own room. A hunting dirk and a serrated knife were his priorities. They were already safely stowed in his pack, nestled between blankets and a bedroll. With them, two flasks full of water, some flints to start a fire, a flare if things got bad. Bess had made noises once about camping out in the wilds, to be observed by none but the stars, so Macel had gathered all the things in preparation. They¡¯d still been sat ready. It was an hour later that he emerged from his bunkroom, a bag on his back.


    At most, ten minutes could have passed after that before he found himself once again passing through the quiet cookhouse. The last time he¡¯d stolen through a darkened kitchen, it had been to free Raphe. He remembered the boy¡¯s excited eyes when he led him into the fresh air, remembered those same eyes unseeing when Raphe¡¯s head was mounted on a spike from the walls of Cad¨¦ist. And he remembered how Tanis had wept, when she heard of her love¡¯s death. He wouldn¡¯t let Bess weep like that. He was going to find her.


    But as he walked through the cookhouse, a noise from the darkness made him stop. He looked around, as far as his eyes could strain to see. Only shadow lay there. Nothing was moving.


    He started again... and then came another noise. He turned his whole body around this time, but once again, nothing moved.


    His blood was ice inside him.


    Was this how Eilidh felt, being followed by something unseen? She¡¯d seen things in her nightmares, and they¡¯d really spooked her. On the journey from Belaboras, she hadn¡¯t seemed much like a superstitious type. Hers was a scientific mind. Demons were just a cradle story, monsters a myth. Ghosts? They were echoes, imprints of a former time and a former energy. They were never sinister.


    They were nothing to be afraid of.


    Yet here he felt afraid.


    Another noise. Was it footsteps? It sounded like footsteps. Somebody walking very gently on the wood. But he could see nobody. Around him the dark pools seemed to thicken by the minute.


    And then a light. He could see the glow all of a sudden. It came from the outer scullery, around the corner. A strange place to have a gathering.


    He¡¯d never been more aware of his breathing than as he walked towards the corner. Each step was carefully considered to keep the floor from announcing his approach. When he got as far as he could get, he froze.


    You¡¯re being silly. There are almost a hundred people at Plateau Watch¡ªisn¡¯t it more likely to be one of them in the kitchens than an evil ghost?


    He jerked forward, rounding the corner in a single motion so he couldn¡¯t back out.


    ¡°We were beginning to think you weren¡¯t coming this way.¡± Macel jumped at the voice. Delie was leaning against the far wall, holding a torch in her hand. Sam was with her, and Janna the nurse. ¡°Sam reckoned you¡¯d use the front entrance, but I figured you¡¯d go the same way you always went with Bess.¡±


    Macel felt like an idiot. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t hide like that. You scared me.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re easily scared,¡± Sam shrugged.


    ¡°What are you guys doing here?¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re going after Bessily, I¡¯m going with you,¡± said Sam. ¡°Two hands are better than one, and six are better than two.¡±


    Macel shook his head. ¡°No, Sam. Bennett will put you in irons. She was very specific about that.¡±


    ¡°Seems worth it to me.¡±


    ¡°Besides,¡± said Delie. ¡°You¡¯d never survive on your own. Did you even pack any food?¡±


    Food. Of course he¡¯d overlooked something. ¡°I was going to hunt my own.¡±


    Delie looked at him sceptically. ¡°Uh-huh. Face it, Macel, you need us. Lucky for you, nobody ever thought to eat all the food dear Horton sent for Sam. It¡¯s been hiding in the stores the whole time. And I have a key.¡± She dangled an unassuming key in the air; a tag attached to it read ¡®FT PLATEAU STORES¡¯. A heaving hempen sack was resting at Sam¡¯s feet. ¡°Turns out all those punishment duties Bennett stuck me on were worth something after all,¡± Delie grinned.


    Macel turned to Sam. ¡°What happened to your plan? You¡¯re supposed to be heading south with Hortense.¡±


    Delie¡¯s pursed lips told Macel that Sam still hadn¡¯t told her this. She kept her mouth shut.


    ¡°I¡¯ve written her a note,¡± said Sam. ¡°Had it written for days now, just in case you did something stupid like this. Wilding¡¯s going to deliver it to her when he can. She¡¯ll go on without me, and I¡¯ll catch up to her. Besides, we¡¯ll find Bess in no time. There¡¯s three of us, after all.¡±


    ¡°Four.¡± And then there was Janna. The young nurse didn¡¯t know any of them well, she hadn¡¯t even met Bess. There was nothing obliging her to come.


    ¡°You can stay if you want to,¡± Macel said to her.


    ¡°Your friend might be hurt,¡± said Janna. ¡°Adela told me none of you were medics.¡±


    ¡°I also told you to call me Delie,¡± said Delie, through gritted teeth. Janna ignored her.


    ¡°Miss Tema would want to help,¡± she said. ¡°If she can, I can.¡±


    ¡°Well, we¡¯ll be glad of your company,¡± Macel said. ¡°Come on. I want to be well away before Bennett wakes up.¡±


    So they walked, out of the scullery, across the duckboard bridge and past the farriers¡¯ cottage, down to the trickling river which wended its way between the hills. Macel kept his eye on those hills as he passed, in case the dancing lights might return. But tonight everything was silent. The four walked along, a rigid column, and none uttered a word until Plateau Watch had been obscured by thickets of trees.


    Hang tight, Bess, Macel thought. I¡¯m coming.

 61. The Volunteer

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ David ~


    The cup of coffee on David¡¯s desk was full to the brim and stone cold. He¡¯d made it first thing this morning, but he¡¯d only managed one sip. Such was the sickness in his gut that it seemed to curdle the milk and turn the sugar bitter. A letter from Chris had awaited him at his desk. The message was clear: the plans had changed.


    He wasn¡¯t sure why he was feeling nervous. Chris changed the plans all the time. It was the only way to win, he said¡ªthe only way to get the better of Bradshaw. A failure to adapt to the changing circumstances would be a failure to reach their objectives. These changes were normally presented to David in the form of a good-humoured meeting where Chris ran through his latest ideas for a few minutes and then they drank together for the rest of the hour. Or rather, Chris drank, and David humoured him. It was all good fun.


    Yet nervous he was, and that not helped at all by Jack Yarwood. Yarwood had knocked on David¡¯s door mid-morning, while he awaited Chris¡¯ arrival. ¡°The General¡¯s not happy,¡± Yarwood had told David. ¡°Word is he¡¯s been going on about conspiracy since yesterday morning. He reckons the Governor wanted his daughter to get killed.¡±


    It was conspiracy, despite Chris¡¯ reassurances to the contrary. Molly Bradshaw¡¯s death had not been on impulse. Even if Skerrett had acted alone, it had been planned. But David had a suspicion that Chris might have been involved. The morning of the incident, Chris had greeted him at the Tower, and insisted that the soldiers of the Constabulary do not interfere unless and until their lives were threatened. ¡°Whatever happens on that dais, the Lightness is not to be harmed. Your soldiers are not to act.¡± Chris had been quite plain on that.


    David had never properly met Molly Bradshaw. She was seventeen, if he remembered right. Seventeen. He could have killed Skerrett then and there¡ªwould have done, were it not for Chris¡¯ instructions. The evening after, when he was alone in the cell with Skerrett, the temptation to beat him bloody was strong.


    Chris needed him alive and well, though. They¡¯d had an arrangement of some sort¡ªan arrangement that stood until Chris said it didn¡¯t. So David had stayed his fists, and made sure there was bread and water enough for Skerrett to sustain himself. He¡¯d spat in the bread.


    There¡¯d been no visitors after Yarwood. David sat stewing, waiting for his door to open. The only question was who would come to him first. If Yarwood¡¯s rumours were true, Bradshaw would pay him a visit soon enough. Maybe he already suspected David¡¯s guilt. Maybe not. Either way, he¡¯d ask David¡ªas the Lord Constable¡ªto conduct an investigation.


    Any investigation would require him to turn himself in.


    Shit. He hoped Chris would hurry up, and that the changes to his plan involved a way of absolving them of any guilt. Let Skerrett take the fall, let it seem that he¡¯d acted alone. Nobody had asked him to murder the poor girl. That was his decision. Why should David be blamed for it?


    And then there was Lieutenant Jackson. It was now a shade over two weeks since Jackson had left David¡¯s office, and there¡¯d been not a peep from him since. Deadshrike wasn¡¯t that far away. Any day now, Jackson should be back to report what he found.


    But nobody came, not until six hours later. Lieutenant Baxendale knocked on the door, and informed David that there was a visitor for him in the reception. He thanked Baxendale, and stood to greet his visitor. Baxendale pressed a scrap of paper into his hand as they passed in the doorway. It was small, written in the spidery scrawl which Chris liked to use. ¡®Need a body,¡¯ it read. ¡®Somebody dispensable. Put them in a cell for me¡¯.


    He folded the paper up tightly as he walked, and dropped it into his inside pocket. The reception was, as always, quiet. Poulton¡¯s partner on reception was Curlie, filling in a puzzle sheet behind the desk. There was only one other in the room. She was sat with her back to David, but her braided brown hair and matching leather boots, which she¡¯d taken off and placed neatly beside her bare feet, identified her at once.


    ¡°Lieutenant Bennett,¡± he said, and she turned to him.


    It could not have been a more serendipitous arrival.


    ¡°I hope you don¡¯t mind the intrusion, Captain Clifford,¡± she said. ¡°I bear news.¡±


    ¡°As long as you don¡¯t plan to present today¡¯s news as publicly as the last time. Do you know how many people saw that procession? How many children?¡±


    ¡°Bartley¡¯s body was covered. There was a sheet.¡±


    ¡°And how many stupid people do you think there are? What else would warrant a funeral procession through town, if not a body? Godsouls, Lieutenant, you sent a man ahead to spread the word.¡±


    Bennett had paled. ¡°I didn¡¯t think¡ª¡±


    ¡°No.¡± David shook his head. ¡°But no matter. What¡¯s done is done. Perhaps you would be so kind as to accompany me.¡± He pointed towards the corridor which led to his office. Bennett nodded.


    Oddly, she didn¡¯t say a word on the walk to his office. She strode along haughtily enough, her chest puffed, but she was silent. Even when he showed her to a seat, she didn¡¯t speak.


    It was courtesy, he knew, to offer coffee. Water, maybe. Something to drink, in any case. He didn¡¯t. ¡°What is it you wanted to say?¡±


    ¡°Another of the missing soldiers has returned.¡±


    ¡°Another... tell me I won¡¯t find another procession on the tower steps if I look outside.¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°No, Captain. She¡¯s alive. Eilidh Cailie.¡±


    The name was supposed to mean something to him, he supposed. He¡¯d read the file. That was a long time ago, and he¡¯d forgotten the names. There were more important things to do. And when the first one turned up dead, he¡¯d just assumed the others would be the same. It had been the only likely resolution since the start. By the time the Eia landed, they¡¯d been missing for a fortnight. If they were going to wander back, they¡¯d have done it by then.


    Still, better late than never.


    ¡°Has she explained where she¡¯s been all this time?¡± It had been more than half a year now. Their being dead at the bottom of some hole somewhere made far more sense than this. He¡¯d even had Lieutenant Baxendale fill out some forms to that effect, ready for him to sign the moment they got confirmation.


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Lieutenant Bennett shook her head. ¡°There¡¯s been barely a peep from her. We¡¯ve had her sedated pretty solidly since we found her. Her wounds are grievous.¡±


    ¡°Wounds? Should she not have been brought to the hospital?¡±


    Bennett squirmed, shrinking back into her seat. He must have raised his voice. ¡°I instructed against that, Captain. The hospital¡¯s not long been out of lockdown. I didn¡¯t wish to burden them.¡±


    He found himself shaking his head in sheer despair. ¡°What do you think the hospital¡¯s for? They¡¯re not going to begrudge a seriously injured soldier occupying a bed. It¡¯s been coming up three weeks now, anyway, they¡¯ve had ample time to get back to normal operations.¡± It was an assumption, admittedly, but he thought it a fair one. ¡°How have her wounds been treated, if you won¡¯t dare bother the hospital?¡±


    ¡°I borrowed some of the hospital staff. Not many, a doctor and a few nurses¡ªmainly the ones that weren¡¯t in the hospital when it was shut up.¡±


    ¡°So you were perfectly happy to take staff away from the hospital, but it was too much to take Cailie down to the hospital¡¯s excellent facilities? Am I getting that right?¡±


    Bennett, for some reason, chuckled. ¡°When you say it like that, it sounds idiotic.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because it is bloody idiotic, Lieutenant. I don¡¯t know why you¡¯re laughing, because this is a disgrace.¡± Her face snapped rigid at that. ¡°I¡¯ve half a mind to dismiss you here and now.¡± He sighed. ¡°Send her down as soon as you return to the Watch.¡±


    ¡°Sir. Oh, there is one more thing.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Did he really want to know?


    ¡°Another woman¡¯s gone missing. Name¡¯s Bessily, or something like that.¡±


    ¡°A soldier?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°She works at the stables on site. A horse-wrangler or something.¡±


    ¡°How long has she been gone for?¡± It was a big, empty world. If somebody were to wander off, it could easily take them a day or two to get their bearings and make it back. Worth noting an absence, but no cause for concern. Much more than a week and there was unlikely to be any hope. If Eilidh Cailie was sensible, she could give some useful answers as to how she managed to survive six months in the wilderness. Most wouldn¡¯t.


    Lieutenant Bennett scooped up David¡¯s cold coffee and drank it down in one mouthful, grimacing all the while. ¡°A month and a bit,¡± she said. ¡°She was last seen around the same time Cailie was found.¡±


    ¡°A month and a bit? Why didn¡¯t you report it sooner?¡±


    ¡°Like I said, Captain, she isn¡¯t a soldier. It¡¯s not my business to keep tabs on the stablehands. Macel Donea reported her missing. Apparently he¡¯s been screwing her regularly.¡±


    David nodded. ¡°When did Donea make his report?¡±


    ¡°The same day she disappeared,¡± said Bennett, ¡°but I thought she¡¯d maybe got lost. I figured she¡¯d wandered back to the stables.¡±


    ¡°But she hadn¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°If she did, nobody saw her. The stablemaster, man called Speke, said she asked him for a few days¡¯ liberty. Time to wander.¡±


    ¡°What did you say the soldier¡¯s name was, who reported her? Donea?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± Bennett confirmed.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you have him lead a search party? See if he can find her.¡± Bennett blanched. That struck David as odd¡ªhe vaguely remembered Macel Donea, and his impressions had always been generally positive. ¡°Is that too difficult a task for him?¡±


    Bennett squirmed. ¡°Donea¡¯s already gone. I can only assume he¡¯s following her¡ªhe didn¡¯t report for roll this morning, Rice or Preston neither. I¡¯ve sent the garrison out to bring them back.


