beats per minute

by Alex Mae

  He hung up and loosened his tie, which felt like it was choking him. Bloody English stiffs with giant sticks shoved firmly where the sun didn’t shine! The Sentinel was dominated by repressed upper-class jerks like the Censor. How obviously they looked down their noses at him, no matter what he achieved. He was surprised that, as an American, he’d even been promoted to the board.

  ‘Bigger picture, my ass,’ he grumbled, tipping a slug of whisky from his hip flask into the black, now lukewarm, coffee. To hell with it all. Why did the English think they were so damned special? Just because they had set up the Sentinel didn’t mean they owned the Regency. The Regents were descended from the Irish, anyway. Though he supposed the Brits had tried to make out they owned them, too, in the past.

  Feeling in the mood for an argument, he decided to buzz in his visitors all at once. They had already been waiting for half an hour. Two healers, dressed in long, dark robes, walked out of the elevator. Their curious eyes, which appeared unseeing and nearly fully closed, were incongruous with their deft, purposeful movements. Bree Clifton, dragging her feet, followed.

  The charming, in-control Praetor once more, Max flashed his Hollywood smile at them. ‘Good morning, ladies. Bree, you can take a seat while I chat to our learned friends.’

  Rolling her eyes, she complied, but chose a chair on the other side of the room, facing away from him towards the window. He was always both impressed and irritated at how deliberately she flouted his authority on every possible occasion. But this was not the time to dwell on such a thing.

  He knew that the healers would prefer to remain standing and so he did not extend the offer to them. Instead, he took a seat behind his large desk and looked up at them genially. Sometimes he got a kick out of taking the inferior position.

  ‘I understand Raegan O’Roarke had her final session last night,’ Max began.

  ‘Yes, Praetor.’ The older, more senior healer bowed her head respectfully. ‘She has been out of the hospital for two weeks and has recommenced her training. Optio Oaksey has recently moved her back onto weapons-practice. We have increased the intensity of our sessions as a result.’

  ‘You feel she is ready for this to end, though?’

  ‘Yes. The bones reacted very well to our ministrations and have knitted rapidly.’ The healer smiled mysteriously. ‘She has magick within her, we think. It responds to our call. It helped her wounds heal so quickly. It provided us with a gateway.’

  Max leaned forward. ‘That’s interesting. Her family has a varied history – her great-great grandfather was a shaman, I believe. Her grandfather is a shifter.’

  ‘All of this flows through her veins.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘All is within our scroll.’ The older healer gestured to the younger, who moved forward silently and proffered the parchment. Max took this, placing it within a red folder without reading. He sat back in his chair.

  ‘Talk to me about Declan Kane and Samuel Becker.’

  The older healer furrowed her brow slightly. Her face was usually so expressionless that this seemed a huge signifier of discomfort. ‘We do not usually deal in such... human matters.’

  ‘It’s ok. I don’t need to know any details – what they were fighting about, motivation, anything like that. Just tell me what happened, from your point of view.’

  ‘We were in the ward with Miss O’Roarke. It was in the middle of our healing motion, and we were very deep in concentration. Our hands were laid on her.’ The healer’s voice was quiet and monotonous. Max saw Bree stifle a yawn. ‘We heard commotion from outside. The rhythm was broken. Miss O’Roarke began to awake. We called for help while we soothed her once more. Soldiers came, and brought in the two. Mr Kane with a broken hand, Mr Becker with a bleeding nose. We did not ask how these injuries were garnered. We healed them immediately, while keeping Miss O’Roarke within the trance. This is all we know.’

  ‘I see,’ Max murmured. He switched on the mega-wattage smile once more. ‘That was very informative, thank you. See you next week.’

  The two bowed simultaneously while solemnly intoning, ‘Thank you, Praetor.’ Noiselessly, they glided toward the elevator, which opened immediately and then pinged behind them.

  Bree grimaced in their direction before turning back to the window. As if she wasn’t even there, with studied nonchalance, Max began to tidy his papers. After a moment, he lounged back in his chair, his well-shod foot crossed against opposite muscular thigh, and flipped open the folder containing the healers’ latest report. With a sigh of contentment, he began to read.

