Shadow of the Knife

by Jane Fletcher

Ellen stood in surprise, watching Hal wheel the horse about, ready for another charge, but the remaining Knife did not hang about waiting for Hal’s attack. She ran to the boat, leapt in, and pushed off from the bank, using her oar as a pole. The boat wobbled a few meters out into the river.

  “Hey!” The woman in the water had surfaced, and was clearly anxious not to be left behind. She swam frantically toward the drifting boat. Her accomplice dropped the oar and moved to mid-ship, reaching out a hand to help.

  Hal reined the horse to a stop beside Ellen and jumped down. “Are you all right?”

  Ellen did not answer. The Knives were about to get away and she had to stop them.

  The bank rose higher a few meters downstream, where a small hillock had been cut through by the meandering river. Ellen ran down to the high point. The drifting boat would be passing directly under the spot. She just had to get her timing right.

  “Ellen. No,” Hal shouted.

  Ellen paid no attention. She took a running leap, launching herself off the top and landing in the open hull.

  The boat rocked so violently that it was in danger of capsizing. Ellen staggered, almost pitching straight over the side. The woman in the boat was kneeling, leaning out to her comrade. She shouted, struggling to stop herself from tumbling overboard. For a moment it looked as if she would fail and end up in the river, but she managed to keep her grip on the gunnels. However, her weapon was lying beside her hand, and it slid over the edge, disappearing into the water with a soft plop.

  Ellen was the first to recover her balance. She tore the baton off her belt and sprung forward. The Knife had been trying to stand. Now she fell back, avoiding the blow and landing on the green canvas that rippled and bucked beneath her. Ellen took another step forward, raising her baton.

  A hand grabbed Ellen’s ankle, making her stagger. She looked down. The second Knife had dragged herself half out of the water and reached into the boat. Ellen brought her baton down hard on the woman’s wrist. The Knife yelped in pain and her grip loosened. A second swipe and she let go, slipping over the side. Ellen put her boot on the woman’s forehead and shoved hard, speeding her departure.

  The world turned inside out.

  Some time later Ellen felt the crack. Her neck jarred sideways.

  She was staring at the sky.

  The Knife in the boat was standing over her, oar in hand, holding it like a spear. Ellen frowned. Where was she? The muscles in the woman’s arms tensed, about to bring the end of the oar down into her face, and Ellen’s head was throbbing too much to move.

  “No,” Hal screamed from the other end of a tunnel.

  The woman with the oar froze, just for an instant, and looked up. An instant was all that was needed. The boat knocked into the bank and a shudder ran through the craft, unbalancing the Knife. Ellen tried to kick out, but her legs belonged to someone else.

  Then Hal was in the boat, pushing the Knife, shouting at her and punching her. The bandit tripped, staggered, and plummeted overboard. The water that splashed on Ellen’s face was a moment of clarity. She thought she might have a headache.

  A horse whickered some distance away. Ellen rolled her head to the side, even though it felt heavy. The bank was a long way off. One Knife was sitting astride Ellen’s horse. The other was staggering from the river, soaked and dripping. This woman levered herself onto the horse’s rump while her accomplice grabbed her belt, hauling her clumsily up behind the saddle. Ellen realized they were taking her horse and, most annoyingly of all, they would not stay in focus while they did it.

  “They’ve stolen my horse.”

  “Ellen. Ellen.”

  Somebody had been saying the name for a while. Ellen looked up. Hal was still there.

  “They’ve stolen my horse.”

  “Ellen. How many fingers am I holding up?”

  “Which hand?”

  “Shit.”

  “They’ve stolen my horse.”

  “You’re a fucking idiot. Do you know that?”

  “Hal.”

  “What?”

  “I’m going to be sick.”

  With Hal’s help, she was able to get her head over the side of the boat first. Once Ellen was back, lying in the boat, Hal placed her hand on Ellen’s forehead and closed her eyes. Ellen felt the fog in her head fade and the pounding headache receded. Clearly Hal had ability with the healer sense. A pit of darkness sucked Ellen in and then spat her out.