    ¡°The whole garrison?¡± Plateau Watch was home to eighty, or not far short. Eighty was far too many to waste on a fool¡¯s errand.


    She was hasty on the retraction. ¡°Not quite the whole garrison. I kept a token number back. Half a dozen enlisted, plus Sergeant Malleston.¡± Unfortunately for her, the retraction wasn¡¯t nearly good enough. David wasn¡¯t sure whether or not he should laugh in her face. She hadn¡¯t even held back ten percent. It was as if fate had intervened to direct her into his office, today of all days. Chris¡¯ message drifted about the forefront of his mind. ¡®Somebody dispensable¡¯.


    There was nobody as dispensable as Anna Bennett.


    Silently, he met the gaze of Baxendale, stood tight against the door. He nodded, and Baxendale slipped out of the room. Bennett never noticed a thing.


    David spoke sternly with Bennett. ¡°I¡¯m afraid that¡¯s just not good enough, Lieutenant. Time and time again you infuriate me.¡± He slammed a clenched fist on the table. His now-empty cup rattled, and Bennett recoiled. ¡°No more, I say. You needn¡¯t worry about hurrying back to Plateau Watch. I¡¯ll have someone inform Sergeant Malleston.¡±


    ¡°Sir?¡± The question was a squeak, as though she feared any answer.


    ¡°Consider your command terminated. I have another position for you, Lieutenant. I hope you¡¯ll find it as difficult to mess this up as you seem to have found holding your own authority.¡±


    ¡°No, Captain, you don¡¯t need to fire me. I didn¡¯t know you were unhappy with me, I¡¯d have done better¡ª¡±


    ¡°Your performance shouldn¡¯t have been dependent on my happiness.¡± He shook his head. ¡°There¡¯s no use arguing, the decision has been taken.¡±


    Bennett brushed an unruly strand of hair out of her eye. ¡°What position?¡±


    David met her gaze, briefly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Lieutenant. Truly.¡± And he even meant it.


    The door to his office opened then, and in came Lieutenant Baxendale. She¡¯d brought help. Poulton, Onslow, Webster¡ªhalf a dozen Constabulary guards followed Lieutenant Baxendale into the room. They each had muskets drawn.


    Bennett turned on their entry, but she didn¡¯t seem to process what was going on. She stayed in her seat. It wasn¡¯t until Sergeant Poulton grabbed her arm that she panicked. She turned back to David, her mouth half open, the question silent.


    And then David condemned her.


    ¡°Lieutenant Anna Bennett,¡± he said, his voice trembling slightly. He swallowed, clenched his fists, to steel himself. ¡°By orders of the Council, you are under arrest.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Bennett¡¯s eyes were wide. ¡°On what charge?¡±


    ¡°Find her a cell,¡± said David. Lieutenant Baxendale nodded and darted out of the room, while the others moved closer to Bennett.


    ¡°Right, up you get,¡± said Poulton. He lifted one of Bennett¡¯s arms, and Onslow lifted the other, and together they pulled Bennett bodily to her feet. ¡°Time to go.¡±


    ¡°On what charge, Captain?¡± Bennett shrieked.


    He couldn¡¯t meet her gaze. Let her scream into the wind, but he¡¯d only end up feeling sorry for her. ¡°Get her out of here,¡± he said, to Fostyke who was nearest the door.


    ¡°No!¡± Bennett wriggled, somehow managed to pull her arm free of Onslow¡¯s grip. She lashed out, her elbow striking Onslow in the teeth. That was as far as she got before two more guards took hold of her free arm and pinned her down. ¡°I¡¯m innocent,¡± she yelled, as they marched her away. ¡°I¡¯ve done nothing wrong.¡±


    Onslow had dusted herself down and stood in front of Bennett. ¡°You hit me,¡± she said. ¡°You little bitch.¡± And she spat, right in Bennett¡¯s face.


    That was unbecoming. ¡°Onslow¡ª¡± David had intended to reprimand her, but before he had a chance to, Bennett jerked her head forward. The butt caught Onslow square in the face. Onslow fell to the floor, her face a mess of blood, unconscious. David shook his head. ¡°Why is the Lieutenant still here? Get her locked away.¡±


    Poulton and the others took Bennett away, still screaming obscenities as she went. David could hear her pleading her innocence all the way down the stairs to the cells. Onslow¡¯s bloodied face was proof that she wasn¡¯t.


    Fostyke was the only soldier who hadn¡¯t been needed to restrain Bennett. He stood with a slack-jawed look on his face, watching David from the door.


    ¡°Well, don¡¯t just stand there,¡± David snapped. ¡°Take Onslow to the hospital.¡±


    ¡°Sir.¡±


    He carried Onslow out, and at last David was alone again.

 62. Dust to Dust

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Ian ~


    Today, of all days, it rained heavy. The Gods had a wicked humour.


    The deluge had started just as they were setting up for the funeral. In the end they¡¯d gathered beneath a hastily-erected gazebo, up on the southern bluff where Captain Mannam had been laid to rest, sitting miserably in wet clothes as the rain beat a rhythm on the canvas around them. Millie clutched tightly to Ian¡¯s hand all the way to the bluff. She wore a borrowed coat, given to her in sympathy by Sergeant Pratley when the rain began.


    The ceremony was about two women. Molly Bradshaw and Caroline Ballard were both to be committed to the earth as soon as the words were said and the ground dried. In truth, most of the people were here for Caro. Two jewel-encrusted swords of silver and gold-leaf stood together at the front of the gazebo. One was draped in a garland of posies, in tribute to the memory of a faithful wife died too young. Around the other was a ring of pink bergamots. Molly Bradshaw was a devotee of her faith, and a virgin unpromised. Somehow, Chris had procured death masks from somewhere¡ªthough, as he¡¯d been sure to mention in his speech, they were borrowed from the memory of others, and would not be interred with the dead women.


    Chris, extravagantly dressed in a soaked-through overcoat of ochre trimmed in gold leaf, began proceedings with a speech, short and primarily concerned with his own wife. Mark Bradshaw harrumphed when his daughter¡¯s name was mentioned, and again when the speech ended without her being mentioned again. Ordinarily, an ordained priest would follow the speech and give the death rites. Not today. Given how Molly had died, the council had decided that it would be inappropriate to invite a priest. Bradshaw had gone so far as threatening to commandeer the Eia, wrest it from its moorings, and take it back to Belaboras, along with every soldier under his command, if any of the church acolytes was invited onto the hill. In their absence, it fell to Edward Ruddingshaw to do the deed.


    Master Ruddingshaw was the elder statesman here, born a full three decades before anybody else on the council. The others had signed up to make a name for themselves, but Ruddingshaw had signed up for somewhere to die.


    He said as much in his words. ¡°I had thought to be the first, given my advancing years, and yet it falls to me to consign these ladies to the beyond.¡± Ruddingshaw¡¯s frail voice lacked the gravitas of a good orator. Strangely, the words seemed to ring more true coming from him. ¡°May the Lightness encloak them, and may the God-Mother give them milk from her breast. Their touch has gone from our corporeal earth. Their vessels will carry them through the cold dark. We are taken of them.¡±


    When the old man was finished, and his words had settled, the crowds began to file out. Chris was the first to leave, striding into the rain at almost a run.


    The Hookbill was sat in his usual favourite place, at the back of the gathering, playing that game with his deck of cards. Even with all this fresh air, his perfumed odour was overpowering. He glanced at Ian, and for a second their eyes met. The Hookbill seemed to be beckoning him to come over. But Millie had her arm linked with his, and she was pulling him in the opposite direction.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be like that,¡± she cooed, when he tried to extricate himself. ¡°It¡¯s sad. I¡¯m sad.¡±


    Ian nodded silently. ¡°It is a hateful day,¡± he agreed. Caroline had always liked to talk about the future. Over the years, she¡¯d shared a hundred plans for how she wanted her wedding to go, what she was going to call her children, even the layout of her one-day house. She¡¯d never talked about what would happen when she was gone. Oh, she hadn¡¯t been afraid to discuss the bad side of life. She¡¯d unloaded her demons on Ian between waves of tears when Chris had turned her down. But she behaved as though she expected to live forever.


    And she¡¯d been wrong.


    He thought back to that last picnic, before the old group came to an end. They¡¯d wandered along the coast a bit, to a sheltered inlet called Fayndel¡¯s Bay. They¡¯d eaten, they¡¯d laughed, they¡¯d swam in the sea. They¡¯d basked in the last of their childish innocence. Ten of them, friends since they were just tiny. How many half-cocked schemes had they concocted? The mere trace of a memory brought a smile to his face. They were destined for great things, all of them. They were going to spread to the breadth of the Unity, conquer every last star, and bring all those distant glories back home. How could anything stop them?


    They¡¯d been ten for such a short time after that. Freya Warlin, the little wisp of a girl who had followed Elise around for so long that she¡¯d been assimilated into the group, was the first to die. She¡¯d fallen from a footbridge, just a few days after that last picnic, and hit her head on a rock. She lingered for a while in a coma. By the time she was gone, half of the ten had begun to seek broader horizons.


    A few months after that, Dani Carrigan had gone. To think, if that day had gone just a shade differently... but he didn¡¯t like to dwell on it. That way lay ruin, so he¡¯d always heard. Dani was dead. He¡¯d killed her, and it didn¡¯t make a jot of difference what his intentions had been. Dani Carrigan¡¯s parents had seen their daughter buried, the light of their lives extinguished, and no tricky euphemisms to stop him thinking about it would change that fact.


    And now Caro was the third.


    Of course, there was also Tessa. Caro¡¯s elder sister could well have been dead too. She was a hermit. To Ian, she may as well have disappeared the moment she left Belaboras, but for a time she¡¯d kept contact with her siblings. That, too, had stopped. He¡¯d heard Caro talking to Chris about it, before she got sick.


    It was always the women. Funny, that. The men of the group had all made something of themselves. Most of them were here, on Essegena. Armand Heramey was a Governor¡¯s deputy on Arvila. Charlie Ballard held high office on Kelsiern. But of the women, Elise alone still lived in the civilised world. Ian wondered what she was doing right now. He¡¯d told her he wasn¡¯t going with Chris, and she¡¯d swallowed the fiction. Had she cried when she came home and discovered him gone? Had she grieved? Perhaps she¡¯d even started to understand how tiresome she was. She¡¯d be all the better for it if she did.


    ¡°I must thank Governor Ballard.¡± Mark Bradshaw¡¯s silky voice prodded Ian out of his remembrances. ¡°It was so very gracious of him to give my Molly the respect she deserved. Why, he spent almost as much of his speech talking about her as he did his wife.¡± The sarcasm was palpable.


    ¡°What did you expect?¡± Ian said. ¡°He didn¡¯t know your daughter. What would he have had to say?¡±


    ¡°There was no obligation to make it a shared event. I can bury my own children, and properly eulogise them as well. I¡¯ve been denied the chance at that. And for why? So the Governor can look like he¡¯s in charge. I spit on his politics.¡±


    Behind Mark Bradshaw was a young woman with dark eyes. She was broadly similar to Molly, but her hair was cropped to shoulder-length and the muscles in her arms had twice the definition. Megan Bradshaw, Ian guessed. He¡¯d never met the General¡¯s youngest daughter before. She was looking down at her feet, and wincing at every second sentence her father uttered. Did they not get on, perhaps?


    ¡°I don¡¯t think there was any intent to offend,¡± Ian began, but Bradshaw cut him off.


    ¡°Governor Ballard wants to look like the better person, so all the fools on the Council keep kissing his feet. That was the only intent. But I should have suspected as much. I know the type he consorts with. You can tell a lot about a man from the company he keeps, Master Fitzhenry, and he keeps the worst sort.¡± Bradshaw¡¯s lip curled. ¡°And yes, I do include you in that. I know your secrets.¡±


    He felt himself stiffen. ¡°Whatever you might think you know, I can assure you you¡¯re wrong.¡±


    ¡°Would Miss Carrigan agree with that?¡± It was a low blow, bringing Dani¡¯s name up. She¡¯d been dead for years¡ªwhy couldn¡¯t he let her memory rest with her? More to the point, how did he know? The Hookbill had vowed to tell nobody. The Hookbill was always vowing to keep the secrets he figured out, and somehow someone else always came to know. It couldn¡¯t be a coincidence if it happened every time.


    Bradshaw turned and walked away abruptly, his daughter close behind him.


    ¡°Who does he mean?¡± Millie asked. She¡¯d been stood beside him so quietly that he¡¯d forgotten she was there. ¡°Who¡¯s Miss Carrigan?¡±


    ¡°Nobody.¡±


    She nuzzled into his shoulder. ¡°She must be somebody, or General Bradshaw wouldn¡¯t have brought her up.¡±


    ¡°Forget about it. Forget that name and never say it. Not once. Not if you value your life.¡± Millie recoiled, and Ian realised he¡¯d yelled at her. Perhaps I should apologise. But perhaps Millie should keep to her own business.


    She ran away sniffling like a little child. It was a relief to be away from her. She was twice as irritating as Elise had ever been, in far less time. Looking around, he saw that Prendergast was still at his cards. The Hookbill must have been the man who told Bradshaw about Dani. Nobody else knew. Not even Chris. Without realising it, Ian found himself looming over the Hookbill, who looked up at him with a casual smile.


    ¡°Just the man I wanted to see,¡± he said, in a softly lilting voice. Today the Hookbill had worn a doublet with silk flowers sewn in, and left his eyes unpainted. It made his face look bare.


