Katryn pulled on the hand pump and bent to stick her head under the spout. The cold gushing broke over the nape of her neck and flowed around her face. It felt good after the heat of the day. Her mind settled, more positive. After six months of Ellis, surely she could put up with a little hostility. All she had to do was keep going for a few more days, and things would resolve themselves.
Footsteps clipped on the tiles behind her as others entered the block. Katryn did not bother to look around to see who. Unexpectedly, one person stopped beside her. Katryn was about to stand when a blow crashed down across her shoulders. She pitched forward, striking her nose on the side of the trough. One knee hit the floor, but before she could fall, hands grabbed her arms, yanking her up and around. A fist thumped into her stomach twice; then someone backhanded her across the face.
She was surrounded. An arm from behind went around her throat, cutting off the air in her windpipe as another succession of punches thudded into her. She tried to protect herself from the onslaught, but both her arms were held in locks so savage that they were almost twisted from their sockets. Another strike landed hard. From the flaring increase in pain, she was certain that at least one of her ribs had cracked, and she could do nothing to shield the injury from the blows that followed. Each punch turned her body to mash. Each jolt erupted as fire in her tortured shoulders.
The blows became less concentrated on her torso as more attackers joined in. For the first time since the initial assault, a fist smashed into her face. A foot connected hard with her knee. From the sickening crack as much as from the pain, Katryn knew that it was broken or dislocated. She wanted to curl up and hide. She wanted it all to stop. She did not care how; death would do. She was fighting for air, drowning in a red haze of agony.
At last, the fury of the pounding subsided. The arm around her throat slackened. As her head sagged forward, she saw that the front of her uniform was splattered with blood—maybe from a nosebleed, maybe from a more serious injury. Everywhere hurt too much for her to be able to tell. Her body insisted on trying to breathe despite the torture in her ribs.
Then the lock on her arms was released, and Katryn dropped to her knees. White-hot agony exploded in the broken joint. With what air she had sucked into her lungs, Katryn screamed. She pitched forward. The hard tiles of the floor slammed into her and then softened, flowing around her like a cocoon. The darkness became complete.
*
Katryn awoke with the face of a healer hanging over her. Memories switched and impacted. There had been a jilted lover, an argument, footsteps behind her on the cobbles. For a moment, Katryn thought that she was back in Woodside, with Allison and home just a short walk away. Then she saw the figure of Captain Dolokov in the background.
“How do you feel?” the healer asked.
“Numb.” In fact, Katryn could not feel anything. She glanced down to check whether she was all there. Her uniform had been removed, and her body was largely wrapped in bandages. A large bowl stood nearby; the water in it glinted pink in the lamplight.
The healer nodded. “I’m afraid you won’t be so comfy when the numbness wears off, but I’ll do what I can so you get a good night’s sleep. You’re in a bit of a state, but don’t worry; there’s nothing that won’t mend, given a month or so.” The healer turned to Dolokov. “You can ask her a few questions now. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Dolokov stood aside to let the healer past. Katryn looked around. She was in the lockup again. “I’ve taken you into protective custody.” Dolokov answered the unvoiced question. She moved forward into the spot that the healer had vacated. “Did you recognize the women who attacked you?” Dolokov’s tone was combative, daring her to answer.
Of course, Katryn thought, she doesn’t really want to know, doesn’t want to inflame things in the squadron. Katryn’s eyes closed. She could sympathize. She also did not want to answer, did not want to admit that she knew the faces of the women she had lived and worked with for half a year. Furthermore, you never informed on comrades, even when they beat you senseless.
“It was dark in the latrine. I was attacked so suddenly.” Katryn avoided the question.
Dolokov nodded sharply, looking relieved. She spoke quickly, as though she feared to give Katryn the chance to change her mind. “With hindsight, I see it was a mistake to remove the sentries from the gate. There’s been trouble with local women recently. A gang must have slipped into the barracks, looking for revenge on the first Ranger they found.”