  She tired of this quickly. Once she had made up her mind to move, it was only a matter of seconds before she was in front of his desk, arms crossed. ‘Well?’

  He did not even look up. ‘Do I have to remind you that you can be fined for inappropriate use of your powers? Don’t show off, Lady Clifton.’

  ‘Don’t call me that. Sir.’

  His brown eyes were amused when at last he looked up from the paper. ‘At ease, soldier. And is that not your proper title?’

  ‘I don’t like the way it sounds coming from you.’

  Max shrugged, before getting to his feet. He sauntered over to the drinks trolley. ‘I don’t think your dear papa would approve if I called you anything else. Drink?’

  ‘No, thank you. It’s a little early.’

  He raised an eyebrow as he turned back to her, porcelain cup replenished. ‘I was offering tea or coffee. Good grief, how your mind works.’

  ‘Whatever.’ She looked away from him obstinately. ‘I’m meant to be helping Optio Shadrach with drills at 11.’

  ‘He can manage without you.’ Slowly Max made his way back. ‘Won’t you take a seat?’

  ‘I’m fine standing.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’ Max leaned against the desk, facing her. ‘So, how are things?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘And the new cadets?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘I lose patience quickly, Bree.’

  ‘Well, what do you want me to say?’ Bree burst out, frustrated. ‘You summoned me, so I came. You kept me waiting for nearly an hour. Now we’re playing cat and mouse. I’ve been more than patient, so let’s cut to the chase. What is this about?’

  He put his cup down. ‘Okay, point taken. I apologise for keeping you waiting. You are correct: we do have some business to attend to.’

  Bree nodded, the suspicious expression on her face relaxing a little. ‘Go ahead.’

  Max was a handsome man, but now that she looked at him properly she could see the deep shadows and stress lines etched under his eyes and at the corners of his mouth. Also most uncharacteristic was the half-inch of stubble on his jaw. Clearly, he had been under a lot of pressure. He looked exhausted.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and fore-finger, as if to confirm her thought. ‘You’ve heard about Declan and Sam, right?’

  ‘Yes. Dinner was full of chatter about a fight outside the hospital, which the healers have now confirmed.’

  ‘You were listening, then. Good. What else did you hear?’

  ‘Only bits and pieces. Declan wouldn’t talk about it, and Sam has been kept very busy by Yali as a result. The Skips told me that when they came to break it up, the first blow had just been landed – before then the boys were only grandstanding. Apparently Sam pushed Declan then turned away, more fool him. So Declan shoved Sam into a wall. Sam collided with it face-on; that explains the bloody nose. Declan then threw a punch, Sam ducked, Declan hit said wall. That explains the broken hand. The Skippers intervened before it could go any further.’

  Max exhaled sharply. ‘I thought we’d acted swiftly enough to avoid this sort of nonsense. Bree, you’re a level 5 and a Tesserarius. You’ve known Sam a long time, and I trust your judgement. Do you think putting him back on active duty was a mistake?’

  She shook her head fervently. ‘No. Christ, the poor guy lost his brother. He needed to continue his work here. It’s really helped him get ov
er it.’

  ‘But that’s the real question: is he over it? Clearly, his proximity to Declan is proving hazardous.’

  Bree was thoughtful. ‘He’s not ready to be moved from the base yet, that’s for sure. He might be over Sebastian’s death but he’s not ready to let all the memories go. I’ve even found him asleep in Sebastian’s old room – and not just once.’ Max’s eyes widened, but he let her continue. ‘He blamed Declan for what happened, but that was just a knee-jerk reaction; once he’d calmed down he knew it was no-one’s fault. And look, he seemed really, genuinely happy to be involved in the training over the last few weeks. He’s been a good teacher as far as I can see. Particularly to Raegan.’ Bree hesitated.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Well... I’m not sure how relevant this is,’ Bree admitted. ‘I think it’s possible that their arguing has more to do with Raegan than Sebastian.’

  ‘Say no more.’ Max sighed. ‘I should have guessed. Are they dating?’

  ‘Not yet. There are signals, though.’