    ¡°How much did Bradshaw pay you?¡± Ian had a bit of money saved up from years of frugal living. His wife had called him stingy on more than one occasion, but he just called it being sensible with what he had. It was paying off now. His kitty was fatter than most. If the Hookbill couldn¡¯t be trusted to keep his tongue for honour¡¯s sake alone, perhaps his silence could be bought. ¡°Tell me how much he gave you. I¡¯ll give you twice that if you tell him it was all a lie.¡±


    The Hookbill laughed. ¡°Would that I had been paid. But alas...¡±


    ¡°So you told him for nothing?¡±


    ¡°Master Fitzhenry, you have me wrong. I haven¡¯t once spoken to Mark Bradshaw in any capacity beyond our roles on the council.¡±


    Ian knew that the Hookbill was talking sense, but he was angry, and he had to take that anger out on somebody. ¡°He knows about Dani Carrigan. Explain that.¡±


    ¡°I cannot,¡± the Hookbill said. ¡°And what is more, I fail to see why I should be obliged to.¡±


    ¡°He found out from somebody.¡±


    ¡°I found out from somebody. The information is out there, no matter how much you deny it. It¡¯s just a matter of how well it¡¯s hidden.¡±


    The Hookbill was talking far too much sense. Ian didn¡¯t like it. Still, his anger was fading away with the word games. ¡°So it wasn¡¯t you who told Bradshaw?¡±


    ¡°My game is staying alive. The secrets I learn are my bargaining power¡ªif I give them away, I lose that chip. People never trust me again. You¡¯re a perfect example of that. And when people don¡¯t trust me, that¡¯s when I lose.¡±


    ¡°So why did you tell me anything?¡±


    At this, the Hookbill couldn¡¯t help but chuckle. Ian clenched his fists tight, which only made the Hookbill laugh harder. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t last a minute in the lion¡¯s den, Master Fitzhenry. If you decided the time had come to betray my trust, you¡¯d be dead within a week. No, I have nothing to fear from you.¡±


    ¡°A knife to the gut is something to fear.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± the Hookbill conceded, ¡°and if I believed you were capable of wielding it I might be scared some. As it is...¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be so quick to dismiss me,¡± said Ian. ¡°I¡¯ve killed before.¡±


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°And it¡¯s destroyed you. You couldn¡¯t take another life even if it would save your dear Caroline¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°Caroline¡¯s dead,¡± Ian seethed. ¡°We¡¯re here today to bury her.¡±


    The Hookbill stared at Ian, until Ian could take it no more and looked away. ¡°You¡¯re too quick to assume what you see is the truth,¡± said the Hookbill. ¡°The Gods play their silly games with us, Fitzhenry, and martyrs have a funny way of living on.¡±


    ¡°Caroline didn¡¯t. Everything might have been better now if she had.¡±


    They fell to hush. There was an abandoned cup on a stool nearby, half full of water. Ian snatched it up and drained it into his mouth¡ªand then choked most of it back up. Rain water, of course. It had a dirty taste.


    The Hookbill had his cards out. He shuffled them lazily, and handed the pile to Ian.


    ¡°What am I doing with these?¡±


    ¡°Deal them out.¡±


    He grabbed the stool by its leg, dragged it over, wiped it dry with his sleeve. The rain had begun to ease up, enough to keep them dry beneath the canvas. ¡°Am I dealing for two?¡±


    ¡°Just one.¡±


    ¡°What game?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to play a game. Just deal the cards. All of them.¡±


    He took the cards one at a time from the pile in his hand, and placed them one on top of another on the table, pausing every now and then to glance at the Hookbill. He was just watching. When Ian had put the last card down, the Hookbill spoke.


    ¡°That¡¯s an impressive stack. You must be well-practiced.¡±


    Ian shook his head. ¡°I have a steady hand, that¡¯s all.¡±


    ¡°Clearly. I wonder, which card was the last one in the pile? Which one ended up on top?¡± The Hookbill reached for the uppermost card and turned it over. It was one of the Queens, its illustration inked in shades of green¡ªa woman stood on a bridge, clasping the hand of a child. ¡°The Uncrowned Queen,¡± the Hookbill announced. He scooped up the whole deck and shuffled them again. ¡°My turn.¡±


    Ian turned to go. ¡°I don¡¯t have time for cards.¡±


    ¡°I must insist that you stay.¡±


    There was nothing keeping him there. What could the Hookbill do, if he decided to go? And yet he found himself staying to watch. The Hookbill shuffled expertly, mixing the cards up with an elegance bordering on professional. When he was done, he stacked them on the table, one at a time. Then he turned the top card over.


    That same green queen again.


    There were eighty-six cards in all, fourteen for each suit and two that belonged to no suit. What were the odds that the same card would come up trumps twice in a row? He couldn¡¯t work out the figures in his head. Something unlikely, no doubt¡ªbut it was bound to happen eventually.


    Then the Hookbill did the same thing a third time. ¡°Is this a trick?¡± Ian asked, staring the Uncrowned Queen in her ugly inked face. ¡°They¡¯re all the same.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re not all the same, Master Fitzhenry. The cards are unique. You can check if you want.¡±


    He did want. He spread the cards out on the stool, each of them face up... and only one of them was a queen without a crown, walking across a bridge with green ink. ¡°I didn¡¯t take you for a magician, Prendergast. This is a good trick. I can¡¯t see how you did it.¡±


    The Hookbill looked him in the eye. ¡°I assure you, there is no trick.¡±


    ¡°You can drop the showman act,¡± Ian grunted. ¡°You¡¯ve fooled me. I¡¯ll admit that.¡±


    But the Hookbill was insistent. ¡°There is no trick here, Fitzhenry,¡± he said, his voice low. ¡°None that I can figure, anyway.¡±


    Ian grabbed the cards off the stool. He insisted on doing it again, this time shuffling the deck himself. Whatever the Hookbill said, there was something in the way he was arranging the cards, a sleight of hand to ensure they finished up in the right order. Perhaps there was a subtle mark on the Uncrowned Queen, a smudge or a stain so small that nobody would pay it any mind, but that would let the Hookbill know the correct card was at the end.


    Ian had never been good at shuffling cards. He used to practice at the dinner table, as a nipper. He¡¯d even managed to become basically competent. When he¡¯d tried to learn the fancy tricks, he¡¯d ended up dropping the cards everywhere. It wasn¡¯t fun playing cards when half of them were sticky with gravy. His brief education in card cleverness had ended then. His shuffling technique was basic, stilted, but eventually he was happy that they were all thoroughly mixed in.


    He was less happy when he turned over the final card, to see that Uncrowned Queen staring back at him. He snatched the card and tore it in two, before the Hookbill could stop him. Then he ripped the pieces, and let them fall like confetti snow to the floor.


    The deck was one of a kind, he knew that, a historical artefact. He felt guilty the moment he did it. There was no putting a price on the set, no replacing any lost cards. The Hookbill would be justified in his anger. Instead, he picked up the rest of the pile and began shuffling. ¡°We go again,¡± he said, with a hint of a smile on his face. What was his game?


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± said Ian, his face flushing. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have done that. I got angry.¡±


    The Hookbill smiled and started to place the cards down. ¡°You aren¡¯t the first. These are fickle cards, Master Fitzhenry. They¡¯ve infuriated me before now.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll replace the broken one.¡±


    ¡°That won¡¯t be necessary.¡± At half the deck, the Hookbill stopped. ¡°Pick up the pieces, please, or they¡¯ll blow away.¡±


    He bent down and scooped them up. The grass was wet through, and the scraps were soggy. They could be taped together with enough time, but they¡¯d need to dry off first. And even then it would be impossible to play any games with it. The rip marks and the shiny tape would be a dead giveaway that somebody had the green queen, no matter how stoic their face.


    The Hookbill continued to deal the cards out. Before long, he was down to the last few. ¡°Ten remain,¡± he said. ¡°Nine. Eight.¡± With each passing card he slowed the pace down, announcing how many were left in his hand and letting the figure sit in the air.


    ¡°Seven.¡±


    It was infuriating really. Ian wasn¡¯t a complete dunce, he knew how to count back from ten.


    ¡°Six.¡±


    There wasn¡¯t even any need. It made no difference how much the Hookbill hyped things up, he simply couldn¡¯t give a shit what the last card was.


    ¡°Five.¡±


    The Uncrowned Queen was in pieces in his hand. Any other outcome was uneventful.


    ¡°Four.¡±


    What was he even trying to prove? ¡®Your temper broke my magic trick and my special deck of cards, so now I feel the need to show you that I can deal cards normally too¡¯?


    ¡°Three. I hope you¡¯re paying attention.¡±


    The phrase rankled him. Elise liked to say it. She¡¯d stop her conversations midway through describing whatever criminally boring thing she¡¯d done, to put on her haughty voice and question him. Just because he yawned or looked away or something.


    ¡°Two.¡±


    To his annoyance, he found himself getting excited. Why? Why was he so enthralled of a sudden? His life would be materially no better off for knowing the outcome of this shuffle, and in fact it felt inappropriate on a day like today, yet he could taste anticipation in the saliva pooling on his lips. It felt like the Hookbill¡¯s cards were the only thing of any consequence in the world.


    ¡°One.¡±


    The last card. Ian squeezed his fists together, feeling the bits of the Uncrowned Queen digging into his palms. The Hookbill moved his hand slowly towards the pile, oh so slowly. Ian¡¯s monkey brain decided to slow things down even more in his head, so time seemed to stand still. Then, the Hookbill placed the last card, and turned it over.


    And there she was, the woman without a crown. She was still stood on the bridge, still holding the girl¡¯s hand, still crossing from lightness to darkness, all in lines of green. The Uncrowned Queen. He could still feel the scraps in his hand, but when he opened his fist nothing fell out.


    ¡°This is bullshit. How can that bloody card be there? How is that possible?¡±


    ¡°I wish I had the answers.¡± The Hookbill¡¯s voice seemed to have dropped an octave. ¡°It defies all the natural laws. I¡¯ve taken the card out of the deck, I¡¯ve ripped it like you did, I¡¯ve even burned it. I¡¯ve made a point of putting it in the middle of the pile, or at the bottom. Even if I separate a different card, and put that one at the top of the pile, when I turn it over it¡¯s still the Uncrowned Queen. Since we got to this world, every single time I¡¯ve run through the deck, this card is the last one.¡±


    Ian was suddenly cold. ¡°That sounds like magic. Real magic, not just illusions.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s something beyond our explaining,¡± the Hookbill agreed, sombre. ¡°Exactly what, I can¡¯t say. But it surely isn¡¯t good.¡±


    Ian came thirsty to the Tavern that evening, still hung up on the damned Uncrowned Queen. Millie came wrapped around his arm. She¡¯d been sad when he told her he was leaving, happier when he explained that he¡¯d be back. She wanted to come with him. She hadn¡¯t made any bones about that. But she couldn¡¯t find it in herself to abandon Mistress Snyder. ¡°Whatever would she do without me?¡± she mused. ¡°I can survive on my own for a few months.¡±


    The condition of her staying behind, however, was that Ian spend as much time with her in this final week before their departure as he could. Leaving the Hookbill, he¡¯d lingered for a little while before the shining headstone that so fatefully bore Caroline¡¯s name. He¡¯d gone as soon as he could tear himself away. If he stayed to look at the grave any longer, he mightn¡¯t ever manage to leave. At once he¡¯d sought Millie out, and found her sat outside her tenement building.


    The afternoon had gone before they left her tenement and made for the Tavern.


    Sergeant Pratley had eschewed his uniform in favour of plain clothes. That was the first sign that he was here to drink, not to guard Ian. The second sign was the comically large tankard on the table in front of him, full to the peak with cider.


    ¡°Sergeant Pratley,¡± said Ian, as Millie slid into a seat across the booth from Pratley. ¡°I¡¯m glad we could talk.¡±


    ¡°We can always talk, sir,¡± said Pratley. ¡°But please call me by my name. This ¡®Sergeant Pratley¡¯ stuff makes me feel weird¡ªit¡¯s Elmer.¡±


    ¡°Elmer,¡± Ian repeated.


    ¡°Elmer?¡± Millie asked.


    Pratley nodded. ¡°Elmer.¡±


    ¡°Elmer,¡± said Millie.


    ¡°Okay, you can stop saying my name now. You¡¯ve made it feel weird.¡±


    Ian grinned. ¡°Sorry, Elmer. But in fairness, you did ask us to call you ¡®Elmer¡¯.¡±


    ¡°Yes, and now I¡¯m realising that it was a bad thing to ask,¡± said Elmer.


    Ian had paid a visit to the bar before spotting Elmer, and had bought only a regular-sized drink from Goodwife Sara. He was regretting that, looking at Elmer¡¯s bounty. ¡°How much did that set you back?¡±


    ¡°Not a copperhead,¡± Elmer laughed. ¡°I had a grand old time with the waitress¡¯ daughter the other day, went all across the valley with her searching for some toy she lost. Turns out it was under her bed the whole time, but who was to know? That little girl¡¯s of an age where she¡¯s impressed by my putting a coin behind my ear and pretending to find it¡ªhelping her look for her stuff is much more fun than telling a bunch of reprobates how to keep you alive. Apparently ¨¢ine is permanently in my debt for helping her, or something. Drinks on the house.¡±


    ¡°Should I be concerned that you think my security are reprobates?¡±


    Elmer shrugged. ¡°Nobody¡¯s popped you yet. You¡¯ll probably be fine. And hey, if I¡¯m wrong you won¡¯t exactly be coming to complain to me about it.¡±


    ¡°If I get assassinated on your watch, I¡¯m coming back to haunt you,¡± said Ian.


    ¡°Let¡¯s not talk about these things,¡± said Millie. ¡°On a day like this.¡±


    Ian took a swig from his pint. ¡°No, of course.¡± A few tables to the left, he spied Doctor Caerlin drinking with another woman. The younger woman looked to be of a similar age to Millie. ¡°I just need to have a quick word with Sergeant Pratley, Millie. It won¡¯t take a minute. Why don¡¯t you go and introduce yourself to Doctor Caerlin? You might end up with more friends than just the people around this table.¡±


    Millie nodded and shimmied past Ian, making her way slowly towards Tema Caerlin¡¯s table.


    ¡°I thought you were using my name now,¡± said Elmer.


    ¡°Not when it¡¯s business,¡± said Ian. ¡°And this is business.¡±


    ¡°Oh. In that case, I¡¯d best get rid of this.¡± Elmer slid his huge tankard to the far side of the table. ¡°There. Now, business.¡±


    Ian nodded. ¡°I spoke to the Governor the other day. I¡¯m to go to the Hive. I¡¯d like to have you accompany me.¡±


    Elmer scratched at a non-existent beard. ¡°That¡¯s a long journey. And I¡¯m starting to get settled here.¡± He took a look past Ian. Ian turned to see what Elmer was peering at, and saw the blonde waitress wiping down an empty tankard behind the bar.


