Shadow of the Knife

by Jane Fletcher

“I...it’s not easy. I don’t mean to...it...” Husmann’s voice drifted into incoherence as her eyes sank.

  “It’s the Eastford Butcher and her gang, isn’t it?”

  Husmann’s head jerked up. “I can’t...they’ll—” She broke off, panting in fear. “You don’t understand.”

  “We won’t understand unless you tell us. We need to know what’s going on.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s it?”

  “I wish I could help, but I—” Husmann stopped. “Here. Take this.”

  Ellen held out her hand, wondering what sort of clue Husmann would pass over. Instead, several coins landed in her palm.

  “Can you see that gets to Sanchez? I’m sure she can use it, what with the new baby and all. And tell her I’m sorry.”

  Husmann backed off into the darkness and fled, leaving Ellen alone in the town square, holding a fistful of coins.

  Chapter Two—Talking to Rangers

  Ellen was surprised to see a lamp still burning when she opened the door of her home. Both of her mothers were sitting in its light. Mama Roz, her birth mother, was on her feet before the door closed.

  “Ellen, are you all right?”

  Mama Becky also struggled up, leaning heavily on her walking stick. “We heard...we were...”

  Ellen hurried forward and gathered them both in a hug. “I’m fine, Moms. Not a scratch. It was Sarge who got hurt.”

  She helped Mama Becky back to her seat and then knelt beside her. In the dim light of the flickering oil lamp she could see tears glinting in her gene mother’s eyes. Mama Becky was always the more emotionally demonstrative of her parents. Ellen knew she had her gene mother’s features, the same oval face, full lips, and firm jaw, but nothing else. Even the facial similarity was no longer easy to see. Years as an invalid had put weight on Mama Becky, blurring her cheekbones. Pain had etched deep lines around her mouth and white had replaced the last of her dark brown hair.

  In build and personality, Ellen was much closer to her birth mother. Levelheaded and cautious, she had Mama Roz’s height, square shoulders, and athletic build. She was fast on her feet, as many fleeing criminals had found out.

  Ellen planted a kiss on Mama Becky’s cheek. “You didn’t need to worry. You’d have been told if I’d been injured.”

  “That’s what I said. But you know how your Mama Becky gets.” Mama Roz had also settled in her chair. She reached over to hold her partner’s hand, an affectionate smile on her face. “I heard about Chris Sanchez as I was finishing work. I said that if you’d been hurt as well, the station would have sent a messenger here.”

  Mama Becky rubbed her free hand on Ellen’s head. “I can’t help it. I worry about you.”

  “So what happened?” Mama Roz asked.

  The conversation continued for a short while as Ellen yet again told the story and repeated her reassurances that she was fine, but they could not stay up late. Mama Becky’s health would not allow it, and Mama Roz had to be at work by dawn. Ellen watched her parents go to their bed in the curtained-off section of the cottage, then blew out the lamp and climbed the ladder to her own bed—a simple stuffed straw mattress—on the platform under the eaves.

  Ellen’s clothes felt rough and stiff with dried blood. Fortunately, the summer night meant she did not need to keep them on for warmth. She stripped off her outer clothing and slid under the blanket. The station duty roster did not have her on until late the next morning. She would have time to wash her uniform and then go to the town baths and get really clean. She hoped the black material would not be stained badly. But if it was, would Lieutenant Cohen deduct the cost of a replacement from her pay? Or would it count as unavoidable damage in the course of her duties?

  Ellen stretched out on her back. From below, her parents murmured quietly for a while and then there was silence. Ellen stared into the darkness, waiting for sleep to come. If she raised her hand, she would be able to touch the sloping roof of the cottage. She was lying in her own bed, in her own home. Even though it was too dark to see anything, she knew the position of every knot on every rafter. Everything was so familiar, yet she could not shake the feeling that the world had shifted out of alignment, and nothing was going to be the same again.

  *

  Mama Becky was sitting outside the door of their cottage, sewing in the last of the daylight when Ellen returned the following evening. As she covered the last few meters of rutted, unpaved road, Ellen felt a soft smile spread over her face. The same sight had welcomed her home ever since she was old enough to be allowed to wander off alone.