  Max took another sip of his coffee, wincing at its bitterness. ‘Ok. I’ll let this one slide- sort of. I want them both to come and see me, and I’ll read them the riot act. They are both to spend this evening running laps instead of rec time. But Sam can stay on active duty and I won’t revoke any of Declan’s privileges.’

  A tiny smile tugged at her lips but she ducked her head so he would not see. ‘That sounds fair.’

  ‘And now we come to Miss O’Roarke herself.’ Max’s voice grew gentler, as it always did when he wanted her to do something. ‘The Sentinel have been very interested in her progress, which is why I have asked for such thorough reports from the healers.’ The Sentinel have demanded reports, more like – and they’ve been running you ragged, Bree thought instantly. That explained the bloodshot eyes and rumpled suit. She kept this to herself.

  ‘The healers have made a fascinating discovery. It’s only a possibility at present,’ Max continued, idly. ‘Still. It’s very exciting. It appears that the Trace might run in Raegan’s family.’

  Bree could hardly believe her ears. ‘The Trace? I thought that ability had been lost...’

  ‘So did we. ‘

  She leaned against the desk now, digesting. ‘I could feel she was different. Not just the way she was treated – Yali nearly had a heart attack when he thought she was injured – but her essence. It stands out.’

  ‘I always said you were not completely without psychic ability.’ By leaning on the desk she had, unwittingly, moved closer to him. Steadily, he held her gaze for longer than strictly necessary.

  She flinched away. ‘Don’t.’

  ‘I didn’t do anything.’

  ‘I know you’re about to.’ Bree marched away, rubbing her arms. ‘You’re going to ask me to spy, aren’t you? I don’t want to.’

  ‘It’s not spying,’ he soothed, stalking her slowly, carefully. The master predator. She felt him closing in and the familiar panic crept into her bones. ‘I just want you to observe. You don’t have to do anything you wouldn’t normally do – you already spend a lot of time in the appropriate places, after all. Just take stock, and if you see any evidence of the Trace, inform me.’

  She stiffened, her back still to him. ‘And then what?’

  ‘Nothing. I promise.’ He was genuine now. ‘We only want to keep tabs on it, that’s all. The Censor himself agreed that there was no point in disrupting the established routine – it’s a precarious thing and needs time to mature, without any interference.’

  Bree sighed, but he knew by the slight loosening of her shoulders that she would do it. ‘Fine.’ Her hazel eyes were huge and wary when she faced him again.

  ‘I meant it when I asked how you were, earlier.’

  ‘You should ask after my father,’ Bree tried to lighten the mood. ‘He’s having some shooting party in a few weeks, keeps saying how you haven’t responded to his invite. Bad form, Max.’

  ‘Will you be there?’ Max smiled.

  She tossed her head. ‘Perhaps.’

  The buzzer cut through the tension like a knife.

  Max moved away to answer. The removal of his presence and the intense pressure that came with it was as cleansing as cold water. Bree caught herself. Seeing an escape, she bolted, not thinking, just moving, zombie-like, for the door.

  ‘Just a minute,’ he barked, and took his finger off the button so that it was muted.

  The soft words, when they came, offered no release.

  ‘Find out everything you can about the girl. Don’t disappoint me, Bree.’

  She knew all too well what such disappointment could provoke. While she could, she fled.

  ***

  It had happened again.

  She had only been dropping off the broken quarterstaff as a favour to Robert. No-one else but the optio even knew she was here. She was sure she hadn’t been followed – and she was pretty thorough with her checks nowadays. Since the accident it was like she spent every moment looking over her shoulder.

  So why did she now find herself locked in a small room, again, the door having slammed shut behind her, again?

  Raegan was not a fan of confined spaces and the Armoury storage cupboard was even smaller than the ladies’ loo. Her sweating hands grasped for a door handle, though she already knew it was pointless. There was no inside handle. She had been trapped. Hysteria rising, she closed her eyes, taking deep gulps of air.

  Why did this keep happening?

  Her screams for help bounced uselessly off the heavy iron door. The sad, broken quarterstaff was now clenched tightly enough between her palms to give her multiple splinters.