    ¡°I thought she was married,¡± said Ian.


    ¡°She was,¡± Elmer confirmed. ¡°Now she¡¯s not.¡±


    ¡°Well, I wouldn¡¯t want to keep you apart from her for too long,¡± said Ian, ¡°but don¡¯t forget that you¡¯re paid to be my personal security. The Hive can be a dangerous place.¡±


    Elmer sighed. ¡°I¡¯m going whether I want to or not, aren¡¯t I?¡±


    Ian nodded, a smirk on his face. ¡°I¡¯m afraid so.¡±


    ¡°Then count me in. When do we leave?¡±


    ¡°In a week or so,¡± said Ian. ¡°The technicians need to crunch some numbers before we go. If we give the wrong figures to the Hive, they¡¯ll end up opening a port to the middle of a black hole or something equally disastrous. Hopefully they won¡¯t be too slow about it.¡±


    Elmer smiled. ¡°A week, you say? Plenty of time to make my move, then,¡± he said, with a wink.


    ¡°Just don¡¯t hurt her,¡± said Ian. ¡°This is the only place to get a drink. I can¡¯t have you getting us both banned.¡±


    All of a sudden, Elmer turned serious. ¡°You wanted to know why I won¡¯t go near the church,¡± he said. ¡°I think you got a clear enough demonstration. The faith is dangerous, sir.¡±


    ¡°You should have said something,¡± said Ian.


    ¡°You¡¯d have thought I was exaggerating,¡± said Elmer. ¡°I did try to warn you. Berengue of the lilacs.¡±


    ¡°The note was your doing!¡±


    Elmer nodded. ¡°I hoped you¡¯d see what the church was. There¡¯s a reason the Cleansing ceremony is banned in the Unity. You see now, of course?¡±


    Ian nodded, sombre. ¡°Unfortunately.¡± Not that it would do Molly Bradshaw much good now.


    ¡°They didn¡¯t want me,¡± said Millie, breaking the mood as she returned to the table.


    Ian turned to her. She had a bright smile on her face. ¡°You seem happy about it.¡±


    ¡°Doctor Caerlin¡¯s on a date,¡± she said, cooing. ¡°Oh, I love seeing people fall in love. I wonder if they¡¯ll let me have a crack at their marriage gowns.¡±


    Ian couldn¡¯t help but laugh. Millie was just as she had been, and the melancholy driven away.


    ¡°Come on,¡± he said. ¡°Drink. The night is young.¡±


    But the night was old when they stumbled home.

 63. The Sentence

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ David ~


    Tonight, there was just one¡ªwaning¡ªmoon, a pale green demon hovering over its domain. If David squinted, it almost looked like this demon had eyes. That was just an illusion. The night air was brisk, in stark contrast to the heat of the day, and he made the journey from his chambers clad in a thick overcoat. It wasn¡¯t far to go, but he didn¡¯t want to run the risk of a chill.


    Giant and Redlips had the reception tonight. Both nodded at David as he entered. ¡°Good evening, sir,¡± said Giant. ¡°Do you have your pass?¡± Her real name was Disley, but she was the shortest of the Constabulary by a good few inches. The nickname was inevitable.


    He pulled his card from his pocket, and held it on the reader in Giant¡¯s hand until it beeped and a cyan light flashed. She waved him past. The stairs to the cells were in a room of their own at the back of the jailhouse. Most of the lights here hadn¡¯t been hooked up yet. Deprived of sight, his only sensory accompaniment was the loud rap of each step on the oaken planks.


    That turned into a hollower sound as he reached the stairs. They¡¯d been hewn into the rock, and they went around and around in a gentle spiral for a hundred paces or thereabouts before coming to a halt at a huge wooden door. It was too big to have been carried down the stairs. A service tunnel had been cut, down which timber had been lowered using pulleys. With the jail now finished, the tunnel had been partially filled in; at the height of the day, a tiny strip of sunlight might creep down to the bottom of the stairs, to prove that the hole had once been there.


    The door didn¡¯t creak as it opened, but it moved ponderously slowly, and he was sweating lightly beneath his coat as he stepped through. Beyond, there was a sort of office carved into the rock, a near-empty room intended for processing new arrivals. To get to the cells, one had to pass through this chamber, past a heavy steel gate.


    Already the floors of the jailhouse had been browned by tracked-in dirt. They were grimy anyway, passages carved into the rock, and they weren¡¯t likely to get any cleaner. The cells were nothing more than tunnels dug into the ground, exposed to bare stone and heavy with the smell of shit. They had no windows. The only ventilation was in the form of narrow slits which led to the surface. From the correct angle, it was possible to see the sky through these slits, but no sunlight made it this far. The only light was from the flaming torches in iron sconces between each door. It flickered red and orange.


    David avoided coming down here in daylight hours. He hated the momentary blindness that always followed when he returned to the surface and his eyes had to adjust to sunlight. When he did have to pay the cells a visit, he preferred to come at night. That way he could wake the inmates from their ill-deserved rest¡ªand when he was finished with them, the light outside was what his eyes were expecting.


    The last he¡¯d heard, Anna Bennett had been weeping. She¡¯d stopped now. Yarwood said she¡¯d not made a sound in hours. ¡°She just sits there, staring,¡± he¡¯d said, sat across from David in his office, filling the room with the smell of musk and stale dirt. ¡°The torchlight catches in her eyes sometimes. Makes her look like some sort of demon or something.¡±


    David had assured Yarwood that Bennett wasn¡¯t a demon. He¡¯d headed for his chambers a short while later, and advised that Yarwood too take the rest of the day off. He couldn¡¯t have his soldiers believing in demons.


    Sergeant Poulton was the man at the gate tonight. He was softly spoken, with a trimmed beard and brown eyes set behind kindly wrinkles, and he could swear better than anyone. David found him leaning against the elm bars of the gate, idly picking at his fingernails, and coughed to get his attention.


    ¡°Oh! Captain Clifford, I...¡± Poulton¡¯s eyes widened as he fumbled with his tongue. ¡°I didn¡¯t...¡±


    ¡°If you didn¡¯t see me coming, you¡¯re not being a very good sentry.¡± He didn¡¯t have the time or the inclination to reprimand Poulton, and the old sergeant seemed to see it in his face. He nodded microscopically, his head bowed.


    David pressed a single coin into Sergeant Poulton¡¯s hand, one of the gold-and-jade ones Chris had given him. Twenty bushels, he thought. Worth about as much as a yearly wage, apparently. Enough to buy a man¡¯s silence in any case. ¡°You didn¡¯t see me coming, Sergeant Poulton, because I wasn¡¯t here tonight.¡±


    ¡°No, sir.¡± Poulton dropped the coin into the breast-pocket of his jacket.


    Anna Bennett¡¯s cell was the nearest one to the gate. There was no particular reason for it, it was just where she happened to be flung. She was sat on the floor, staring at the door, just as Yarwood had said. Her face was streaked with grime. It combined with the mute lamplight to give her a bloody complexion. She reached out a hand to grab at David as he walked into the cell.


    ¡°Let me out,¡± she said, her voice barely a whisper. ¡°Let me out and I won¡¯t say a word. I¡¯ll be good, I swear it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m here to talk, not to set you free.¡±


    ¡°Why am I caged up? Captain, tell me what I did wrong.¡±


    He couldn¡¯t meet her gaze. ¡°You¡¯ve not done anything wrong,¡± he said¡ªexcept pick the worst moment to be an annoyance. ¡°Unfortunately for you, General Bradshaw needs you to stay here for a while longer.¡±


    Even in the near-darkness, he could see her eyes go wide at that. ¡°General Bradshaw? I beg you, Captain Clifford, tell him I didn¡¯t do anything. Whatever he thinks my crime is, I¡¯m innocent.¡± Indeed you are, Lieutenant. It would be no good begging to Bradshaw. He didn¡¯t know she was down here. He barely knew who she was.


    What if he did? Part of David wondered whether the Governor had the right of it this time. If General Bradshaw were to learn of Lieutenant Bennett¡¯s incarceration, he might have things to say. At the very least, he could hold the process up by a few days. By that time there¡¯d be no more use in keeping Bennett here.


    She was going to meet her death soon. The sentence had been decided, weeks ago. The ink was dry. Chris had wished it.


    But had Chris wished it, or was that just what he told himself to make himself feel better about it all? Like as not, Chris had never heard of Anna Bennett. All he¡¯d asked for was an extra body in the cells, somebody dispensable. It could have been lots of people. Only David¡¯s arbitrary whim had picked Bennett over any of the thousands of others. Because she¡¯d got on his nerves. She¡¯d wandered into his office and made him cross.


    If it hadn¡¯t been her, it would have been someone else.


    He couldn¡¯t even remember what she¡¯d done to agitate him. Perhaps she really did deserve to die.


    ¡°Please... Some water...¡±


    David nodded. ¡°Water. Yes.¡± He glanced around. There was an alcove across from Bennett¡¯s cell, barely lit by the torches; a table had been carved into the rock, and on it rested a wooden jug. A large barrel had been placed beneath the rock table. At first David thought it was empty, but closer inspection revealed a small supply of water still left at the bottom. In the artificial twilight it looked like oil. He sunk the jug into the barrel, filling it, then carried it over to the waiting Bennett.


    It was almost amusing to see her in such a pathetic state. Her hands reached like a beggar¡¯s through the bars, seeking the jug. David shook his head. ¡°You don¡¯t get to keep the jug,¡± he said. ¡°Open wide.¡±


    Bennett opened her mouth on command, and tipped her head back. He poured from the jug into her mouth¡ªstopping occasionally when too much went down and she started coughing and spluttering. She definitely couldn¡¯t choke and die here. Chris would be furious.


    When she was done, David tossed the jug aside.


    ¡°I have a few questions I¡¯d like to ask,¡± he said. ¡°If you don¡¯t mind.¡±


    Bennett nodded. ¡°Questions. Yes. Anything.¡±


    ¡°When I was last at Plateau Watch, several of the soldiers there reported that the area was haunted. Did you ever see anything unusual?¡±


    Bennett shook her head.


    David frowned. ¡°Nothing at all? No strange lights, no screams?¡±


    Bennett swallowed. ¡°I never saw a thing, Captain, not with my own eyes. But the soldiers... Yes, now they were always talking about the things they thought they saw.¡±


    ¡°What sort of things?¡±


    ¡°Everything you described. Lights in the trees¡ªlike someone walking with a lantern, only there was nobody there when they went looking. Screams, not so much, but there were other things. I heard talk of shadows that were too long. Plumes of smoke on the horizon. Ancient carvings, from long before we came to Essegena.¡±


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    ¡°Carvings? Little wooden idols, perhaps?¡± As David understood it, the one he¡¯d found in the Mettywood was the only one. Perhaps these weren¡¯t the same thing.


    Bennett elaborated. ¡°I only heard the soldiers talking about them. Never saw anything myself.¡±


    ¡°Which soldiers?¡±


    She thought for a second, then her shoulders sank. ¡°I can¡¯t remember. I¡¯m sorry, Captain, please don¡¯t think bad of me.¡±


    Too late for that, David thought. But out loud he tried to sound cheerful. ¡°You¡¯ve been very helpful,¡± he said. ¡°Thank-you, Lieutenant.¡±


    ¡°My soldiers,¡± she said. ¡°How are my soldiers?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re not your soldiers,¡± said David. ¡°Lieutenant Malleston is commanding Plateau Watch now.¡±


    ¡°Malleston.¡± Bennett repeated the name softly, a faint smile on her face. ¡°They¡¯ll be in safe hands. I would like to see them again, when you let me out. They were the best garrison I ever had.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t pin your hopes on getting out soon,¡± said David. ¡°General Bradshaw wants you to be locked up for a good long while.¡±


    That set her off into despair. ¡°I never did anything,¡± she wailed. ¡°Why me?¡±


    He met her eyes, and for a moment felt only pity. ¡°You were in the wrong place,¡± he told her, ¡°and at the wrong time.¡±


    Bennett started sniffling. She buried her face in her hands, leaned back from the cell door. ¡°I was going to be the difference,¡± she moaned. ¡°I was meant to be the one who broke the cycle. I was conceived in a cell, Captain. My parents were the lowest of the low. They gave up everything so I could have a chance, and I¡¯ve fucked it.¡±


    ¡°Maybe Bradshaw will change his mind,¡± David lied.


    She looked up at him with doleful eyes. ¡°Nobody will tell me what I did wrong.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t dwell on it,¡± said David, turning to leave. He was getting bored of talking to former lieutenant Bennett, and worried her questions would expose an inconsistency. ¡°You should sleep. It¡¯s midnight.¡±


    All of a sudden, Bennett reached through the bars again. She clutched at his trouser leg, tugging and pulling until it slid down his legs. ¡°What do you think you¡¯re doing?¡± He wheeled.


    ¡°I¡¯ll do anything,¡± she said. ¡°I blow better than any officer the Unity wide, anyone¡¯ll tell you. My mum was a whore in the Rum Wash, she showed me all the tricks. Watch.¡± Her hand was on his cock, guiding it towards her mouth. The fingers which rubbed along the shaft were coarse with dried mud. He shuddered, a visceral tingle down the back of his spine, and lashed out with his leg. His foot connected with her jaw, and she went to the ground. ¡°My teeth,¡± she said, between moans, holding a hand over the point of impact. She spat a mouthful of blood and teeth into the open palm of the other hand. ¡°Why?¡±


    David stood for a second, shaking slightly, his trousers back in place but just barely. He hadn¡¯t meant to kick her. She looked at him with a face that was half bewilderment and half a scowl, and his face hardened. There was no woman cowering in front of him, just a base beast. Whatever she had coming, it was fully deserved. ¡°There¡¯s your crime,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯ll die a rapist.¡± He was steadying himself with every word. His voice seemed to go twice as deep as it normally did. Strange.