Katryn fixed her eyes on the ceiling and said nothing.
Dolokov moved away. “The same thing might have happened with Sergeant Ellis. Lieutenant Sanchez will continue with her investigation, but I fear the culprit won’t be found.” She looked back to where Katryn lay, her gaze hard and cynical. “Your start in the 12th Squadron has not gone well. It’s not entirely your fault. I think it might be wise if I arrange for you to transfer to another squadron...give you a chance to make a fresh start in the Rangers.”
The door of the lockup opened, and the healer entered. “Have you finished?” she asked Dolokov. “The patient needs to sleep.”
“Yes, I think I’m finished.” Dolokov gave a tight smile and left.
No, it’s me who’s finished, Katryn thought. It was obvious that Dolokov was hoping the murderer would never be found, or maybe she had convinced herself that Katryn really was the one. Certainly, once Katryn had been removed from the squadron, no one in the 12th would ever doubt her guilt.
And as for her life in a new squadron? It might go all right at first, but stories would spread around the division, passed from squadron to squadron. Soon, rumors of the Ranger who had murdered her sergeant would catch up with her. Ironically, the 12th probably was the safest place to be. Katryn knew that she was still alive because nobody liked Ellis enough to kill for her. But among people who had never met Ellis, there would not even be misplaced sympathy for the provocation. Instead, there would be tales of the coward’s blow, the knife in the back. No squadron would want her. There would be other latrine blocks, other beatings, and one day, there would be a beating she would not wake up from.
The healer placed a hand on Katryn’s head, gently exerting the skill to send her to sleep. As Katryn drifted away, she half wished that she would not wake up this time.
Part Three
The Killer of
Melanthe Ellis
21 October 533
Chapter Sixteen—Trial By Gossip
Katryn finished speaking and sat in silence, cursing herself for past cowardice. Several times while they were in Landfall, she had been tempted to tell Chip everything but had held back. Like a pathetic dreamer, she had allowed herself to hope that with enough time, her new comrades might get to know her and trust her, and maybe give her the benefit of the doubt when the inevitable rumors reached them. Now the whole story had been dragged out of her, which was the worst possible way for it to come out, and even as she was speaking, Katryn could hear how weak and implausible it sounded. Not a scrap of evidence existed to support her version of the tale.
Her heartbeat pounded in her chest; her stomach felt sick. For the last part of her account, she had been unable to meet Chip’s eyes, frightened of what she would see there—at best, it would be skepticism. Her gaze could climb no higher than Chip’s ankles. Tears felt dangerously close. A string of useless sentences starting with “If only” jangled in her head. If only she had been posted to the 23rd to start with. If only she had been somewhere else when Ellis was murdered. If only Chip would believe her.
The last wish cut deepest of all. Katryn knew how much she liked Chip as a comrade and respected her as an officer, and how much she wanted her as a friend. The most painful part would be losing Chip’s good opinion. Katryn steeled herself for the response.
“Callous bitch!” The words exploded from Chip’s mouth. Katryn felt herself flinch. There was a second of silence. Then Chip went on furiously, “Did Dolokov want you to get murdered as well? Did she thi
nk that was going to help the squadron’s morale? She didn’t just drop you in the shit; she tied lead weights around your neck first. How can anyone who calls herself a captain…” Chip was too impassioned to continue.
Katryn’s head jerked up of its own accord, dazed by the sudden comprehension that she was not the target of the outburst. For once, Chip’s face did not hold any trace of a smile. There was nothing there but disgust and anger. Their eyes met and held.
Chip was the one who broke contact, rubbing a hand over her face. “What was Dolokov playing at?”
Katryn struggled to find her voice. “It’s just guessing, but...I think she was....riding the odds.”
“Easy to play long odds when it’s someone else’s life at stake.”