  “What happened?”

  Hal was sitting on the seat, rowing. “You’ve got a concussion. I’ve done a bit to help, but it isn’t enough. Don’t worry. I’m taking you into town as quick as I can. We’ll find a proper healer.”

  “What happened?”

  “You got hit on the head with an oar.”

  “They’ve stolen my horse.”

  “And we’ve got their boat.”

  The sky was a nice shade of blue. The oars made a rhythmical splashing.

  “Hal.”

  “What?”

  “I think I’m going to be sick again.”

  Chapter Ten—A Letter Home

  The side of Ellen’s head still felt tender, but the blinding headache had gone, her eyes had no trouble fixing on objects, and her stomach felt mercifully stable. In fact, she was well enough to feel like a fraud for lying in bed, and worse than that, bored with nothing to do. Ellen stared at the rafters of her home. Mama Roz had moved her mattress down to the main floor of the cottage, so that Mama Becky would be able to keep an eye on her during the day.

  Ellen grimaced. Despite Dr. Miller’s orders, if it were not for her gene mother’s watchful presence, she would have been tempted to sneak off. The entertainment value of the new perspective on the cottage roof had long since worn thin.

  “Hello. Have you come to see Ellen?” Mama Becky called from her normal spot outside the door.

  The reply was too distant for Ellen to make out any details, but the prospect of a visitor was welcome. Even a chat with Lieutenant Cohen would be more fun than counting the rafters.

  “She’s due to see Dr. Miller again tomorrow.” Mama Becky was either answering a question, or simply volunteering information.

  “Will she be allowed back to work?”

  Ellen’s pulse leapt, recognizing Hal’s voice, now much closer and clearer.

  “She’s hoping so.” Mama Becky’s voice dropped to a whisper that was still loud enough to hear inside the cottage, which Ellen suspected was her gene mother’s intention. “She’s not a good patient. Never has been. It always was a hard job to get her to do what she’s told. See if you can’t sort her out.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Ellen could hear the amusement in Hal’s voice.

  “You know we can’t thank you enough for rowing her into town.”

  “I couldn’t leave her to row herself.”

  “And you were able to heal her.”

  “Hardly. I’ve got a little of the sense, but I wasn’t able to do much more than work out how badly she was hurt.”

  “I know you’re just being modest. We didn’t get to thank you properly at the infirmary, but if there’s anything we can ever do for you.”

  “There’s really no need.”

  “She means so much to us.”

  “I’m kind of fond of her too.”

  “Oh. I...I’m pleased. Go in and see her.”

  The light in the cottage dimmed briefly as Hal stepped through the open doorway.

  “Hi. How are you doing?”

  “A lot better for you being here.”

  Hal plunked herself down beside the mattress and then carefully took hold of Ellen’s hand. “You’ll have to come up with a more original line in sweet talk. I’ve heard that one before.”

  “Who from?”

  “Never you mind.” Hal smiled. “How’s your head?”

  “Still there. Who else has been flirting with you?”

  “Nobody whose hand I’d still want to hold.”

  “An ex.”


  “I can see the blow hasn’t harmed your ability to make those sort of lightning-quick deductions. You are an idiot, you know.”

  “I was just checking it was nobody current.”

  “I meant for jumping in the boat.”

  Ellen pouted, imitating a sullen infant. “That’s not fair. You switched topic without warning. You have to go slow. I’m not well.”

  Hal kissed her quickly on the lips. “And you’re lucky you’re unwell, or else I’d tell you exactly what I think of your suicidal heroics. I’d managed to stop them from knifing you once, but that wasn’t good enough. You wanted to give them a second go at it.” Beneath Hal’s smile was a serious edge. Not all of it was play-acting.

  “I didn’t want them to escape with the sheep.”

  “And you were going to stop them by getting your brains smashed to pulp?” Hal sat back, looking exasperated.