    Bennett was shaking her head. ¡°No, no,¡± she sobbed, ¡°I¡¯m not. I¡¯m good.¡±


    He turned his back on her, so he wouldn¡¯t throw up at the sight of her. ¡°See she¡¯s locked up tight,¡± he told Sergeant Poulton, at the gate, ¡°and let her go hungry for a bit.¡± Forever, even. It would be Briar on the gate in the morning, to relieve Poulton. Briar would ensure she didn¡¯t eat before her big trip outside.


    David left Sergeant Poulton to tend to Bennett, and walked deeper into the dungeon. Skerrett was being held in the furthest cell from the gate. There were two dozen metres of narrow corridor between it and all the other cells, and among those metres was a corner, ninety degrees, so the cell was quite invisible and quite inaudible from the rest of the jail.


    In this cell it was almost black. A single candle was lit on an inset platform high in the wall, beyond Skerrett¡¯s reach. It was a window with no daylight, only the gentle flickering of a solitary flame. Once every three days, the candle would be replaced. If it were to go out in the meantime, Skerrett would have to settle for darkness. And yet he called himself Lightness.


    The title was only that. They¡¯d learned on his first night of incarceration that his body had no luminescent properties. David would have been unable to see Skerrett clearly through only the light of that lone candle. He took a torch from a sconce in the corridor, just so he could be sure he was actually facing Skerrett.


    Most of the cells were of a uniform design, but not this one. Skerrett was here because David didn¡¯t trust him not to try and make a break for it. There were two solid oak doors separating it from the rest of the block; the outermost door had to be bolted shut before the other could be unlocked, and two guards had to be present for the inner door to be opened at all. For most purposes, a small grate would suffice. It had been measured specifically so that Captain Mannam¡¯s face would be level with it, when he was sat on a three-legged stool. David was slightly taller than Mannam, so he had to sit hunchbacked slightly in order to best make use of the grate. It was made of the same thick oak as the rest of the door, but with an iron border and a panel of plywood on the outer side. The plywood was just so David could see it easily.


    Skerrett didn¡¯t come towards the grate when it was opened. He had the first time, no doubt hoping for some respite or a morsel of food, but he¡¯d quickly learned to be cynical. Nobody ever came to question him. There was no need. His crimes had been public, and everybody in the valley knew he was guilty. What answers could he give? So when he drew the attention of one of the guards, it was to be spat at, or abused. Some were worse than others, David knew. Colne knew Molly Bradshaw from before Essegena, and had made it his personal mission to make Skerrett¡¯s imprisonment miserable. Gold-tooth Webster had no particular connection to the dead girl, that David could fathom anyway, but always enjoyed an excuse to talk shit towards an inmate. Both had been rotated out of cell duties. The others weren¡¯t much better.


    David had always been civil with Skerrett, tempting as it would have been to instead put a knife in his belly and leave him to bleed. All the same, he could hardly blame Skerrett for lingering at the back of the cell. The Lightness was a mess, far removed from the spick-and-span preacher who¡¯d stood on that dais and stained Molly Bradshaw¡¯s white dress red. His beard was matted with dirt, and a scar beneath his eye had become a weeping wound. That eye, puffy and inflamed, barely opened halfway.


    Skerrett grinned at David, his head cocked sideways. ¡°Come to let me go?¡±


    ¡°If I had my way, you¡¯d be dead,¡± said David. ¡°As it is, you¡¯re to be executed the morning after next. I suggest you get far away before then.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not as easy you make it seem.¡± Skerrett raised his hand, pulling on the chain that bound him. It was locked around a cast-iron eye in the floor; unimpeded, Skerrett might have made it halfway down the cell block before he ran out of chain.


    David sighed. Chris always had a plan, he knew that, and every instruction he received was in service to that plan. But this all felt wrong. He¡¯d never make a leader. He didn¡¯t have the eye for strategy that Chris had, to see this as the best option. He trusted Chris, though. He¡¯d trust Chris with anything. Never taking his eye off Skerrett, David reached into the pocket of his jacket, and pulled from it a small key, silver, with a fleur-de-lis hollowed into the bow. It jangled against the others he carried as he took it out, and this drew Skerrett¡¯s attention. The Lightness got to his feet.


    ¡°What¡¯s this you have for me?¡±


    David pushed the key through the grate. It landed with a soft ping at Skerrett¡¯s feet. ¡°That¡¯ll get you out of your chains. You need to take the key with you, or I¡¯ll change my mind and come after you¡ªand if you¡¯re in this cell by dawn¡¯s light you will burn.¡±


    ¡°Is this a trick, Lord Constable? You want me to run for it so your guards by the stairs have an excuse to shoot me dead, is that it? A show for my friends in here?¡± Skerrett wasn¡¯t the only member of the Faithful in these cells. Half a dozen of his would-be-rescuers were incarcerated here, as a warning to the rest not to try anything. They¡¯d be free to go soon enough. Just as soon as Skerrett was brought to justice.


    Of course, Skerrett wouldn¡¯t be receiving that justice. But they weren¡¯t to know that.


    ¡°That pendant you wear around your neck. What is it?¡±


    Skerrett¡¯s hand reached for the necklace. ¡°This? It¡¯s Nameth¡¯s Wheel. Nameth, the Overlord. It was he who created it all, in the beginning. The planets, the stars, even the other Gods. I wear his Wheel to receive his blessing.¡±


    ¡°Hand it over.¡±


    ¡°Why should I?¡±


    David leaned in as close as he could, looking beforehand to make sure nobody was close by. ¡°Because it¡¯s your ticket to freedom.¡±


    ¡°Freedom?¡± Skerrett held out his hands, palms raised. ¡°What is freedom? We¡¯re still consigned to these earthly bodies, are we not?¡±


    ¡°Freedom is you getting out of this cell,¡± David grunted, ¡°unless you want to keep being smart with that mouth.¡±


    Skerrett sighed, but reached round to the back of his neck. He unclipped the chain of his pendant, and slipped it through the bars of the cell, dropping it into David¡¯s reaching hand. David stuffed it into his pocket.


    ¡°There¡¯s a tunnel built into this cell,¡± he said. ¡°Not well-disguised, I¡¯m afraid, but then you¡¯re normally all in darkness. Wait until I¡¯m out of sight, until you can¡¯t hear me anymore, then make your escape. There¡¯s a soldier waiting at the other end. Onslow. She¡¯ll shave away your beard and give you clean clothes, and take you to one of the new forts. The Shallows, it¡¯s called. Sergeant Coburn will look after you, so long as you follow her orders.¡±


    ¡°Why should I follow some Sergeant¡¯s orders? I¡¯m no soldier, remember.¡±


    ¡°I assume you want to live,¡± said David. ¡°The Governor has a plan, and you factor into it somewhere. He¡¯ll find you. You need to keep your head down, Lightness. Don¡¯t go thinking you¡¯re a free man. You¡¯re still reviled here, even if the Governor has a use for you. If you show up in the valley, you¡¯ll be dead within the hour.¡±


    David turned to go as soon as he was done speaking. He didn¡¯t want to see Skerrett¡¯s face again, not ever. Before he could make it as far as the outer door, Skerrett called him back.


    ¡°I had to do it, you know.¡±


    ¡°She was a child,¡± David spat. ¡°Nobody needs to kill a child.¡±


    Skerrett laughed. ¡°There¡¯s more going on here than you realise, Lord Constable. We aren¡¯t playing morality games here. There¡¯s survival at stake. The dead don¡¯t always like to stay that way. It¡¯s just as the stories said: the old rules don¡¯t apply here.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d shut up now if I were you, before I take that key back.¡± David didn¡¯t turn back.


    ¡°The encroaching night is coming,¡± Skerrett called. ¡°The breaking tide. It¡¯ll swallow you up, Lord Constable.¡±


    David slammed the outer door hard, and Skerrett was left in silence.


    I hope Chris has got this one right, he thought.


    He walked back through the cells to the jeers of Skerrett¡¯s incarcerated cronies, never looking at them. Nor did he look when Comestine Argent begged for her freedom. And Anna Bennett¡¯s tears didn¡¯t move him. He nodded at Sergeant Poulton at the gate, and climbed the stairs.


    The feel of fresh air, when at last it came, was as ecstasy for him.

 64. Ashes to Ashes

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Ian ~


    The morning was for the pilgrims. Three hundred of them made the journey up to Caroline¡¯s hill, men and women and children, bleary-eyed and damp from the pervasive drizzle. Dark days brought dark skies, as the old saying went. Today the clouds were black as the rings of hell. Every clap of thunder was the Gods screaming their anger, and of late they seemed particularly furious. Skerrett had claimed to serve those Gods. Maybe the old priest was right, and they were not happy that he had to die for his service.


    Ian had not expected a capital sentence. Nobody had, really. Execution as a punishment was as illegal in the Unity as religious sacrifice. And yet no blanket ban had ever been written in, and some of the oldest laws still had their ancient justice. The law was the law, and the sentence was death, and so Skerrett had to burn.


    That was if the rain didn¡¯t extinguish the flames.


    Perhaps it would have been better to let Skerrett go. They could keep a close eye on him, find the most petty of charges with which to gaol him, and keep him incarcerated then for years¡ªimprisoned but alive. If Chris had seen the blood of a man dead at his own hand, surely he¡¯d not have been so ardent that Skerrett had to die.


    Water doesn¡¯t wash all the blood out.


    But Skerrett had killed. Dani never had. She¡¯d only loved, and picked the wrong love. She¡¯d sang her way to her dying place, and watched the sun set feet from the spot she now lay rotting in. ¡°My love, he¡¯ll carry me over the sea, my love, he¡¯s carrying treasures for me.¡± The words still played in Ian¡¯s head sometimes. Dani¡¯s voice had been sweet, but the music in his memory was discordant.


    Molly Bradshaw had not killed either. Maybe she was a spy, as Skerrett claimed. Maybe she really was devout. Either way she was seventeen, and either way dead.


    The death of the priest would not breathe life back into her. It would fuel a bloodlust. Old Master Ruddingshaw had agreed with Ian. A mockery of justice, he called it. It didn¡¯t matter. There was no debate to be had. The moment they¡¯d read the old law, the decision of the Council was made. Chris had been happy to go along with their fury.


    Without Caroline he became a different person. He needed her. In the old days, the daughters of nobles went to Temperance Colleges, so they could learn how best to be wives. A queen practiced morality, sought counsel, gave wise advice, while her king¡¯s blood ran hot. The best kings died before their wives, before the advice ran out. Chris was born to be a king, and Caro a queen. Anyone could see it.


    That was why Dani had needed to die.


    What remained of Skerrett¡¯s followers came down from the church in single file, each in the drab hair shirts of piety. Many had abandoned worship since Molly died. A few had tried to break Skerrett out of his prison, and instead been confined there with him. A dozen were left, Tim Fawley at their head. Fawley was dour, dry, far too severe. He¡¯d probably drive the rest of them away quickly enough.


    Millie had not come. She was full enough already with the sight of death. In that, she seemed to be almost alone. The valley had teemed with angry whispers. Many wanted Skerrett to die. Even more disturbing were the people who wanted him to suffer. More than once, Ian had overheard somebody describing all the gruesome things they thought Skerrett deserved to have done to him. One man¡¯s expressed fantasy belied a fundamental lack of understanding about what could physically be done to a person, and even were it possible it was comically disproportionate to the crime.


    He stayed clear of the zealots. Better to walk alone, in the company of his thoughts. He knew Elise would have walked with him, had she been here¡ªnot out of any love of violent spectacle, but out of fear of seeing him afraid. And he was afraid, he was man enough to admit that. Things were mounting up. He¡¯d pushed the ball down the hill when he spoke to Skerrett, but he hadn¡¯t seen how far it had to roll. Perhaps he shouldn¡¯t have pushed it in the first place. Elise would have squeezed his hand tight, and walked with him silently, and that would have made everything better. It was the one aspect of her that he still had love for.


    The grass was wet on Caroline¡¯s hill, on that flat respite from the southern slope upon which she¡¯d been laid to rest. Chris had arrived early; he was stood beside the stake that had been erected. Behind him, half a dozen Constabulary guards in resplendent uniforms kept hold of Skerrett. The Lightness had been given little more than a dirty tunic to wear, and a heavy sack was tied over his head, to keep his face from view. A metal brazier was positioned at one side of the hill, smoke billowing from it, and a woman was fanning to keep the smoke from her face.


    It didn¡¯t take long for the area to become crowded. David gave a signal from the apple box he was sat on and his soldiers moved into crowd control. They fanned out evenly around the masses, forming an open hemisphere around the stake.


    ¡°People of Essegena, you on this hill, please be at ease,¡± David yelled, bringing silence with him. ¡°The man will burn, but not until there¡¯s peace here. This is the pendant Lightness Skerrett wore around his neck: a lie. It will go to the flames with him.¡± David held aloft a silver necklace, too small from this distance for Ian to make out the shape it was cut into, and threw it onto the waiting pyre.


    ¡°Bastard,¡± one of the acolytes screamed. They¡¯d gathered together at the extreme right of the semi-circle, behind boring Tim Fawley.


    ¡°It¡¯s him that should be burning,¡± shrieked Boneskin Bets, pointing a skinny finger at Chris.


    An amused smirk spread across David¡¯s face, Ian saw. ¡°Your precious Lightness has been convicted of a criminal act.¡±


    ¡°Governor, you¡¯re in the wrong here,¡± said Tim Fawley, inching forward. The guard nearest to him began to look nervous, and another ran to support him. ¡°The Gods will judge you harshly. This was all your doing.¡± The two guards together were enough to keep Fawley back, so he walked away from them. The sea of acolytes parted to let him by, and he clambered up onto a huge boulder behind them. He turned to address the crowds, projecting his voice far into the heavens. ¡°The Governor arranged the death of the girl. He planned it all.¡± That perked Ian up. Boring Tim Fawley had become interesting for once.


    The two guards glanced at one another. David said something to them, and the larger of the two¡ªthe one who had come to assist¡ªpushed his way into the crowd, between the acolytes. He reached up to Fawley, dragged him off the boulder, and pulled him out. Laying him down in the empty hemisphere, the two guards took turns beating Fawley. Each blow brought a sickening crunch. Kicked up flecks of blood.


    Godsouls, Ian thought. They¡¯re going to kill Fawley. One execution was bad enough. Tim Fawley had committed no crimes.


