Rangers at Roadsend

by Jane Fletcher

  Another of the officers sitting at the front leaned forward. “You said earlier that you thought Lieutenant Bergstrom was the one who killed Sergeant Ellis.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Sanchez replied.

  The major frowned. “I read your original report. As I remember the details, it’s hard to see how she could have done so.”

  “Sergeant Coppelli has some ideas about that. Perhaps she might be the best one to explain.”

  All eyes in the room fixed on Chip. “Sergeant?” The major invited her to speak.

  “Er…yes.” Chip quickly marshaled her thoughts. “What I think happened was that Lieutenant Bergstrom arranged to meet Sergeant Ellis in the stores. Before we left Roadsend, I was able to talk to Quartermaster Adebayo, and she confirmed that Lieutenant Bergstrom did leave the room briefly to collect a book from the office. The quartermaster hadn’t mentioned it before, because she thought Lieutenant Bergstrom hadn’t been gone long enough to kill Sergeant Ellis. However, it would have taken mere seconds to commit the murder. Afterward, Lieutenant Bergstrom hid Sergeant Ellis’ empty knife belt inside her jacket and rejoined the quartermaster. As the officer in charge of the barracks, she knew she’d be called as soon as the body was discovered, giving her the chance to initiate the search to discover whose knife was missing. It needs to be confirmed with Sergeant Sivarajah, but I’m sure you’ll find that Bergstrom sent her to look in the D Patrol bunkhouse, while she was left alone to put Private Nagata’s knife in the empty belt and hang it in Sergeant Ellis’ room.”

  “Yes, of course,” the major said in enlightenment. “Did Bergstrom’s sister confirm any of this?”

  Sanchez was the one to answer. “No. Apparently, the two have hardly spoken for years. All she knew about were the plans for the attempted murders of Sergeant Coppelli and Private Nagata. She was the one who arranged for the message to lure them to the mill.”

  The officers at the table conferred again quietly, and a staff sergeant was sent to find some old dispatches. The discussion moved on to queries about Val Bergstrom’s precise last words in what was, to Chip’s mind, a rather forlorn attempt to link her to every other unsolved crime of the previous two decades. Night had fallen before everyone had run out of questions.

  The divisional commander concluded the meeting, speaking slowly and somberly. “I trust this will finally draw a line under the unfortunate events in the 12th. There have been shadows hanging over the squadron for too long. And I think Captain Dolokov deserves to have the story firsthand, rather than be sent a written dispatch—or, worse still, hear it from gossip. Lieutenant Sanchez, would you be able to go with Sergeant Coppelli to Clemswood and give the report in person?” The divisional commander’s voice was just questioning enough to make it sound like a request rather than an order. Although she outranked the lieutenant, the Militiawoman fell under a different chain of command.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Sanchez agreed.

  “Good. If possible, leave tomorrow before the rumors get out.…Yes, Captain?”

  LeCoup had made a polite bid for attention. “Merely that I think, for completeness, Private Nagata should go as well.”

  “Very well,” the divisional commander agreed before moving on to other closing remarks.

  As they left the room, Chip caught Katryn’s eye, noting the conflicting emotions. Katryn would have to face her ex-comrades, the women who had beaten her for a crime she had not committed, but she would be facing them with proof of her innocence. Many people—probably most—would look forward to it with smug satisfaction. Chip was familiar enough with Katryn to know that it was not the way her mind worked. However, it would allow Katryn to draw her own personal line under the events in the 12th. Chip was sure it was the reason why LeCoup had asked for Katryn’s inclusion. Chip sometimes suspected that under her caustic exterior, LeCoup nursed a protective maternal affection for her troops.

  *

  It was a two-day journey to reach the Clemswood barracks. Sanchez, Chip and Katryn planned the overnight stop at a crossroads inn. However, when they reached it just before sunset, they discovered that they were not the only ones with the same plan. Three caravans of traders had also arrived that evening. The stables were full, and the hubbub from the taproom threatened to lift the rafters. The harassed innkeeper regretfully told them that there was not even a shared bed to be found in the common room.