  “I thought I could handle her, one on one.”

  “You mean you actually thought about it before jumping?”

  “Not quite. I just knew they were criminals, they had some stolen sheep, and they were trying to escape.”

  “You could have been killed.”

  “It’s my job.”

  “Nothing is worth dying for.”

  “Some things are.”

  “Half a dozen sheep?” Hal sounded incredulous.

  “It’s my duty to uphold the law.”

  “By risking your life?”

  “If need be.”

  Hal lifted Ellen’s hand to her lips and sighed. “Whoever thought I’d fall for someone as pigheadedly virtuous as you?”

  “You said that like it’s a bad thing.”

  Hal pressed Ellen’s hand against the side of her face and closed her eyes. “I think maybe it is for me.” Her tone might have been wistful, might have been sad. “So how much longer are you going to be lounging around here?”

  “Not a second longer than I can help. I’m hoping Dr. Miller will give me the all clear to go back to work tomorrow.”

  Hal shook her head. “Pigheadedly virtuous and enthusiastic.” But now her smile had returned, and she dropped their joined hands into her lap.

  “I want to know how things are going—whether they’ve found any trace of the barge in the marshland.”

  “Has nobody been to see you?”

  “Chris has.”

  “And?”

  “The sheep in the boat weren’t lambs. They were some of the breeding stock stolen last autumn, from South Hollow Ranch. They’ve been returned to the rightful owner.”

  “Is she pleased with you?”

  “Have you met Jean Tulagi?”

  “Does that mean no?”

  “Apparently she’s still moaning about the other thirty-two she’s lost.”

  “You get your head cracked open, and she’s not happy?”

  “It’s traditional for farmers to never be happy with anything the Militia does.”

  Hal nodded thoughtfully. “Well, I hate to break with tradition, but I’m hoping you’re going to do some things to make me very happy.”

  “Are those the sort of things that will have to wait until I’m fully better?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  Ellen felt her body respond to the images Hal’s words and tone aroused. Were it not for her mother’s presence outside the door, she would have been more than willing to risk a relapse. “I’ll try to get better quickly.”

  “Do that.” Hal leaned forward and again kissed Ellen’s lips, slower and more thoroughly than before, yet still holding back, clearly concerned for her health. Eventually she pulled away. “I have to go. I’ve got to pick up some things and get back to Broken Hills before nightfall. But I wanted to check on how you were.”

  “When will I see you next?”

  “Whenever you’re cleared to ride, come out to the farm and I’ll throw a special welcoming party for you. Otherwise...” Hal pursed her lips while staring into space, presumably running through her job list. “I could make it into town again in four days’ time.”

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine by then.”

  “I do hope so.”

  Hal delivered one last quick kiss, then stood and left. The sound of her footsteps had barely faded away when Mama Becky bustled into the room.

  “Are you okay, dear?”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  “That woman, the one who saved you, do I know her?”

  Ellen sighed, fully aware where her gene mother was heading. “I don’t think so. Her name’s Hal Drennen.”

  “Drennen...I know the name.”

  “Her great-aunt owns Broken Hills Ranch.”

  “Oh yes. And you two are...er...”

  “Yes, Mom. She’s my girlfriend.”

  “You’ve been keeping that quiet.” Despite any criticism in the words, Mama Becky was blatantly delighted.

  “We only just started, sort of.”

  “She seems very nice. Does she work for her aunt?”

  Ellen closed her eyes, but there was no escape. She was in for the full inquisition, with extended cross-examination when Mama Roz got home. Both her parents would be delighted, pretty much regardless of what she said. In their eyes, any new girlfriend was a potential reason for her not to join the Rangers.

  But how would they react if she told them her doubts—that Hal might be a member of the Butcher’s gang? And did she still doubt Hal? Hal had helped her recover six stolen sheep. She had discovered how the gang were avoiding the Militia checks. She had also jumped into the boat, and fought the Knife. She had saved Ellen’s life. Surely she was now in the clear.