    ¡°Stop this,¡± came the booming voice of Mark Bradshaw, just arriving up the hill. ¡°Captain Clifford, control your men.¡±


    David was chastened, and ordered the guards to stop. Fawley scrambled back into the throng of acolytes, blood streaming from his nose. They absorbed him into their ranks and linked their arms together, forming a wall around him. One of the guards briefly moved to separate them. His mates didn¡¯t follow suit, and he gave up the idea.


    The crowd parted as Bradshaw took his place at the front, his daughter Megan by his side. ¡°There¡¯s no need for any riots here.¡±


    At last, Chris stepped forward, blocking the stake. ¡°This is to be the end of it,¡± he said. ¡°Any feuds will die on the flames beside Lightness Skerrett. Let his be a death for the sins of us all. For those of his followers who share in his guilt, this is an amnesty. Your actions will be forgotten. Such is justice. And this is justice, make no mistake. Reprehensible as Lightness Skerrett¡¯s actions were, they were his actions. Those who shared his faith do not share his guilt. With his death, the debt will be cleared. I hope the church can find a way to move forward and prove itself worthy of its name, and the memories of those it venerates. A strong faith can bolster us, and be a boon to all Essegena. But a weak faith, one that falls back on the murderous ways of Lightness Skerrett, cannot be allowed to endure. Let this be your warning: it will be the whole church on the pyre next time.¡±


    Ian shook his head. It was bad enough that Chris had given in to the demands from certain quarters and condemned Skerrett to such an end. Now here he was giving a speech, like it was some game and he was laying down the rules. Reach out a hand of reconciliation to the church. Don¡¯t threaten to burn it down.


    ¡°Bring him forward,¡± said Chris, stood before the baying crowd.


    A bearded soldier guided Skerrett towards the stake. The platform around it had been hurriedly erected. It creaked and buckled as Skerrett was led over it. The soldier tied him to the stake with thick ropes, tying knots around each ankle and each wrist and looping the ropes around Skerrett¡¯s neck. He made a feeble attempt to pull free, but the ropes were tied firm. They did not budge.


    Skerrett was barefoot, Ian noticed. The skin was heavily callused, and the soles were filthy. The bearded soldier made a point of standing squarely on Skerrett¡¯s toes as he descended from the platform. The Lightness yelped, a muffled, almost girlish cry.


    As soon as the soldier was well clear of the platform, Chris moved aside. One of the Constabulary guards, having procured a torch from somewhere¡ªIan hadn¡¯t seen it, but it must have been near the brazier somewhere¡ªheld it over the fire until it took light, then passed it to Chris.


    Ian held his breath as Chris walked in what felt like slow-motion towards the base of the pyre. He touched the torch to the stacks of kindling, and suddenly the whole thing was ablaze. Through the flames Ian could see Skerrett shuffling away as the fire approached. His feet were pressed tight against the stake. He tried to hoist them up, to get off the platform, but then the fire reached him.


    That was all Ian could take. He turned away as Skerrett started to scream. It was a high scream, shrill, piercing, deathly loud. Others were turning away too, Ian could see. Lots of them. Many sought the comfort of a loved one¡¯s arm to cry into. Some stayed rapt on the pyre, the flames reflected in their eyes, completely frozen. Skerrett¡¯s screams became louder and louder, higher and higher. He sounded at first like a woman, but then the cries became inhuman. An animal howling. A base screeching. And then silence.


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    The silence was worse than the screams.


    Ian kept facing away from the pyre until he felt safe to turn around. His eyes were slick with tears which he tried to blink away. Why had he come? What had he expected? Not this, that was certain. This was worse than he could have imagined. Dani¡¯s drowning pleas for mercy were a pale imitation of this.


    Thunder cracked overhead, and the rain grew heavier. Ian let it drench him. Who cared if he got wet? Certainly he didn¡¯t.  He stood in the midst of the falling water, feeling his clothes get soaked through. Others were running for shelter, leaving the hill in their droves. Scores of them were heading back into the valley. Skerrett was dead, for better or worse. The show was over. Why stay to be soaked?


    Why stay?


    Ian could have gone too. He wanted to go. But his legs wouldn¡¯t obey him. He could feel them wobbling, like jelly, the nerves all a-tingle. Two steps and they¡¯d give out, and he¡¯d be in a crumpled heap on the wet ground. So he remained in place to take the beating of the rain. He pressed shaking hands, balled into fists, to his eyes. Where tears ended and rain began was uncertain, but Ian wiped them both away the same.


    Eventually, things began to grow normal again. The fire was extinguished, he thought, and the crowds had gone. Caroline¡¯s gleaming headstone with its malachite pressings was visible at last. A ray of flooding sunshine parted the rainclouds. It seemed to shine directly on dear Caro.


    She wouldn¡¯t let him be alone at such a time as this. He was a friend, and she was good to her friends. Not even death could stop that.


    Ian smiled faintly and dried his face.


    ¡°What about that, huh?¡± He turned at the sound of Chris¡¯ voice, to see the Governor pushing his way between the throngs. ¡°I wasn¡¯t expecting it all to be so beautiful.¡±


    ¡°Beautiful isn¡¯t the word I¡¯d use.¡±


    Chris beckoned him to one side, and reluctantly he followed. ¡°There¡¯s some kind of power in the flames, there must be. They¡¯re so mesmerising.¡±


    ¡°I just think it¡¯s a little barbaric.¡±


    Chris rolled his eyes. ¡°You made your standing quite plain, Ian, but capital sentences are codified in law.¡±


    ¡°Unity law. We¡¯re not in the Unity, as you¡¯re so keen to remind people.¡±


    ¡°Keep your voice down.¡± He didn¡¯t realise he¡¯d raised it in the first place, but it had attracted a few stares. Some of Skerrett¡¯s tear-stained followers were grouped beside a large rock nearby, among them Tim Fawley, his nose still bleeding gently. Each of them stared. ¡°Ian, I hope this isn¡¯t the last time you and I meet. When is it you leave for the Hive? Tomorrow?¡±


    ¡°At first light,¡± Ian confirmed.


    Chris nodded. ¡°Well, there¡¯s nothing now for me to say except that I hope you return. You¡¯ve always been a good friend, Ian, and I know Caroline felt the same way. I¡¯m going to miss you.¡±


    Ian turned away. ¡°Goodbye, Governor.¡±


    Unconscious step carried Ian to the heart of town, his mind set firm, and he found himself at Snyder¡¯s Dressmaker¡¯s as the afternoon sun tried to poke out behind the clouds. When was the last time he¡¯d been into a dressmaker¡¯s? Elise dressed cheaply, and kept to herself as she bought. He hadn¡¯t accompanied her since her mother¡¯s funeral, when she¡¯d wanted help to find the right attire.


    Snyder¡¯s wasn¡¯t close to being as stuffy as that last one had been. Daylight streamed through huge windows, and the walls were painted in bright colours. Racks of clothes were kept a distance apart. The furthest wall was filled with square cuttings of all sorts of different fabrics, in every colour there was.


    The woman herself, Mistress Mary Snyder, was stood by this wall, dressed brightly in a gown with a pleated skirt that billowed well below her knees. Her hair was waving tresses of spun gold, and her lips were painted a blushing pink. In her day she must have been beautiful. She still was beautiful, as a matter of fact, even if her face was lined and the skin stretched thin. She smiled politely at Ian, and radiated grace from that smile. ¡°How can I help you, Master Fitzhenry?¡± she purred.


    ¡°I¡¯m here for Millie.¡±


    Mistress Snyder nodded. ¡°You¡¯ll find her in the back room.¡±


    Ian hesitated. ¡°You don¡¯t want to accompany me?¡±


    ¡°Good Mother, no. If anything goes missing, I¡¯ll know exactly who to moan to. Let¡¯s have a bit of trust.¡±


    The back room was much more drab in its decor, but somehow just as airy. Millie was sat at a wooden spindle, humming softly to herself.


    ¡°So this is where you weave your magic,¡± said Ian.


    Millie jumped. ¡°I don¡¯t really weave,¡± she said, standing. ¡°Ian, what are you doing here?¡±


    ¡°I need to talk to you,¡± he told her. He gestured at her spindle. ¡°Haven¡¯t they invented machines for that?¡±


    ¡°Mistress Snyder prefers the old way,¡± said Millie. ¡°And really I like it better. I get to put more of me into what I make.¡±


    He beckoned her to one side, and kissed her lightly on the cheek. ¡°This is goodbye, Millie,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m not coming back from the Hive.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t. Not after today. This isn¡¯t a place for me, that¡¯s been made clear. It¡¯s on me for taking so long to realise.¡±


    ¡°But you said... Where will you go?¡±


    Ian shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s a big universe. I¡¯ll find somewhere suitable.¡±


    Millie grimaced. ¡°I can wait for you,¡± she offered. ¡°In case you decide to come back one day.¡±


    He stroked her face. ¡°Don¡¯t be silly,¡± he said, pressing his face close to hers. ¡°Millie, you¡¯re young still. There are so many years for you to build a life. You mustn¡¯t waste them on a vain hope. It¡¯ll only leave you bitter, when you¡¯re old and full of regret.¡±


    ¡°What is there to regret? I got to love you.¡±


    ¡°No, Millie, don¡¯t tell yourself this was love. There was never love here. Passion, yes¡ªbut this was just physical. Just sex. It didn¡¯t mean anything more. I¡¯m a married man, and you¡¯re half my age.¡±


    Millie frowned. ¡°You don¡¯t have to lie for the sake of my feelings.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not lying,¡± Ian insisted. ¡°Believe me, I¡¯ve enjoyed our little trysts. You¡¯ve shown me that life can still be fun. But how can you call it love? Do you even know what love is?¡±


    She nodded, determination on her face. ¡°This is love. Ian, I¡¯m not a child. I know my own heart.¡±


    He sighed. He¡¯d hoped it wouldn¡¯t come to this, but she needed to understand. Somehow his words weren¡¯t getting through to her. ¡°I loved a girl when I was a teenager,¡± he said. ¡°She was my best friend, and I¡¯d have given anything to make her my wife. But she didn¡¯t love me. She had her eyes on somebody else.¡± He closed his eyes to steel himself. Ten seconds time, and Millie would hate him. As she should. ¡°I killed, Millie. I took a young woman and drowned her in the lake, so the girl I loved would be free to marry the man of her dreams. That¡¯s love.¡±


    His words had the expected effect. Millie froze. The tension suddenly pressing on every muscle was palpable. She pulled away from him, her eyes firm. ¡°You should go. It¡¯s a long way to the Hive.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not walking there,¡± said Ian. ¡°The ship leaves first thing tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°Then go and prepare for it.¡± There was a coldness to Millie now, the likes of which Ian hadn¡¯t seen before. ¡°Go on. I have spinning to do.¡±


    She returned to her spindle and began to work. All of a sudden he felt the need to defend himself.


    ¡°I should have said something before now,¡± said Ian.


    ¡°Yes, you should have.¡± Millie didn¡¯t look up from her spinning.


    ¡°It¡¯s not me. I¡¯ve moved past that, I¡¯m a different person.¡±


    ¡°So why won¡¯t you say her name?¡±


    Ian paused, blinked. ¡°I... come again?¡±


    ¡°Her name,¡± said Millie. ¡°Say it.¡±


    ¡°Millie¡ª¡±


    ¡°How can you expect me to believe you?¡± She finally looked up. ¡°You tell me you¡¯ve changed. So tell me who she was.¡±


    He sighed. ¡°Her name was Dani Carrigan.¡±


    A beat. ¡°I¡¯ve heard the name before,¡± said Millie. ¡°You got angry with me when I asked you who she was. If you¡¯d really moved past it, you wouldn¡¯t have been ashamed to say her name to me. You¡¯re a killer.¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll kill again. I can¡¯t take the chance of it being me.¡±


    He shook his head. ¡°Millie, I am not a killer. It was a mistake, one adolescent mistake. And it¡¯s not as if I¡¯ve ever been able to forget. I still see her ghost everywhere I go. I wish I¡¯d never been the man I was that day.¡±


    Millie pulled a face. ¡°Like I said, I¡¯ve got spinning to do. When you come back, we¡¯ll talk again.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not coming back, Millie,¡± he said. ¡°I already told you that.¡±


    She turned to him. ¡°Then we won¡¯t ever talk again. That¡¯s up to you.¡±


    Millie didn¡¯t say another word. Ian stood for a while, until the silence became unbearable and the awkwardness palpable. Then, without a word, he took his leave. His departure was underscored by the sound of Millie¡¯s spinning wheel, and the sad tune she was humming.


    He wasn¡¯t sure why, but he didn¡¯t return to the Eia, and his chambers. Instead, he headed north-east. The cobbles leading the way to the Lord Constable¡¯s Tower were still wet even as the sun warmed those same stones. His shoes squeaked on the ground as he walked.


    There was nobody keeping guard outside the tower. They were probably all inside, or else drinking themselves silly at the Tavern in celebration of an immolation well done. Ian didn¡¯t need anybody. He climbed the wide steps and followed the path around the tower, and soon enough he was in the hidden shelter of the grove there. The pool gleamed as a light breeze lapped at the water, and he sat on the rocks beside it.


    And for some reason, he spoke. ¡°We need you, Caroline. We needed you today.¡± Somehow he felt as though she was there. It was just as Chris had said. Caroline¡¯s presence was here, with him, listening. Hers was a benevolent spectre, and he knew she must be sad. ¡°The world¡¯s gone insane since you died.¡±


    In a secret crook of his memory, something was stirring. Caroline¡¯s grandmother, the grey siren with the sharpest wit of any woman he¡¯d ever met, had talked about the Gods and their favourites. They liked to send their chosen into the world, and with them hold back the encroaching darkness. The story chilled Ian. Everyone knew that the Gods held dominion. It was what made them Gods. The darkness was theirs.


    But if it had to be held back, that meant it wasn¡¯t theirs.


    And what force could bring the Gods to fear?


    The shadows seemed to have grown longer all through the grove, deeper and darker. The air was cold.


    He looked around. There was a tall willow at the heart of the grove¡ªone of the trees the place had been built around. The sunlight caught on the leaves, shone just right, and there beneath the creaking branches was a glow of ghostly pale. ¡°Is that your ghost? I can¡¯t see you, not through the curtain, but I can talk to you. Do you mind if I talk a while?¡±


    Caroline¡¯s ghost gave no word of protest.