  Chip was considering the prospect of sleeping on the floor of the taproom (not for the first time in her life) when a local farmer overheard and offered them lodgings for the night. The woman even refused payment. Apparently, Rangers had removed a pride of snow lions from her farm that winter, and she was eager to repay the debt at the first opportunity. Anyone in the green and gray uniform would do.

  In fact, the farmer was overeager to please. Her first intention was to turf her entire family out of their beds to give each of her three guests a room to herself. Chip felt it was too much too ask from the geriatric grandmothers and four children—one of them barely old enough to walk. After further debate, a straw-stuffed pallet was made up for Sanchez by the hearth. In the cold weather, it was an arrangement she was very happy with, and despite her higher rank, it was clearly felt to be quite adequate for a mere member of the Militia. However, the farmer and her partner could not be dissuaded from giving up their own bed for the two Rangers.

  They took a meal at the long table with the farmer’s family and field hands. The food was hot, plentiful and, for the tail end of winter, reasonably varied. Afterward, Chip entertained the family with ridiculously exaggerated stories of her exploits. The children listened in open-mouthed awe while the adults enjoyed the joke. Firelight from the hearth glowed over the comfortable farmhouse kitchen, catching its solid wooden furniture and eclectic assortment of farm implements and family heirlooms. A flagon of cider made the rounds, but the evening was not allowed to drag on; the needs of the farm came first. Everyone headed to bed at an early hour.

  The farmer escorted Chip and Katryn up the twisting staircase at the back of the kitchen. The room in the eaves of the house was cozy, with its scrubbed floorboards and bed piled high with blankets and quilt. Their host hung the lantern from a hook on the ceiling and bid them both good night.

  Once they were alone, Chip stood awkwardly in the center of the room and looked around. There was only the one bed and nowhere else to sleep. It was too cold for the floor to be the least bit appealing. She looked back to Katryn. Since they had escaped from the cellar, they’d had no chance to talk in private. A couple of times, it had seemed that Katryn was deliberately avoiding her. The two nights they had spent in Eastford had been sandwiched between meetings. On both nights, Chip had returned to the Three Barrels late and alone. On both nights, she had stopped outside the door of Katryn’s room but had lacked the courage to knock. Now there was no avoiding the issue.

  Across the room, Katryn was sitting on the side of the bed, untying her bootlaces. Chip’s heart was pounding as she remembered holding Katryn’s hand in the cellar and Katryn kissing her fingers—but how much had she meant by it? It could hardly be counted as normal circumstances. Had Katryn merely been distracting herself from what had seemed to be unavoidable death? Following their return from the mill, Katryn had neither said nor done anything to imply that she wanted to be reminded of the incident.

  Katryn was keeping her head down, concentrating on her boots. Chip wished that she would stop and look up. She wanted to see Katryn’s face, to judge the expression there for a hint of what Katryn was feeling. Was she feeling anything at all except for tiredness? Or were the bootlaces a deliberate ploy? A way of avoiding eye contact? A signal for Chip to keep her distance?

  Chip cleared her throat. “Um…if you want, I’ll sleep on the floor.”

  “Why?” Still, Katryn did not look up.

  “Because…in the cellar…I said I liked you, and I meant it. And if I’m sharing a bed with you, I’m going to find it very hard to get to sleep.”

  Katryn froze.
Chip waited in agony for the curt rejection or embarrassed evasion. Long seconds passed. Then Katryn slipped off her boots and stood up. Her face held a bemused smile. She walked over until she was directly in front of Chip; then she reached out and took hold of both sides of Chip’s open jacket. “What on earth makes you think I’m going to want you to sleep?”

  Chip found that she was staring deep into Katryn’s eyes. The effect was paralyzing, heart-stopping, soul-rending. Chip could feel her legs shaking. Her stomach was bouncing around like a spring lamb. Her arms, her face, her voice would not obey her. She knew that she was frozen in the image of a clumsy, brainless oaf—gawking like an adolescent on her first date. Yet amazingly, Katryn seemed not to notice. Letting go of the jacket, she slipped her arms around Chip’s back.