  At the sound of footsteps, Mama Becky looked up. A fleeting expression of relief was quickly swallowed by a smile. “Ellen. How did things go today?”

  “Fine, Mom. Everyone in town is so upset about Sarge that they have all been extra well behaved.” Ellen rested her hand on her gene mother’s shoulder. “Come on. It’s getting too dark to sew.”

  Ellen leaned an arm to help Mama Becky stand and then carried her chair into the cottage. “How’s your day been?”

  “Oh, you know. Nothing ever happens here.” Mama Becky settled back in her chair with a sigh. “Mandy called around to ask after you. She wanted to be sure you were all right.”

  Ellen fought to keep her expression neutral. “That was good of her.”

  “You could go and see her.”

  “I...don’t think so.”

  “She’s a nice girl.”

  “Yes. She is.”

  “So why don’t you want to see her?”

  “Because I don’t.”

  “Oh.” Mama Becky sank in her chair, looking deflated. “You used to get on so well.”

  “Not always.”

  “But—”

  Ellen interrupted. The merits of her ex-girlfriend was not a conversation she wanted to go through again. “Anyone else call by?”

  “Valerie Bergstrom.” The change in Mama Becky’s manner was conspicuous. Ellen knew it was not due to any personal dislike, but purely the possibility that Valerie represented.

  “What did she say?”

  Mama Becky frowned but could not refuse to pass on the message. “She wanted the latest news on Chris Sanchez. She said she’s going to be in the White Swan tonight, with her patrol buddies.”

  “Okay.”

  “Will you go to see her?”

  “Er...yes.”

  “But not Mandy?”

  Ellen sighed and leaned over to kiss Mama Becky’s forehead. “Valerie worked with Sarge for two years. She’s going to want to know about what happened.”

  “She could ask at the station or the infirmary, like anyone else.”

  “It’s all right, Mom. I just want to chat with her. I won’t be signing up for the Rangers today.”

  The words had been intended as a joke, but were far too close to home to raise a smile. Mama Becky immediately dropped her head, staring down at her clasped hands, knotted in her lap.

  Ellen looked at her guiltily. “Are you all right, Mom? Is there anything you need before I go?”

  “No. Your mother will be home soon. I’ll be fine until she gets in.”

  Ellen clambered up to her sleeping platform. She stripped off the black Militia shirt, then pulled on the lighter of her two civilian shirts. The uniform trousers she kept on. Ellen owned a thick blue woolen pair, but these were too warm for mid-July. The beige shirt would be enough to mark her as off duty. Ellen studied her knees for bloodstains, but the darkness inside the cottage was too thick to tell anything. However, nobody had remarked on them during the day, so presumably she would not need to buy a new uniform. The condition of the trousers was certainly acceptable for a visit to a pub.

  The tormented sigh from the floor of the cottage was soft but unmistakable. Mama Becky was still upset. Ellen glanced down at where she sat before the cold fireplace. The flippant remark about joining the Rangers had not been well judged. Ellen knew that neither of her parents wanted her to apply, although Mama Roz hid her fears
better. Ellen’s eighteenth birthday was under a month away. The month after that she would complete her two-year probation period. If she stayed in the Militia, she would get the rank of patrolwoman and a corresponding pay rise. Or she could apply to join the Rangers, the elite force who guarded the borders of the civilized world.

  Everyone admired the Rangers. Like all children, Ellen had dreamed of killing bandits and snow lions and swaggering around town in a green and gray uniform. The Rangers were exciting. However, the squadrons rotated around the border garrison towns, and although Roadsend was one of these, if Ellen joined she could expect to spend the overwhelming majority of her time elsewhere, coming home only for brief periods. Even though she could have most of her salary sent back, the whole burden of caring for Mama Becky would fall on her birth mother, and Mama Roz was no longer a young woman.

  Ellen caught her lower lip in her teeth, restraining a groan. She was an only child, born late. Small wonder her parents were so worried about losing her. They needed her and she had no wish to abandon them.

