Rangers at Roadsend

by Jane Fletcher

  “It’s okay. I have something I need to sort out up here.”

  “You’re trying to tell us we needn’t have wasted valuable drinking time waiting for you?” Lee joked ironically. “Okay, let’s go. We’ll be in the Cat and Fiddle if you have time later.” She went to the door, with the rest of the patrol trailing behind.

  “Um…Private Nagata,” Chip spoke up. “I’ll need you to stay here as well.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Katryn stopped immediately. Like the others, she had a Ranger’s thick winter cloak around her shoulders. After a quick questioning glance at Chip, she took it off and hung it in her locker.

  When the others had gone, Chip indicated the door to her room. “We’ll talk in there.”

  All four of the bunkhouses were identical in layout, including the sergeant’s accommodation. The room was not large; the bed completely filled one wall. The only other furniture was a cupboard; a low chest with padded lid that served as a seat; and a small folding table, which currently was collapsed against a wall. Chip pointed Katryn to the chest. She considered remaining standing, but in the end, she sat on the edge of her bed, reversing her position from the conversation in Kim’s room. Katryn waited for Chip to start talking. Her expression was mystified, but Chip thought there was apprehension as well.

  It took some time for Chip to find the words. “It’s just occurred to me, although I’ve twice accepted your assurance that you haven’t been court-martialed, that I’ve never actually asked you why you were transferred from the 12th.” Katryn’s eyes widened slightly, but she said nothing. “And now I’ve heard some rumors concerning a dead sergeant.”

  “I didn’t murder her,” Katryn interjected.

  “Was it murder?”

  “Yes, ma’am, but it wasn’t by me.”

  “You make it sound as though someone has accused you.”

  “Someone did. But I wasn’t charged.”

  “You haven’t mentioned this before.”

  “No, ma’am.” Katryn clenched her teeth but then went on talking. “I didn’t think it was a good way to introduce myself—to tell people as soon as I met them that I’d been transferred because some people thought I’d murdered my previous sergeant.”

  “It was going to come out eventually.”

  “I know.” Katryn’s eyes dropped to the floor. “I’ve not been wasting much effort worrying about my long-term future.”

  Chip studied Katryn’s face. She remembered her first impressions of Katryn, the hopelessness and the fear, which she now understood. It had not merely been apprehension about meeting strangers in an unfavorable situation. It was the knowledge that things would get worse, not better. The rumors would catch up, and no squadron was going to respond well to a murderer in their midst—certainly not one who had killed another Ranger.

  Chip decided to push things a little bit farther. “I’ve also heard you had to flee from the Militia, which is why you applied to the Rangers.”

  This time, Katryn looked confused. She shook her head. “No, ma’am. That’s just people making things up.” Then despair swept over her face. For a moment, it seemed that her composure would collapse completely, but she brought herself back under control.

  “So why don’t you tell me the full story?” Chip spoke more softly.

  “It isn’t straightforward.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Take your time. But this is your chance to tell me everything. I don’t want to be back here in another month, asking for explanations of the next set of rumors.”

  Katryn turned her face and stared at the darkened glass of the window. Her expression held the hopeless despair of their first meeting. Her hands were balled in fists in her lap, but after several ragged breaths, she nodded unevenly. “Okay, but I’m not sure where to start.”

  “Why don’t you start with why you left the Militia after nine years?”

  Katryn nodded again. Her face was now calm, resigned, almost relieved. “That would go back to August last year. There was a heat wave at the start of the month. I guess it all began with me doing a night patrol with another colleague…”

  Part Two

  Katryn Nagata

  2 August 532

  Chapter Eight—A Jilted Lover

  As midnight grew near, the streets of Woodside were so silent, it seemed that not only the inhabitants but even the houses themselves were sleeping. The dark ranks of buildings were huddled in the light of the moons, the walls slowly oozing out the heat they had absorbed during the long, hot summer’s day. The only sounds were the whooping of a night bird and the dull clop of two pairs of Militia boots striking the cobbles in a steady, unhurried rhythm.