    ¡°Could I have saved everybody? If I¡¯d drowned myself in the water, Dani would still be alive. You would too. Caro, I¡¯d do it.¡± He smiled a sad smile. ¡°Do you remember when we stole Tessa¡¯s circlet? Good Mother, you must have been six? Seven? And you had to be the one to do the deed. That¡¯s courage, Caro. I could do with some courage. Look, if you¡¯re there¡ªif you¡¯re watching me¡ªplease show me you¡¯ve heard. Tell me it¡¯s okay to go backwards. All I¡¯ve ever done is run forward.¡± He paused. Held his breath, lest he miss the whispered voice of a spectre. The starfires in their beds fluttered idly in the breeze, but so did the bushes at the edge of the grove. No ghostly woman answered.


    Ian stood again. ¡°You rest easy, Caroline. Don¡¯t watch for me to visit. I¡¯ll be gone by tomorrow¡ªI¡¯ll leave you to Chris.¡±


    With the voice of the breeze, Caroline replied.


    Ian breathed out the burdens of Essegena and made his way out of the grove. He crept unseen around the Lord Constable¡¯s Tower, and before he knew it he was back in the plaza. The Tavern was alive and bustling in the afternoon sunlight. People were spilling out of the doors laden with tankards that looked so golden and delicious, and he could smell the cider heavy in his nose, calling him in.


    And why not? The day was still bright. There was plenty of time for one more drink.

 65. The Governors Job

    <h3 style="text-align: center">~ Tema ~


    <Tema.>


    She dreamed uncertain dreams. In them time seemed to stand still. Fr¨¦reves¡¯ grove was twice as cold in the still blue of this twilight, cast in a silence so deep not even the birds dared to break it. Dead leaves fell like feathers from the gnarled hands of ancient trees. They made no sound as they crumbled to dust on the floor.


    <Tema, I need you to listen to me.>


    Why should she listen to Fr¨¦reves? What had the Gods ever given to her? She turned all the same, cold dew sliding between her toes with each step. There behind her stood Caroline. Caroline, unblemished by pain or age, an elegant siren hovering before her as if a ghost. A corona of pale light illuminated her.


    ¡°Caroline,¡± said Tema, through lips that didn¡¯t move. ¡°Caroline, I¡¯m sorry. I failed you.¡±


    <No. You did all you could.>


    A lie. There must have been something more she could have done, something she missed. Why had Caroline returned from death just to lie to her?


    Tema stood mesmerised in her wake, as Caroline retreated into the shadows of the trees, passing through the cracked statue of Fr¨¦reves as though it weren¡¯t even there.


    ¡°Stay with me,¡± she begged. ¡°I don¡¯t want to be alone.¡±


    Caroline turned to her, and spoke with the voice of the goddess. <You aren¡¯t alone. You only have to wake up.> And then she was gone, and Tema was consigned to the silence of the grove once more. For as long as she remained there, timeless, that silence was never again broken.


    When at last she woke, hours or days or weeks later, she couldn¡¯t remember where she was. Her head hurt. Her arm hurt. An intravenous tube was still attached at the wrist, and she batted it away without any thought. That hurt even more, and her arm started to bleed.


    A nurse came to her. ¡°No, Doctor Caerlin, you have to do it properly,¡± she chided. ¡°You should know better.¡± The voice was one she knew well, the face familiar. But the name eluded her.


    She squinted. It seemed to make her brain work. ¡°Betsy,¡± she realised. ¡°Betsy Clanackan.¡± But Betsy Clanackan was ill, close to death. The sickness had taken her. ¡°Is this death?¡±


    ¡°No, Doctor Caerlin. This is the hospital.¡±


    Once the bleeding was stemmed, Betsy brought her some fruit, and she ate it gratefully. Her stomach had stayed quiet until she began to eat, but now it growled ravenously. It screamed its painful scream until every last morsel was gone. By then, she had a visitor.


    Ella Trang came in looking tired. Her hair was tied into a ponytail, and she wore a woollen jumper that she definitely hadn¡¯t had on when she crossed the lockdown line. She wore a triumphant smile. ¡°We did it, Doctor Caerlin. We saved the day.¡±


    ¡°Ella? What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°We saved them all. Everyone got better


    Tema couldn¡¯t hear Ella properly. What she was hearing made no sense. ¡°No, no they can¡¯t have done. I only did the blood so you wouldn¡¯t do it. Ella, it was never going to work.¡±


    ¡°But it did, Doctor Caerlin. It did work.¡±


    ¡°You must be mistaken,¡± said Tema, shaking her head. ¡°It¡¯s impossible.¡±


    ¡°Who cares if it¡¯s is impossible? It worked.¡± Ella seemed earnest enough. In fact, she seemed positively bouncy. There must have been glue on the soles of her shoes, keeping her from jumping up and down. Her excitement was infectious. Tema found herself starting to believe the impossible too.


    Ella had dispensed with her old clothes. She looked elegant today in a knitted plum jumper and white breeches. Tema¡¯d not seen her in that outfit during the quarantine. ¡°That jumper... where did you find it?¡±


    ¡°This? It¡¯s mine. I found it in my bedchamber.¡±


    Tema shook her head. ¡°No, you definitely weren¡¯t wearing that before. It¡¯s pretty. I¡¯d have said something about it.¡±


    Ella frowned. ¡°I put it on this morning.¡±


    ¡°You couldn¡¯t. The lockdown¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªfinished two days ago. Doctor Maynard lifted it as soon as she could walk again.¡±


    Have I slipped into some parallel timeline? ¡°Doctor Maynard can walk? No, that can¡¯t be the case. She was just about dead. It¡¯ll be a miracle if she even wakes up again.¡±


    Ella shook her head, a grin on her face. ¡°She¡¯s better. Everyone¡¯s better. I said that.¡±


    Tema frowned. ¡°How long have I been asleep?¡±


    ¡°A week, easy. At first we thought you might have caught the disease yourself. You¡¯ve been plugged into anaesthetic ever since. I guess nobody thought to wake you.¡±


    They wanted to forget about me, no doubt. But Janna wouldn¡¯t forget about her, even if everybody else did. Janna was a good egg. ¡°Janna?¡±


    ¡°Gone up to one of the forts on the hills,¡± Ella explained. ¡°They had an emergency. The quarantine hadn¡¯t been over for a day by then, but Janna went straight off.¡±


    ¡°Someone needs to tell that girl to slow down.¡± Tema held out an arm. ¡°Can you help me up? I¡¯m not staying here longer than I have to.¡±


    Ella smiled. ¡°Of course.¡±


    She didn¡¯t realise how weak her legs were until she tried to put her weight onto them. Without Ella there to lean on, she might well have fallen. But she wouldn¡¯t sit back on the bed. She had to get on with it. She was the head doctor, after all¡ªand there was surely work to be done.


    Emmeline Maynard met her in the washroom. Tema was sweaty and sticky from a week bedridden, so the first order of the day was to clean off the filth. She was towelling herself dry when Maynard entered the room.


    ¡°Tema...¡± Maynard froze in the doorway. Tema froze too, braced for Maynard to moan about her using the facilities. Instead, she smiled. ¡°You saved my life, Tema. I can¡¯t thank you enough.¡± Before Tema could respond, Maynard moved forward and pulled her into a hug so tight she thought the air might be squeezed from her lungs.


    At last, Maynard let her go.


    ¡°It¡¯s good to see you walking again, Doctor Maynard.¡±


    ¡°Emmeline, please. And the same to you. When I woke to find out you were sick¡ª¡± Maynard shook her head. ¡°But what am I doing, rambling on? The sun is bright today. You want to get out there in the fresh air.¡±


    ¡°Later, maybe. I have a job to do.¡±


    Maynard laughed. ¡°Tema, you¡¯re convalescing. The hospital can cope without you for the day.¡±


    ¡°Can it?¡± Tema¡¯s face was grim. ¡°We¡¯ve lost near fifty staff, including our head doctor. I can rest later.¡±


    Maynard maintained her protest for a little while longer, but Tema was resolute. She hated herself for wasting so much time lying in a bed. If Doctor Staniforth thought she wasn¡¯t up to the task¡ª


    She threw on the first set of scrubs she found in her locker and went up to the wards, not even pausing to put make-up on her face. What was the point in it? None of the other girls bothered, really. She was a woman whether she painted her face or not, and she had a job she was running late for.


    The shift was a breeze. She was reenergised, and whenever fatigue or boredom suggested at making an appearance, she was buoyed by the sight of a friend she thought to be lost. Every time she went by Betsy Clanackan or Martha Salcombe, she forgot for a wonderful moment that anything had happened. She even convinced herself that she might pass through a doorway and find Lily Day on the other side, all smiles. Maybe even Caroline would be there. Perhaps the whole thing had been a bad dream.


    It was busy though, busier than it had ever been before the sickness spread. There were three dozen people spread across the wards, with all manner of breaks and bruisers. ¡°A riot up at the church,¡± Cherry Aspwell explained. ¡°After that girl got stabbed.¡± Tema made a note to find out what she¡¯d missed.


    Some of the injuries were worse than others. A young cook¡¯s assistant in service to the Sorrells, a cheery girl with a sing-song voice called Sophie, had lost all the sight in her right eye, when it was hit by a missile of some kind. Master Dombric¡¯s wife Leowene had suffered a nasty break to her leg; the leg had become infected, and Doctor Sinclair was of the opinion that it might end up being lost. Others had only bruises or scrapes, nothing that some iodine and a bandage couldn¡¯t fix.


    But while Tema had plenty to do, there was no indication that she was specifically needed. Doctor Maynard was right. Things were well in hand.


    After what couldn¡¯t have been more than a few hours, satisfied that the hospital wasn¡¯t about to collapse the moment it didn¡¯t detect her presence, she felt the call of the outside world. Lockdown is over. I don¡¯t have to keep myself cooped up in here. But if she left too early, Caro would be cross.


    Caro.


    There had been no time to mourn. Not while there was work to be done. Caroline had still been living, in her mind, around a corner somewhere in another room. Only by chance had their paths not yet crossed.


    But that wasn¡¯t true.


    All of a sudden her energy was gone. Everything seemed colder.


    She needed to see the sun again.


    As she passed through reception, she saw Viola Watling coming in. Both froze. Tema could feel that bitter taste filling her mouth, anger and fear and everything else boiled into one. And beneath all that, hope. Viola might not hate her, not really. It was foolish to hope.


    But why not be a fool sometimes?


    Viola looked at Tema, and Tema¡¯s breath caught. Then any hardness in Vi¡¯s face melted away. She collapsed into a smile. Her eyes were hopeful, a doe¡¯s, pleading for permission to approach. Tema ought to put up the barriers. Seal her emotions away, and never let Viola close again.


    Instead, she nodded. Approach. Bare your heart to me, and let me bare mine.


    And then a flash of lilac from Viola¡¯s swaying skirts. The girl dashed across the room, came to a stop in front of Tema. She looked up, sheepish. ¡°Have I been a twat?¡± she asked, with a grin on her face.


    Tema nodded. ¡°The biggest.¡± She held out her arms.


    Viola leapt into them. Tema closed her eyes and let the moment wash over her. When was the last time she¡¯d been properly hugged? Not in all the time she¡¯d been herself, that was for sure. And Mother and Father hadn¡¯t been the hugging type even before they¡¯d decided Tema was an affront to their very values. She was just a small child the last time. Playing with Tasha, she¡¯d fallen and skinned her knee. Maria the maid found her. Goodwife Maria was always her favourite. She¡¯d carried Tema to the house, to the big sitting room in the western gallery, and she¡¯d read a story from one of the dusty old books while Tema cried her eyes out. Goodwife Maria had been such a storyteller. In time, tears and pain were always forgotten, their places in Tema¡¯s mind occupied instead by brave princesses and gallant knights. And after the story, the hug. Maria used to call Tema up onto her lap, folded up in her arms. It was the mother¡¯s cwtch, from the only woman who¡¯d loved Tema as a mother should.


    The last time she¡¯d crawled into Goodwife Maria¡¯s arms for a cwtch, Viola hadn¡¯t even been born. The warmth of the hug was a foreign sensation. She¡¯d been out in the cold for so long, she¡¯d forgotten even to shiver.


    ¡°Mum expects me to give her grandchildren,¡± Viola smiled, pulling away from Tema¡¯s embrace. ¡°The whole pregnant thing always skeeved me out, but still... they say your life has to go one way, you expect the plan to happen.¡±


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡°People change,¡± said Tema. ¡°People don¡¯t follow their scripts. I was supposed to be the lord of some estate somewhere. A shitty estate, granted, with half the windows boarded up, but an estate nonetheless.¡±


    Viola looked at Tema, those doleful brown eyes staring into hers. ¡°What if I made a mistake? What if I don¡¯t like women after all?¡±


    ¡°Then you don¡¯t like women,¡± Tema shrugged, ¡°and the Darkness can take anybody who hassles you.¡±


    For a second then neither of them said a word. Viola¡¯s arm twitched, as though she were about to move. And then she did. She kissed Tema, a long kiss imbued with passion, their lips pressed together as though she meant for them to stick fast. It seemed to go on forever. When it was done, Viola stood away, breathing heavily.


    ¡°I think I like women,¡± she said. ¡°I like you. Is that okay?¡±


    Tema smiled. ¡°I won¡¯t complain.¡±


    Viola moved from one foot to the other. ¡°Can we maybe have a drink at some point? Together, I mean. We could¡ª¡±


    ¡°You hurt me, you know. You betrayed my trust. I know you were scared, but that didn¡¯t give you the right to tell everyone all about me. That was my secret to spill. You saying sorry doesn¡¯t mean that never happened.¡±


    Viola nodded mutely, her eyes cast downward. ¡°Give me this chance,¡± she said, pleading softly.


    Did she deserve it? She was young, and struggling with herself¡ªdid that somehow make her guilt less? Tema almost wanted to be harsh with Viola. But then again, she¡¯d missed having the girl¡¯s friendship.


    Fool she might have been, but Tema let her feelings decide for her. ¡°Godsouls, I can¡¯t deny you. Come and see me when your shift¡¯s over, if you still want to. You know where I¡¯ll be.¡±


    A smile flashed on Viola¡¯s face. ¡°I¡¯ll look forward to it.¡±


    Sunlight was a welcome tonic. It was her first time back out in the fresh air, her first proper walk. It felt like she¡¯d been born again. She wasn¡¯t sure where she was heading, but she couldn¡¯t stay indoors. Not any longer. She swung by her chambers, very briefly, to change into fresh clothes. Even staying there for that long was enough to make her antsy. It didn¡¯t matter that it wasn¡¯t the hospital. It was confined.