  Her eyes flew open. The quarterstaff!

  It was the loud, thudding connection of solid wood against metal that finally alerted someone to her presence. Raegan remained angrily unaware. Just as she had missed the sound of a hand pushing the door closed on her, she now missed the sound of the door opening.

  The source for her battering ram now removed, she was pitched out into the open air.

  It didn’t stop there. Scrambling to regain her balance, her foot connected with the sloping, muddy earth, slippery from a fresh fall of rain. As she began to skid, the noise she made – loud, high- pitched and guttural - was something like ‘Aiiiiieeeee’. Skittering wildly, she flew almost the length of the building, finally losing control completely and falling flat on her back. Winded, covered in dirt, she couldn’t even lay there and stew in her own mortification: her rump felt as if it was on fire.

  Red mist descended before her eyes. Before she knew it, she was on her feet, ready to kick the crap out of something – or someone. The first thing she did was to hurl the stupid quarterstaff over her shoulder.

  But her ears were not met with the satisfying ring of timber against metal. Instead, there was a dull, cushiony thud, and a muffled ‘Oof.’

  It suddenly occurred to Raegan that she was not alone.

  She whipped round to find a crumpled, skinny man with a shock of ginger hair, clutching at his stomach. The pair of eyes gazing up at her from behind huge spectacles were wide with shock.

  ‘Are you trying to kill me?’ The man’s voice was surprisingly deep, given his lean frame – he looked like a piece of stretched elastic, or Mike Teavee in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. He glanced down at the piece of wood that had just knocked him for six. ‘And… with one of my own weapons?’

  Before Raegan could answer, he reached for the quarterstaff. She gawped in horror.

  ‘No – Jasper, don’t do that, it’s-‘

  As if in slow motion she saw him lean against the staff, using it as a support while he struggled up from the slippery ground. She saw the wood ripple, the already-present crack deepening under the extra weight until the end snapped off completely. He seemed to flail helplessly for a moment as the staff gave way, then his feet slid out from under him. Down he went, slithering helplessly back into the mud.

  ‘-broken.’ She finished.

 
The words hung in the air between them as slowly, almost disbelievingly, Jasper raised his head.

  It wasn’t the mud dripping down his cheeks, or the way his limbs were completely spread-eagled, contorted in a way that would not be anatomically possible for most boys. It wasn’t even the funny squelching sound his bum had made as it hit the ground. It was his face. The expression of utter confusion and bewilderment – like ‘how on earth did I get here?’ - was just the final straw. A moment ago she had been on the verge of tears and now she was giggling.

  But that was Jasper. He always made her laugh.

  Their friendship had been the most surprising thing to happen to Raegan since her arrival at Unit Prime. Everything else, no matter how weird or scary, pretty much fitted the bill – she now expected the unexpected. Jasper was normal. Like a remnant from her old life. And that was the shocking thing.

  They only met two weeks ago but it was like she’d always known him.

  ‘Cut it out!’ he grumbled now as she hurried to help him up.

  ‘I’m- not- laughing-‘ she managed through clenched teeth. A barely-suppressed snigger followed shortly after. Wrapping an arm around his skinny frame, shaking silently, she lifted him to his feet and they began to walk.

  ‘What were you doing in the storage room, anyway?’

  Raegan’s laughter died in her throat. What had that all been about? Her meltdown felt unreal, now; far away; mad, really, like it had happened to someone else. Or as if she’d imagined the whole thing. Truth kept shifting, slipping through her fingers like the beads in the hourglass pendant.

  Now, in the warm and bright, the answer was obvious. ‘I was dropping off the quarterstaff for Robert; managed to bust it in training. Forgot to prop open the door and the next thing I know the wind has blown it shut. I’m such an idiot!’

  ‘You broke my quarterstaff…?’

  ‘Oops.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Well. I sort of… landed on it.’

  It was Jasper’s turn to laugh. ‘You landed on it?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  He held up the implement; it had nearly caved in at one end and the severed tip was completely mashed. ‘That’s impressive. You know this thing is made out of wenge, right? 50% more dense than oak. Incredibly strong.’