  The women in their black uniforms paused their round at the edge of the market square. Militia Sergeant Katryn Nagata gazed around thoughtfully. The time to hunt for lawbreakers was when the market was in full swing, with pickpockets preying on the unwary and traders giving short measure. During the day, the square would be the scene of as much illegal activity as was to be found in Woodside (which still was not saying much), but now it was utterly devoid of life—law-abiding or otherwise.

  Katryn’s eyes lifted to the upper stories of the buildings. The heat had prompted many occupants to leave their shutters open, which might attract the attention of thieves. However, even the most stupid burglar would have the sense to wait until the Militia was out of sight before scrambling up a wall. The chances of stumbling across any criminals were very slim, but the rules decreed that two members of the Militia must patrol the streets each night, and that was what she and her colleague were doing. It was true that pounding the beat in the cool of night was less unpleasant than it was during the sticky midday heat, but Katryn would rather have been at home, asleep in bed with Allison.

  She glanced at the woman standing beside her, a new recruit to the Militia, just past her sixteenth birthday and still in her probation period. Private Dekker was stifling a yawn. Judging from her expression, the yawn owed as much to boredom as tiredness.

  “Are you finding life in the Militia as exciting as you hoped?” Katryn asked dryly.

  Dekker’s mouth turned down at the corners. “Well…shall we say no worse than I feared? I reckon I can put up with it for two years.”

  “And then you’ll apply for admission to the Rangers?” Katryn guessed as she began walking again.

  Dekker fell into step beside her. “Oh, yes. I’m applying the day I finish my probation. Just one year, nine months and three days to go.”

  Katryn laughed and said nothing to crush the young woman’s hopes. However, she knew of too many others who had joined the Militia, intending to transfer to the Rangers after they completed their two-year probation, only to fail the rigorous entry test for the elite service and be forced to complete all fourteen years of their enlistment period in the Militia.

  “It is so dull here, I don’t know how you stand it. Did you never think of joining the Rangers?” Dekker asked curiously as they left the market square.

  “Not really.” Katryn scrunched her nose a little as she replied. “It crossed my mind once or twice, back when I was your age, but I’m happy in Woodside. I’ve got family here and a partner.” Her expression shifted to a contented smile. Meeting Allison just before her probation was complete had put the final block on any ideas of applying for the Rangers, and never once in the following seven years had Katryn regretted her choice. “We’ve been saving money. This time next year, we’ll have a place of our own and a child.”

  “You’ve got enough for the imprinting fees?”

  Katryn grinned at Dekker. “Well, I’m not expecting the temple to imprint us a baby for free.”

  “Your partner must be quite something to keep you here in Woodside.”

  “She is,” Katryn agreed. “But even without her, I don’t think I’d have joined the Rangers. I’m not the adventurous sort. And I always wanted to be in the Militia.”

  “Because of what happened to your gene mother?”

  Katryn g
lanced sideways. “You’ve heard about her?”

  “Someone mentioned her back at the station—the last Militiawoman in Woodside to be killed on duty. They weren’t too sure about how it happened, though.”

  “It was a stupid accident. She stepped in to stop a tavern brawl and got stabbed in the back by someone too drunk to think or see straight. The killer was probably aiming at the person standing beside my gene mother.”

  “That’s bad luck.”

  “Even worse luck that it was her first month back at work after giving birth to my sister.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Just turned six.”

  “So your birth mother lost her partner and was left with two young children. That’s rough. I guess the widow’s pension wouldn’t begin to compensate.”

  Katryn nodded and said nothing, but she suspected that her childhood would have been far happier for everyone had both her mothers been present. She hoped that Dekker’s curiosity would not set her off probing any deeper and was saved by a sudden outbreak of shouting in the distance. The two Militiawomen spared only a sharp glance at each other before breaking into a run toward the sound of the disturbance.