  Of course, there was no saying that if she applied to the Rangers, she would be successful. Barely a quarter of applicants passed the rigorous entrance tests. Ellen shook her head. In truth, her chances of passing the tests were a secondary consideration. The first question was, did she want to join?

  Ellen wished she could work out what she wanted to do. Which of the doubts were truly hers, and which were she taking on from her parents? How far was she being manipulated? Her mothers did not put direct pressure on her, but each new girlfriend had been welcomed with increasingly disproportionate enthusiasm. Her mothers’ motives were blatantly transparent. They hoped she would find the right woman and want to settle down with her. The thought of someday providing them with grandchildren was an added bonus.

  Ellen sighed and stepped onto the ladder. “See you later, Mom. I won’t be too late back.” She headed for the door.

  “Have a nice time.”

  “I will.”

  “And be careful. I want you back safe.” Mama Becky’s voice betrayed a waver.

  Ellen stopped and returned to kneel at the side of the chair. She rested her forehead against her gene mother’s shoulder and squeezed her hand, trying to express her love and concern. Whatever decisions she made in the months ahead, she loved her parents. If they only knew it, that love, not some infatuation with a new girlfriend, would be what held her in Roadsend.

  *

  The sweet smell of beer, a riot of voices, and smoke from cheap oil lamps assailed Ellen when she stepped into the taproom of the White Swan. The tavern was on the north side of town, close to the Rangers’ barracks. It backed on to the eastern branch of the River Tamer. On any night, the clientele could be counted upon to include barge crews, Rangers, and women who liked Rangers. The atmosphere was generally rowdy, but trouble free.

  Despite the throng, Ellen did not take long to pick out Valerie Bergstrom at a table to the side, sitting with a small group of Rangers. Unlike the black of the Militia, the green and gray uniforms were far too prestigious to be put aside.

  Valerie spotted Ellen at the same time and left the table to wrap her in a friendly hug of greeting. “Hey. It’s been a long time. What do you want to drink?”

  “The usual, thanks.”

  While standing at the counter, waiting to get the attention of the bar staff, Ellen considered her friend. Valerie was looking appreciably thinner and fitter than the last time Ellen had seen her. Valerie also exuded the air of confident bravado one associated with Rangers. Who knew—perhaps their basic training gave lessons in deportment.

  Valerie was a year older than Ellen. Up until ten months ago, she had also been a rookie in the Roadsend Militia. But then Valerie had completed her probation and immediately applied to join the Rangers. Ellen had not seen her since she headed off to take the entrance tests. Valerie had passed and been assigned to the 12th squadron. By a stroke of luck, the Rangers’ rotation of duty had brought the squadron to Roadsend five days before, but this was the first time they had managed to coordinate a meeting.

  Once they had been served, Ellen accompanied Valerie back to her table. Three other Rangers were there, one carrying the twin bars of a corporal on her shoulder badge. Valerie started the introductions with this woman.

  “This is Gill Adebeyo. She’s my Patrol Corporal. The other two are Mel Ellis and Jay Takeda.” The Rangers nodded in acknowledgement of their names. Valerie gestured to Ellen. “This is Ellen Mittal. She was in the Militia here with me.”

  “And you’re still in the Militia?” Mel Ellis’s tone was condescending.

  Valerie cut in before Ellen had a chance. “She’s only a rookie.”

  The answer clearly sufficed and Mel’s expression warmed a tad. She was a short, square-framed woman in her mid twenties, with the uncompromising body language of somebody who enjoyed an argument. Jay Takeda was about the same age, taller, leaner, and with an easy-going smile that was all the more welcoming by contrast with her companion.

  As soon as they were seated, Valerie leaned across to Ellen. “So what happened with Chris Sanchez?”

  “Her and me were on patrol. We’d just left the sheep docks.” Ellen took a sip of her beer. “Do you remember Sally Husmann?”

  Valerie frowned in thought. “Owns a warehouse on Lower Dockside?”