  *

  “Please, Officer.”

  Ellen looked down at the young urchin. Judging by her height, the girl was about ten years old, which meant she was either small for her age or a little too young to be out of school. However Ellen decided not to press the point. “Yes?”

  “Got a message for you.”

  “From?”

  “The post lady. In the office. She wants to see you.”

  “Thanks.” Ellen pulled a small coin from her purse and flipped it in the air. The girl caught it one-handed and ran off, with a yelp of thanks.

  Ellen marched swiftly through the town. This was her first day back at work. So far she was feeling fine, though she had strict instructions to go to the infirmary at the first sign of a headache or trouble with her vision.

  Pol Jensen looked up from her desk when Ellen entered the post office. “You got the message?”

  In Ellen’s opinion, both the question and the clandestine whispering were unnecessary, but she nodded anyway.

  “A letter’s arrived for Tilly Paparang. I put it aside, like you said.” Pol glanced melodramatically over her shoulder and then reached into a drawer. “Here you go.”

  The letter was folded in a knot but unsealed. Ellen teased it open.

  Hi Mom,

  I am okay and you do not need to worry about me, but I have to get my boots repaired and I am out of money. K says she will not lend it to me, even though I am working for her. She says she will pay me when the current batch are fired, if I stick the job out. I can tell that she does not trust me to do my share, but I am going to prove her wrong, and then I will be able to pay you back.

  I hope you are well.

  love

  Fran

  Ellen carefully refolded the letter and slipped it back into the knot. She returned it to Pol. “Thanks.”

  “Anything else I can do?”

  “After she gets this, Tilly will come back to you with a letter in reply, although it will most likely not be for a few days. Can you make a note of the address it goes to?”

  “Yes. Sure.”

  “And, I don’t suppose you have any idea where this letter came from.”

  Pol nodded enthusiastically. “I thought you might ask. It was with the batch from Clemswood.”

  *

  In order for Fran’s boots to need repairing, she would have had to exert hers
elf in some way while wearing them. However, as anyone familiar with the young woman would know, this did not sound in the least bit likely. Ellen’s own best guess was a drinking or gambling debt.

  For all her protestations, Tilly Paparang would be as aware as anyone else that Fran’s letter was not telling the undiluted truth, and that Fran was really hoping for far more than might reasonably be required to cover the cost of a new pair of heels. Tilly would scrape together as much money as she could, and this would take her several days, if not longer.

  Feeling that she had already wasted too much time staring at the ceiling, Ellen was impatient to talk to Fran without delay. Fortunately, she knew of one potential shortcut, rather than wait until Tilly was ready to send the money. Ellen headed straight for the Ranger Barracks. She caught up with Valerie crossing the parade ground.

  “Hey.”

  Valerie flinched perceptibly at the hail. She jerked around as if ready to ward off attack. At sight of Ellen, her anxious expression eased, but did not fade completely. “Oh. Hi.”

  “How are you doing?”

  “Fine.” The assertion was manifestly a lie. The emotional scars left by the massacre were showing no sign of healing. The few times Valerie had spoken to Ellen since leaving the infirmary, she had seemed frightened and withdrawn. Now she made an attempt to smile, but it lacked her former ease and warmth. “How’s things? I hear you got in some trouble. Good to see you up and about.”

  “I had a bit of a run-in with some thugs.” Ellen refrained from asking why Valerie had not visited her. “I’m okay now. But I’ve got a quick question for you. Do you have any relatives in Clemswood?”

  “Clemswood? No.”

  “How about the villages around it?”

  Valerie frowned in thought and then shrugged. “Just Aunt Karen. She owns a pottery in Shingleford, which is a dozen kilometers south of there.”

  “Thanks. That’s great.”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  Ellen glanced around, but nobody else was in earshot, and she had not been forbidden to discuss things with Rangers. “I think your sister is staying with her.”

  “Fran?”