  They charged into an alleyway and emerged onto a wider street at the far end. The shouting was louder, although it was still impossible to make out the words. With Katryn in the lead, they rounded the last corner. Standing in the middle of the road was a woman, clearly the worse for drink. She swayed and staggered as though the cobblestones under her feet were the deck of a pitching boat. From her mouth came a string of abuse, screamed at the closed front door of a house.

  “Bitches! You’re just a pair of fucking bitches!”

  Katryn’s initial thought was that the shouter was an adolescent troublemaker, unable to hold her drink. However, when she got closer, she saw that the woman was closer to forty than fourteen and, from the cut of her clothes, not a destitute alcoholic. The woman seemed to be unaware of the Militiawomen’s arrival, but it was possible that the occupants of the house had been watching from a window. As the Militiawomen reached the angry drunk, the door opened, and two other middle-aged women emerged. One held a small lantern aloft; the yellow light flowed out over the cobbles.

  At the sight of the pair, the drunk made an indecisive lurch forward. Then her face crumpled. “Why?” Her voice cracked as she spoke. “Why? I love you. You know I do. I love you. Why d’you leave me? Come home, please.”

  “Elli…” one of the women in the doorway began, but the other cut her off with a hand on the arm.

  A jilted lover, Katryn thought, sizing up the situation. A depressingly common occurrence, and one that would require tact. The rowdy woman was probably an honest citizen who had made the mistake of trying to drink away her grief. Katryn stepped between the antagonists, with her face toward the drunk. “I think, ma’am, it might be best if you went home. Sleep it off. It will be easier to sort things out in the morning.”

  The drunk ignored Katryn and stared instead, with tears in her eyes, at the women in the doorway. “You promised you’d love me forever.”

  From behind Katryn came a snort that sounded halfway to a laugh. Katryn glanced over her shoulder. It was impossible to say what the rights and wrongs of the situation were, but from the patronizing expressions of the two women in the doorway and the distraught misery on the face of the other, Katryn knew where her sympathies lay. It was a shame that it was not against the law to stand on your own doorstep looking unbearably smug.

  Katryn turned back to the drunk. “Come on now, madam. Why don’t you go home?” She pitched her voice low and reassuring in the hope that the tone, if not the words, would register.

  The drunk’s eyes fixed on Katryn for the first time. “You’re on their side.”

  Katryn met the combative glare. “I’m not. I’m on the side of the law, and you can’t stand in the street at midnight, shouting and waking the whole neighborhood.”

  Their eyes locked for several seconds; then the other woman dropped her gaze. The fight went out of her, and her shoulders sagged. Katryn put a hand on her arm and gently steered the unsteady woman away. With her other hand, she gestured for Dekker to join them. “If you tell us where you live, we’ll see you safely home.”

  The drunk went along meekly for the first few steps, but then a mocking voice rang out behind them. “By the Goddess, if you could see yourself now, you wouldn’t come around asking why.”

  The drunk tensed and jerked free of Katryn’s grip. Katryn gave her a firm shove in the right direction; then she turned back to face the two women in the doorway, trusting Dekker to keep control of the other.

  “You aren’t helping matters. Could you both please go in and close the door? We will deal with the situation,” Katryn said sharply. She glared at the women, waiting for them to obey her instructions.

  Without needing to look, Katryn could tell that the drunk had staggered on for a few steps before regaining what she could of her balance. Now the sounds of her uneven footsteps were approaching; she had outmaneuvered the inexperienced Dekker. Katryn put out an arm to stop the woman from lumbering past, but instead, the sounds came directly behind her. Then the back of Katryn’s head imploded. The buildings jolted sideways and blurred. The cobblestones of the street turned to water and raced up to meet her. A whirling cartwheel of sparks was swallowed by darkness.

  *

  Katryn awoke in the Militia station with one of the town healers bending over her. The woman’s eyes were unfocused as she concentrated on the mysterious other senses of the healer’s craft. Lieutenant Rashid’s anxious face wavered in the background. The window beyond was dark, so it was still night. Katryn’s head felt hollow, but she could detect the soothing influence of the healer’s talent flowing out from the hand on her brow. She let her eyelids close and drifted in the ripples of well-being while vaguely wondering how she had gotten to the station and what had happened to the drunk.