  “That’s her. We came across a gang of thugs beating her up. We rushed up with our batons out. I thought they’d leg it. But they came for us. Even so, we had them on the run, until one pulled a knife and stabbed Sarge in the back.”

  “Didn’t she give any sort of warning first? Was she drunk?”

  “No warning, and she certainly didn’t seem drunk.”

  Valerie leaned back, shaking her head. “Himoti’s tits!”

  “I know. You don’t expect it. The last Militiawoman hurt on duty was Jude McCray, and that was the accident with the runaway cart.”

  Mel Ellis gave a snort of laughter. “It’s a dangerous life in the Militia.”

  Ellen broke off and looked down at her hands on the tabletop, working at controlling her expression. It was no secret that the Rangers disdained the Militia, even though it was the place where everyone started. The last branch of the military, the Temple Guard, was equally unpopular. The three-way, mutual antagonism was long established. Generally it went no further than bantering jibes, but Mel was clearly the type of Ranger who held the Militia in out-and-out contempt.

  To Ellen’s surprise, it was Jay who came to her defense. “Chris Sanchez is a good woman. I did some work with her last time we were in Roadsend.”

  “So what’s she doing in the Militia?” Mel asked, her scorn clear.

  “Raising a family.”

  Mel pulled a face, as if such an activity was a strange affectation, but said nothing more.

  “Does Husmann know anything about the gang who attacked her?” Valerie asked.

  Ellen shot an uncertain glance at Mel, but then shook her head. “She claims not to.”

  “Claims?”

  “There’s something funny going on.”

  Valerie looked confused, but did not push further. “I heard that Chris is going to be okay.”

  “Yes. She had a collapsed lung, but Dr. Miller was able to fix it.”

  “Will she be out for long?”

  “A month.”

  “Have they got a replacement for me yet?”

  “No.”

  “You’re going to be shorthanded.”

  Ellen grimaced. “Tell me about it.”

  The three older Rangers smiled but then turned to what was clearly an ongoing conversation about an incident at the barracks. Ellen listened, although the story was not easy to follow without knowing the people involved.

  Valerie leaned across the table and tapped Ellen’s hand to get her attention. “How are things with you? Are you still going out with Jackie?”

  “No. We split up ages ago. I was dating Mandy Colman for a while, but we’ve finished t
oo.” Ellen smiled to show that she was not upset about it. “How about you?”

  “The way the squadrons get shunted around there’s no chance to get serious over anyone. But you know they say lots of women are desperate to examine the contents of a Ranger’s uniform?” Valerie grinned. “It’s true.”

  “You’ve got no regrets about joining the Rangers?”

  “None. Are you tempted?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Valerie nodded thoughtfully. “How are your parents?”

  “Much the same as ever. Mama Roz still works longer hours than me.”

  “And how about my family?” For the first time, Valerie seemed tentative. “Mom’s written a few times, but she’s not said much. Has Fran been in a lot of trouble while I’ve been away?”

  “Surprisingly, no. She’s still hanging out with Trish Eriksen, but since Ade went to Eastford, it’s all been fairly juvenile stuff.”

  Valerie’s sister, sixteen-year-old Fran, was at heart not a bad kid, although hopelessly overindulged by their mother. Unfortunately, Fran had become friends with the Eriksen sisters. At seventeen, Patricia would count as a bad influence, but not a catastrophic one. The same charitable description could not be given to her older sister. Adeola had been serious trouble since the day she learned how to walk.

  Valerie nodded, looking relieved. “Let’s hope Ade stays in Eastford.”

  “She hasn’t.”

  “What?

  “Ade was standing lookout for the gang that attacked Husmann.”

  “Shit. You’ve got problems there.”

  Ellen hesitated. Despite Lieutenant Cohen’s order not to spread rumors, she desperately wanted to talk things over with someone. Valerie knew the situation in Roadsend, and as a Ranger ought to be able to assess things calmly. Maybe she could even come up with a better explanation and put Ellen’s mind at rest.

  “Um...actually, we’ve been having quite a few problems since you left. Last autumn, after the cloning, we had a lot of sheep stolen from the hills.”

  “How many?”

  “Over five hundred.”