    There were some weird looks from people on the street as she crossed from the Eia to the perimeter of the town. It was presumably something to do with the way she held her hands up to receive the sun, but let them give their funny looks. She was happy just to be free.


    Before long, she came found herself in the plaza. Everything was normal here¡ªjust the way it should be. A couple of red-faced soldiers were making an early start on their drinking, sat outside the Tavern with their hats discarded on the ground. A corpulent man with two layers of chin, each independently growing its own beard, had his hand in the lap of an anxious-looking girl with her face coated in yellow powder. A matron in billowing skirts shepherded a small boy around the edge of the plaza, chiding him whenever he strayed onto the grass.


    Tema smiled. If the sickness had left the hospital all these people could have been ill. They could have died. She¡¯d saved them.


    ¡°Temmi!¡±


    The screech was too loud for her to ignore. Barbara Flower was sat on a strip of grass, a gentle meandering slope along the north edge of the plaza, in the shade of a marble statuette that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight. She hadn¡¯t changed a bit.


    Before Tema could get half a dozen steps towards her, she was on her feet and bounding towards her. Babs took a flying leap, pulling Tema into a tight hug as she bowled her to the ground. The whitewashed gravel which had filled the plaza¡¯s perimeter walkway cut pieces out of Tema¡¯s skin as she landed; dribbles of her blood poisoned the clarity of the path. Was it just the light of the sun, or was it a cleaner scarlet than before?


    ¡°I missed you,¡± Babs cooed. ¡°I thought you were dead.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m still alive, at least as far as I can tell.¡± She waved the palm of her hand, scraped by the gravel and gently bleeding, so Babs could see. ¡°Dead women don¡¯t bleed.¡±


    Babs raised an eyebrow. ¡°I can think of more than a few serial killers who would disagree with you.¡±


    That had been their thing, in the academy days. Evenings were spent in the depths of the library, filling their heads with the grittiest crimes in the archives. Facts, figures and faces were memorised more easily than any of the things they were supposed to learn. It must have been a strange sight, the gloomy boy and the gauche girl getting drunk together at the back table of the inn and arguing about the most banal details of murders centuries past. Was Tally Vaux a real person, or the identity assumed by a syndicate? Did Henry Allan kill the Calderbridge Three, or was it a copycat? And all those mariners who drowned in their beds, in the fishing towns of Ivyne¡ªcould it really have been some supernatural force that filled their lungs with water?


    ¡°Remember when we used to write those stupid little shows?¡± Tema brushed white dust off her clothes and her knees. They¡¯d often meet in Barbara¡¯s dorm room and re-enact their favourite stories, dressing up in costumes and reading from handwritten scripts to an audience of none. Tema always seemed to play the women, even beforetimes.


    Bab rolled her eyes. ¡°It was you who did the writing. I was just glad to have a friend.¡± She looked at Tema for a moment, then reached to hug her again. ¡°I¡¯m happy you¡¯re alive.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m happy I¡¯m alive.¡±


    They sat and chatted like they had in the carefree days. Hours and minutes became meaningless to them. Bab kept prodding at Tema, begging her to spill every sordid detail of the lockdown. ¡°Don¡¯t leave anything out,¡± she begged.


    ¡°It¡¯s not as exciting as it sounds,¡± said Tema. ¡°I¡¯d much rather hear about what you¡¯ve been up to. All this sunlight¡ªI bet you had so many adventures.¡±


    ¡°You know I didn¡¯t,¡± Bab poohed. ¡°Now, spill. There¡¯s not many people who get to live through a lockdown like that, least of all leading one. If you don¡¯t tell me what it¡¯s like, I¡¯ll never get a chance to know.¡±


    ¡°You make it sound like something worth knowing,¡± said Tema. ¡°It¡¯s an unpleasant story, you know.¡±


    ¡°Weren¡¯t all the stories we used to read together?¡±


    Bab had a point. Tema told the story in bits. It was too painful to dwell on the bitter parts¡ªon Caro. She tried to focus on the happier moments. When she told Bab about Viola, Bab pulled her into the tightest hug. ¡°I¡¯m so proud of my Temmi. She¡¯s finally got the girl.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t get ahead of yourself, Babs,¡± Tema laughed. ¡°All we did was kiss.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never kissed a girl, Temmi. You¡¯re ahead of me.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t like girls.¡±


    ¡°Presumptuous,¡± said Bab. ¡°True, but presumptuous.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m meeting Vi later. After her shift.¡±


    ¡°Yes, girl,¡± Bab said, punching the air. ¡°Go get her. I want to be your honourmaiden, when the wedding comes along.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t get ahead of yourself,¡± Tema chided. ¡°It might not turn into anything. But yes. You will be.¡±


    Bab beamed. ¡°That¡¯s my Temmi,¡± she said.


    ¡°So you don¡¯t think it¡¯s weird? She¡¯s younger than me.¡±


    ¡°And an adult. A nice girl, to boot. I say go for it.¡± Bab pinched Tema¡¯s cheek gently, the way she¡¯d always used to when they were youngsters at Raconesta. ¡°Come on, let¡¯s get something to drink. You like starflower tope, right? ¨¢ine at the Tavern makes a really good one.¡±


    A drink sounded perfect. Tema grinned, and as they walked she started to tell Bab everything.


    The sun was making its tired descent when the conversation started to die. The big topics had been exhausted; now, they were talking about the flowers that grew in the plaza, and the funny birds that wheeled overhead, and everything that didn¡¯t matter.


    A man¡¯s shadow fell over them. ¡°Doctor Caerlin?¡±


    Bab¡¯s mouth fell open. ¡°Temmi! It¡¯s the Governor!¡±


    ¡°Piss off,¡± said Tema, turning to look at the man. And there stood Governor Ballard, exactly as Bab had said, resplendent in a starched jacket, run around by a sash, with a gilt kepi on his head. Beside him was a surly looking soldier, robbed by alopecia of all the hair on his head. A hand shot up to cover her mouth. ¡°Governor. Sorry. About the language.¡±


    Governor Ballard smiled. ¡°I¡¯ve used worse. I¡¯d like to show you something, if you don¡¯t mind.¡±


    ¡°Me?¡±


    ¡°Caroline spoke very highly of you. She wanted me to put you in charge, if anything were to happen to her.¡±


    ¡°In charge?¡± Tema felt like an idiot, not being able to think of anything to say that was more intelligent than regurgitating bits of what the Governor was saying to her. As Caro¡¯s nominated deputy, she¡¯d filled in as chief doctor in an interim capacity. She held no illusions of keeping the job. When things settled down, she assumed Edith Sinclair would get the gig, or maybe Emmeline. Caroline had said she wanted Tema to take her place, but they¡¯d been doing the job for longer, and they had no skeletons of a masculine past to fuel the bigotry of the masses.


    The Governor¡¯s smile vanished. ¡°I¡¯ve had to overrule my wife on this one,¡± he said. ¡°Someone like you has no place on the hospital floor.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean, ¡®someone like her¡¯?¡± Bab chipped in angrily.


    ¡°I¡¯m no different to anybody else,¡± said Tema. ¡°What, do you think that just because I¡¯m¡ª?¡±


    ¡°A good friend of my wife, and a doctor with considerable experience in the field?¡± Governor Ballard smiled. ¡°Doctor Caerlin, I have a far more important job for you. If you would.¡± The Governor motioned her to follow him.


    At first she lingered, unsure of what to do. The Governor seemed to have no interest in whether or not she went with him. He was making his own merry way across the plaza grass, without so much as a glance back. The soldier he¡¯d brought with him was less keen to let Tema be.


    ¡°The Governor¡¯s asked you to go with him,¡± he grunted, flexing his muscles as he adjusted the grip of his gun. ¡°I¡¯d remind you that he¡¯s not in the business of being refused.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps he¡¯ll have to learn, then,¡± said Tema, though she had a growing inclination to go along.


    The soldier opened his mouth, showing off yellowed teeth as he traced them with his tongue. ¡°Perhaps.¡±


    ¡°You should go, Temmi,¡± said Bab. ¡°We can catch up another time.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    Bab nodded. ¡°You don¡¯t want to disappoint the Governor, after all. He might put Staniforth in charge to punish you.¡±


    Tema shuddered. ¡°Don¡¯t even joke. He can do one if he tries it.¡± She bade Bab goodbye and headed after the Governor, acutely aware of the soldier following on behind.


    The Governor led her in silence, meandering through the town. She hadn¡¯t realised just how big this place was. Down every twisting bend, men and women rushed by, going about their business of the day. Cherry Aspwell, in her favourite mulberry gown, waved at Tema from the arms of a handsome boy. An ashen-faced girl with knotted hair and tattered rags fell at Tema¡¯s feet, and apologised profusely when Tema helped her up.


    At some point, the soldier stopped following them. He was nowhere to be seen when Tema happened to glance back, a short stretch from Peseltane, and he never rejoined them.


    Walking along the south-east path, she thought about Tasha. The last time she¡¯d come this way, she would have preferred to rot in a barrel of overripe apples rather than going to see her sister again. Weeks of isolation could do a lot to change a perspective. Perhaps I¡¯ll pay her a visit when I¡¯m done with the Governor, she thought. It wasn¡¯t as if she had any more pressing engagements. And if nothing else, it would be good to speak to Tash again¡ªif her sister was still set on refusing to acknowledge her womanhood, at least there¡¯d be some finality. Some closure.


    Eventually they came upon a gently sloping area at the valley¡¯s southern extremity, where the Governor swung left through a muddy gully and up, emerging atop a cuesta. Two men in plaster-stained overalls were chiselling away at a large block of marble, inside a haphazard workshop of timber that reeked of sweat. Another wheeled a barrow full of dirt down the slope towards them.


    Rising high into the sky at the top of the slope, pressed tight against a granite escarpment, was the shell of a mansion, five stories high. Dozens of builders were busy on each level. A bespectacled soldier was stood looking thoroughly bored at an open doorway, his uniform flecked with varnish. He stood suddenly to full alert when he saw them coming.


    ¡°Watch where you¡¯re standing, Sergeant,¡± said the Governor.


    ¡°I¡¯ve learned my lesson, sir,¡± said the soldier, pulling on his stained lapel. ¡°This stuff¡¯s never coming out.¡±


    ¡°Sergeant, this is Tema Caerlin. She¡¯ll be working on a special project here. You¡¯re to give her entry, at any time of night or day, no matter what. I¡¯ll relay the same instructions to the men in your command.¡±


    ¡°Any time. Got it.¡± The soldier held out his hand for Tema to shake. His hand was slick and sweaty, the fingernails were thick with grime. She wiped the ick away on the skirt of her dress. ¡°Joe Marris,¡± said the soldier. ¡°But you should probably call me Sergeant Marris.¡±


    The Governor stood just inside the threshold of the house. ¡°Mistress Caerlin. With me, please.¡±


    The inside of the mansion was grand even in its unfinished state. The hall behind the open door spanned all five stories, and Tema had to crane her neck all the way back to see the ceiling. Staircases of granite rose in meandering curves on each level, with banisters of brass and alabaster. The walls were boundless seas of quarried stone, so much stone a mountain must have been levelled to source it all, and an escutcheon plate bearing the image of a blood-brimming dirk hung, three metres across, at the very top. The ceiling itself was vaulted, with several domes rising ever higher the closer they came to the centre. Unpainted as it was, it lacked some of the gravitas the finished thing would undoubtedly possess.


    It all must have cost a fair fortune. Being the Governor obviously brought with it some enviable riches.


    She didn¡¯t have time to stop and look at everything. The Governor walked with long step through a doorway into a long corridor, and then through several more doors. She was amazed that he seemed to know where he was going. She was already lost.


    At last he came to a halt, at the end of a dark, unfurnished corridor. A huge square had been carved out of the back wall. It required a high step to get through, but it was easily big enough for people to pass. ¡°In time there will be a portrait of my wife hanging here,¡± said the Governor. ¡°For now it¡¯s just a gap. On the other side is your laboratory.¡±


    Tema stepped through. Here, the darkness was near-absolute. She could just about make out a set of stairs going down, carved into the ground. A faint suggestion of blue light was shimmering. She went hesitantly. Every step echoed off walls she could not see. The air was cold here, and colder the further she descended. Some sweet musk filled the place. What, she couldn¡¯t quite tell.


    Halfway down, she gasped. The light was coming from a cylindrical tube, grey metal for the most part with a thick window of glass at the front. It was humming gently.


    It couldn¡¯t be.


    The Governor caught up to her. ¡°It¡¯s a tevion,¡± he said.


    ¡°A tevion?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s an old word, from a dead language. It means¡ª¡±


    ¡°I know what it means,¡± she snapped. It meant isolation. In modern times, the word had found a new life as the name of a dark piece of technology. The tevion¡ªthe isolation tube¡ªwas a wartime dream, reborn as a peacetime nightmare. Filled to the brim with a turquoise substance of uncertain provenance, it could hold a person alive indefinitely, without regard to how ill or how badly injured they were. On paper, it was a perfect invention. If somebody had some incurable disease, they could be preserved within until the cure was found.


    But paper wasn¡¯t real life. The person held within an isolation chamber would not die, but they would still age. They would still feel pain. They would remain awake, fully conscious, unable to even move, until they were released from the tevion. If they were released from the tevion. It was torture.


    The Unity had banned them more than a century ago. There was only one left in existence, and it had no right being here.


    ¡°I need you to save her,¡± said the Governor. ¡°Don¡¯t let her die.¡±


    Tema didn¡¯t know how to respond. She felt suddenly sick.


    The tevion was occupied, and the near-naked form within was unmistakeable. The poor woman looked deceptively peaceful. Her eyes, unseeing, looked out at Tema with no hint of fear. No doubt she was terrified, even if her face didn¡¯t show it. She must have been in agony.


    And to think that the Governor would do this... Surely the love he bore for her should have been enough not to subject her to this, but he had. There was no mistaking her. The thick red hair, floating wildly in the liquid, could only belong to Caroline Ballard.