  Eventually, the healer sat back and announced, “I guess you’ll live. You’ve got a thick skull. It didn’t crack as easily as the bottle.”

  “Was that what she hit me with?” Katryn asked slowly. “From the way it felt, I’d have guessed it was a slab of granite. Except I didn’t see how she’d kept it hidden.”

  The healer’s smile broadened. “And the blow obviously hasn’t shattered your wits. You should go home now and get as much rest as possible, but I’d like to see you again first thing tomorrow.”

  The healer patted Katryn on the shoulder and rose to her feet. She gave a respectful nod to the lieutenant and bustled out through the door. Katryn sat and swung her feet over the side of the bench she had been lying on. The motion left her a little queasy and light-headed, but her eyes had no trouble focusing—which, as she was experienced enough to know, was the most important thing.

  Lieutenant Rashid slipped into the chair vacated by the healer. “How do you feel?”

  “Like a fool. Of all people, I should know not to turn my back on a drunk.”

  “Is that what happened? The report I got from Private Dekker was a bit confused.”

  “That’s not surprising,” Katryn said ruefully. “If Dekker had been more aware, I wouldn’t have gotten hit. But again, that’s my fault. I should’ve made allowances for her inexperience.”

  The lieutenant’s lips pursed into a thin line. “Maybe. But I’m not going to question you about it now. Are you okay to walk, or shall I get someone to help carry you home?”

  “I think I’m okay. The healer would have warned me otherwise.”

  “Fair enough. But I’ll come with you. We don’t want you passing out in a gutter.”

  Katryn had no problems on the short walk, and the lieutenant parted company with her at the doorstep of her mother’s shop. Inside, it was dark and silent. The lantern was in its place beside the door. Katryn hesitated for a second before lighting it. Normally, she had no fears negotiating the house in the dark, but the last thing she wanted was to trip on an unexpected obst
acle and bang her head again.

  The four walls of the baker’s shop sprung up around her as the wick flared into life. Katryn looked at the familiar room with mixed emotions. The shop had been her home all her life—but not for much longer. Katryn was eager to be gone. It was not that she could accuse her mother of anything serious. There were no examples of malice or physical cruelty to point at—merely a lack of affection and the constant sense of being on the outside. Throughout their childhood, her sister, Cy, had been cuddled and indulged, while Katryn had mainly been ignored.

  As a young girl, Katryn had been hurt and confused by the favoritism. As an adolescent, she had gotten the idea that her mother was overcompensating for the loss of Cy’s birth mother, so the neighbors could not say that Delia Nagata was neglecting her gene daughter by comparison with the one she had borne. Now Katryn suspected that the truth was far less convoluted: Her mother simply liked Cy better than she did Katryn.

  The money for the temple imprinting fees had been ready for more than a year, but Katryn had wanted to put off having the child until she and Allison could also afford to move out from her mother’s house. She wanted to raise their child somewhere she felt she belonged.

  Katryn walked through the back of the shop and past the ovens. Even this late at night, she could still feel the unwelcome heat radiating from them. Then she climbed the twisting rear stairway to the upper floor. She paused on the landing and looked at the three closed doors. Of course, the smallest room was hers. Her mother had explained that Cy needed the bigger room because she worked in the shop and, therefore, spent more time in the house. Katryn’s lips tightened at the memory. Cy did not have more possessions or spend more time sleeping, and she did not have a permanent partner. However, logic did not come into it, so Katryn and Allison were squeezed into a tiny cubbyhole.

  Katryn pushed open the door to her room and stepped inside. In the light of the lantern, she saw at once that the bed was empty. Katryn ran a hand over her face; the aftereffects of shock were catching up with her, and she just wanted to go to sleep without delay. Obviously, someone—probably Dekker—had brought news of the assault, and Allison had gone out to meet her. Katryn was not keen to start wandering around the streets, especially as she would doubtless miss Allison on the way to the station. With any luck, if Cy were awake, she would know how long Allison had been gone.