  Chip’s own arms moved with the grace of a string puppet to clasp Katryn. She had the strange impression that the woman she was holding was trembling just as much as she was. She twisted her neck back to look at Katryn’s face and saw that her eyelids were closed and her lips half open. Chip shut her eyes and met Katryn’s mouth with her own.

  The effect of the kiss ripped through Chip. In an instant, her body turned from wood to rubber. Then a crashing wave of pure happiness washed away the panic. Katryn’s tongue softly caressed hers, exploring in the gentlest of invasions, an invitation to reciprocate. Katryn’s arms held her tightly, pressing their bodies together. The sensation engulfed Chip, redefining reality. The world was no longer the way she had come to expect, but Chip knew that she could live with it.

  Eventually, Chip pulled away. Katryn stood unmoving, breathing in gasps with her eyes closed, as though she were the one at risk of losing all self-control. Chip lowered her head, nuzzling the smooth skin of Katryn’s throat, but the shaking in her legs had returned. She had to lie down while she could still move. Chip stared at the bed. It almost certainly was not quite what the farmer had envisioned in loaning it to them, but there was no way Chip could stop herself from making love to Katryn that night.

  She looked back. Katryn’s breath was faintly visible in the cold air. Chip managed to summon her voice enough to say, “I’d like to take my time and undress you very, very slowly. But this isn’t the weather for it.”

  “True.” It looked as though it also took Katryn a lot of effort to say the one word.

  Chip let her arms fall and stepped away. Her hands moved to the fastenings on her own clothes, fumbling awkwardly as she loosened them, but her eyes never left Katryn until they were both naked and under the heavy blankets.

  Chip pressed her body against Katryn’s, entwining their legs. She ran her hand up Katryn’s side, feeling the curve of her hip, the furrows of her ribs, the texture of her skin. She cupped a breast while rubbing circles around the nipple with her thumb.

  Katryn gasped. Her arms tightened around Chip’s shoulders as she rolled onto her back, urging Chip to lie on top of her. Chip did so, and the first soft moan of passion escaped Katryn’s lips. Katryn arched her neck, exposing the full length of her throat. Chip burrowed in. With the sensitive skin of her inner lip, she explored the jawline, tasting salt. Katryn’s hands were running over her back, sweeping down from her shoulders to her hips, pulling their bodies into ever-harder contact. Chip’s mouth moved to Katryn’s face, nuzzling her nose, tracing the shape of her eyes and finally joining again with her lips.

  This kiss was longer, deeper and more searching than the first. At last, Chip pulled back and looked down at Katryn. Unexpectedly, she was swamped with a deep sense of peace, almost of awe. The last knot of nerves melted away. Never had anything felt so right.

  Chip had been worried that she would fall on Katryn like a starving dog on a bone—but it was not going to be like that. It was not going to be a series of increasingly frantic maneuvers, an impatient race with an ever-narrowing focus on the target to be found between Katryn’s legs. Chip wanted to explore every square centimeter of Katryn’s body slowly. No one part was the goal. No one part was anything less than utterly precious.

  Chip did not know how many times she’d had sex or with how many women. She had lost count within two years of joining the Rangers. But for the first time in her life, she was truly going to make love.

  *

  Katryn was awakened the next morning by a knock at the door. She peered over the top of the covers. The room was in darkness. In response to Chip’s call, the farmer’s second-youngest daughter came in, carrying a jug of hot water in one hand and a candle in the other. The girl lit the lantern and placed the water by the bowl on the dresser.

  “Breakfast is downstairs whenever you’re ready.” The youngster sounded a little in awe of the two Rangers. She ducked her head and scampered out.

  Katryn lay in the warmth of the bed, allowing no more than her nose to poke into the cold outside the blankets. Chip’s body was stretched beside her, solid and comforting. Katryn turned her face into Chip’s neck. The unmistakable scent triggered an onslaught of memories: the weight of Chip’s body on top of her; the fullness of Chip’s fingers inside her; holding Chip and watching her face as she climaxed. As the images ran through her mind, Katryn felt her breathing grow ragged again.