“Well, she knew it wasn’t likely that I’d be killed. There wasn’t anyone who cared about Ellis as a person. It was just the principle of one Ranger murdering another that outraged some women.”
“But didn’t she make any statement about the switched knives? She acted as if she wanted to give the impression she thought you were guilty.”
“I think she’d convinced herself that I was.”
Chip sank back. “That’s no better. She thought you murdered one of her sergeants, and she was happy to let you get away with it?”
Katryn’s mouth twisted in a lopsided frown. “I shouldn’t speak for her, but Dolokov tends not to worry about the rules as long as things sort out the way she wants. She worked out that there wasn’t the evidence to get a conviction at a court-martial, so she settled for the unofficial justice of handing me over to the rest of the squadron. I got a beating and then got passed on to the next squadron.” Katryn bit her lip. “There’ll be some Rangers in the 23rd who’ll want to do the same. I can’t prove I didn’t murder Ellis.”
“If we were all treated as guilty of everything we couldn’t prove we hadn’t done, there’d be no one left outside the lockup to turn the key.” Chip tilted her head and looked at the small window of her room. “It’s too late to take any action tonight. In the morning, I’ll go talk to Captain LeCoup, and you’d better come with me.”
“Er…yes.” Katryn was less than enthusiastic.
“She needs to know all of this,” Chip pointed out.
“Oh, yes. It’s just that she reminds me a bit of Ellis.” Katryn shrugged. “Square, short-tempered, shouts and doesn’t like me.”
Chip gave a bark of laughter. “That’s our captain. But she isn’t anything like Ellis.”
“I know, but—”
Chip cut her off. “For starters, she’s fair. There’s no way she’ll stand back and have a member of her squadron convicted in a trial by gossip. She’s got a temper like a snow lion with a hangover, but she doesn’t play games. You can rely on her.”
Katryn nodded, but before she could speak, they heard voices and the sound of the door opening in the adjoining room. The rest of the patrol had returned from the tavern. Chip brushed her palms over her cropped hair. “I guess it’s time to sleep.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Katryn stood and headed to the door. As she reached for the handle, Chip said, “Don’t worry. The murder isn’t general knowledge, and I can guarantee it won’t get out until after LeCoup has decided what to do. My guess is she’ll send to Sanchez and Kalispera for reports. Then she can squash the rumors from the 12th with real facts.”
“But you don’t need the reports? You believe me already?” Katryn could not help asking.
“I know you didn’t kill Sergeant Ellis.” Chip’s voice was steady and utterly sincere.
Their eyes met again, and Katryn felt a shock wave ripple through her—a kick in her stomach that shot down her thighs and tingled at the back of her knees. “Thank you, ma’am,” she mumbled. Then she fled.
The other six members of the patrol were in the process of getting ready for bed. They threw a few joking taunts in her direction, but no more than the friendly banter of the barracks. Soon, the lamps were out, and Katryn was lying in her bunk, staring up into the darkness. Her thoughts were bouncing around far too chaotically for sleep.
Astonishment was her overriding emotion. The most she had dared hope for was to be listened to critically. Being transferred stood as evidence against her. It was only reasonable that people would assume her version of events to be full of evasion, if not out-and-out lies. Even if Chip were the only person to offer unqualified trust, it was one supporter more than she had ever expected to find—although, of course, Chip was not an unbiased observer.
It was something that Katryn had been aware of for a while. She’d had enough experience to know the signs. Ever since she had hit puberty, there had been an unending stream of women drawn by her good looks. She had found the attention invariably tedious, often embarrassing and occasionally distasteful. The women had had no interest in her as a person and no real wish to understand her. The hopeful admirers had hung on her every word without paying attention to any of them. Then they had gone away and invented a fantasy personality for her to go with their other fantasies. She might as well have been a pretty-faced puppet.