  The previous night had probably not been wise. Katryn remembered untying her bootlaces, wondering how Chip would want to play things, wondering whether they could go back to the rigid self-discipline imposed by Ranger regulations. And then Chip had spoken, offering to sleep on the floor and giving the choice to her—as though Katryn could have responded any other way to the desolate earnestness in Chip’s voice. Now there was just the future left to deal with.

  Katryn closed her eyes and snuggled a little closer to Chip in the warm nest under the covers. She wanted to treasure the next few seconds before the rest of the world took over her life again. She wanted to memorize each detail to hold in her dreams for the nights ahead.

  Chip raised on one elbow and traced her fingers lightly over the skin on Katryn’s shoulder. The touch rippled through Katryn’s body, reawakening desire. Katryn opened her eyes. Chip was staring down at her. Passion was evident in the gaze, but also nervousness.

  Chip wet her lips. “Um…thanks for last night. I…er…really enjoyed it…and maybe sometime again, we could…” Chip’s voice died as the nervousness won out.

  Katryn shook her head. Was Chip trying to suggest that they could treat what had happened as merely a night’s sport? Was she hoping they could pretend to the world that it was not serious enough to merit attention? “Are you trying to say we can act like this wasn’t important?”

  “Well, I can see it’s important to you, as you haven’t been…sleeping with anyone…not since you joined the Rangers. And I’m pleased you chose me to…” Chip’s eyes fixed unhappily on the pillow by Katryn’s neck.

  Katryn frowned, trying to work out exactly what Chip was trying to say. “Do you think that you’re not important to me?”

  “We’re friends.”

  “We’re more than that.”

  “Yes, I suppose…at the moment, but I’m not expecting you to want to get serious about it.”

  “So what do you think last night meant to me?”

  “I guess you’ve finally hit the rebound from Allison…and that’s good…you can move on. I’m not expecting that you’re going to want to stick with me. I mean…I think I love you, but I don’t expect…I know you’re not going to want...and there’s lots of other women…and…”

  Katryn reached out, laying her hand on the side of Chip’s face, stopping her broken sentences. “Chip, I love you with all my heart and with all my soul, and I know, for the rest of my life, I don’t want anyone else but you.”

  To Katryn’s astonishment, Chip burst into tears.

  *

  Lieutenant Sanchez did most of the talking. Dolokov listened in silence, but even the dour captain could not prevent her expression from revealing her shock. Once everything had been said, she paced across to the window and stood staring out, though by now night had falle
n, and there was nothing to see except her own reflection in the glass. Eventually, she turned back to the three women in the room.

  “Bergstrom was a good lieutenant, or at least she—” Dolokov cut off her words and drew a sharp breath. “I suppose we should call Sergeant Sivarajah in here and confirm your guesswork. It’s too late to hold a briefing now, but I would like to make a full announcement at the dawn parade tomorrow.”

  Chip was the one standing closest to the door. She stuck her head out. As she expected, both members of the quartermaster’s staff had found reasons to be in the outer office—not that they could have heard anything through the heavy door. “Captain Dolokov would like to speak with Sergeant Sivarajah. Do you know where she might be?”

  The two women exchanged glances before one hurried off. Chip closed the door and waited with the rest for Jan’s arrival. It did not take long. Once again, Sanchez went through the explanation of Ellis’ death. At the end, Jan frowned. “No, ma’am. I’m sorry, but it wasn’t like that. We both went to B Patrol bunkhouse together. I was the one who discovered that Private Nagata’s trail knife was missing.”

  “Could Ellis have made the swap while you weren’t looking?” Chip asked.

  “Street conjurers earn their living from people who don’t realize they’re being distracted,” Dolokov added her comments.

  Jan hesitated. “Not from the way I remember it, although your memory can play tricks on you.” Despite her words, Jan did not look convinced.

  “But if Bergstrom confessed, then she must have done it somehow,” Dolokov said decisively. She turned formally to Sanchez. “Thank you for coming to tell me this. I’ll let you go now. I’m afraid we don’t have any spare accommodations at the barracks, but you will be able to get rooms at the Golden Goose. Could you arrange to be back here half an hour before the dawn parade tomorrow, in case any other questions occur to me tonight?”