But it was grossly unfair to put Chip in with that group. It was possible to have an entertaining conversation with her and know that Chip was hearing what she said—no more and no less. There had been no crude innuendoes, no pestering, no sense of being a game prize. And she knew that if ever anything was said, Chip would take no as an answer without childishly sulking or making a scene, without harming their friendship—if the answer was to be no.
As the thought drifted through her head, Katryn again felt her insides kick—a sensation similar to the jolt that had hit her in Chip’s room, but more focused. And this time, there was no doubting the cause, or meaning, of her racing pulse and somersaulting stomach.
She liked Chip a lot. She had known that ever since she had gotten over the initial panic of meeting another new sergeant. Now Katryn realized that she had built walls in her mind, defenses against the rejection she had been sure would come. But the barricades had not been needed. Chip had not turned against her. The walls had crashed down, and Katryn found herself flooded by an emotion she had not known was there. Her whole body shook to the rhythm of her heartbeat while a very familiar ache started to grow.
It was so easy to close her eyes and recall Chip’s face, complete with a smile like summer sunshine. Katryn felt herself falling even deeper as she toyed with the image. In her mind, she added the other details: the way Chip moved, her eyes, her voice, the shape of her hands...and then the thought of what those hands would feel like touching her body.
The breath caught in Katryn’s throat as she considered leaving her bunk and slipping into Chip’s room. She was sure that Chip would be very happy to see her...or would she?
Another memory surfaced—one from the evening following Clarinda Wright’s death. On the way back from the tavern, she had tried to kiss Chip. In hindsight, she had known her own mind better when she was drunk than she did when she was sober. The memory had been hanging about on the edge of her thoughts, ignored in her confusion. The defensive barriers in her mind would not let her deal with it. Now she could, and what confronted her was the knowledge that Chip, gently but with unequivocal firmness, had rejected the advance.
Katryn’s eyes flew open. Had she been misreading Chip’s friendliness, projecting her own repressed emotions onto their target? You can’t expect the whole world to fall for you, she mocked herself angrily. Or perhaps there was another explanation. Chip had been a Ranger long enough to know all the rules, including the unwritten ones. Katryn thought of the other Rangers’ ill-concealed scorn as Pat had slinked out of Ellis’ room. If Chip were to be her champion, it would harm both their reputations if it was perceived to be the result of bedroom bargaining. Furthermore, they were officer and subordinate. Absolutely the very last thing Katryn wanted was to be transferred to yet another squadron—not when it seemed that things might work out all right in the 23rd.
Whatever the reason
, Chip’s position was clear. The bitter irony struck her. She remembered thinking that Chip would be adult enough to take no as an answer. Katryn’s face twisted in a pained grimace. It was her own maturity that was to be tested.
*
It was a miserable, wet afternoon in early December. Chip and Kim sat in one of the taverns in the town below Fort Krowe. Belts of sleet splattered against the green glass of the windows. Heavy clouds reduced the light outside to premature dusk, and the thatched roof creaked in gusts of cold wind. The two sergeants were quite content, however. They had comfortable chairs by the log fire and were washing down the end of a large meal with tankards of the best beer the town could offer.
The months leading up to Midwinter’s Day traditionally were the slack time for the Rangers. With the worsening weather, there were few traders on the road and, therefore, few highway robberies. The mountain cats would be excavating their dens for hibernation, and although prides of snow lions would be following the cold weather south, plenty of their natural prey were still about, and the fenbucks and spadehorns would always top a snow lion’s menu. It was rare for a pride to venture onto the domesticated Homelands before February.
November and December were when leave was granted, half the squadron at a time. By the regulations, a Ranger was allocated to the division closest to her hometown, so the month would be sufficient to visit relatives. It also meant that she would be close at hand for emergency recall. It said much of the Rangers’ lifestyle that many Rangers did not bother; instead, they spent the time with their comrades, propping up a bar. Women gave up their families to join the Rangers—those whose families had not given them up first. The bonds of life and death that bound a squadron were far stronger than blood.
Rangers at Roadsend Page 20