Shadow of the Knife

by Jane Fletcher

  Her family’s cottage shared a washroom and latrine with seven others. The water pump stood in the middle of the rutted yard that the cottages backed onto. Ellen carried the bucket the dozen meters to their home and filled the water butt by the stove. After another three trips, the container was full.

  Ellen hung the bucket back on its hook by the door. “There you go, Mom.”

  Mama Becky put down her sewing and smiled. “Thanks. Are you off now?”

  Ellen looked at the sun, judging its position. She and Terrie Rasheed had visited the last of their farms that morning, concluding the pointless waste of time, but they still had one more evening patrol to go.

  “I’ve got an hour before I need to be at the station. I thought I’d visit the baths.” Ellen shrugged, aware of the layer of dust and sweat from the morning ride coating her skin. “I don’t feel like I’ve been properly clean for a month.”

  “Okay, dear.”

  Ellen turned away.

  “Oh, I’m such a pudding-head. I’ve just remembered.” Mama Becky called her back.

  “What?”

  “A message came for you.” She pulled a scrap of paper from a pocket.

  “Who’s it from?”

  “I don’t know. Jill Simamora’s youngest brought it over.”

  “You didn’t ask who gave it to her?”

  “You know I don’t like to meddle in what you’re up to.”

  This was not strictly true, but Ellen chose not to challenge it.

  Mama Becky passed over the paper, clearly trying not to appear eager. “I thought it might be from Mandy. You know that she’s still fond of you? She’s such a sweet girl.”

  Ellen said nothing and took the letter. Her name was scrawled on the outside, and already Ellen knew it was not from her ex-girlfriend. The handwriting was far too untidy. But might it be Hal? Did she know where Ellen lived? Was passing notes her style? Did Hal want to arrange a meeting for tomorrow?

  Ellen was worried by how much the thought excited her. Chris had said to string Hal along to see if she was on the level, and to get information if she was not. But Chris had also said to be careful, and to keep her emotions under control. However, Ellen’s emotions were showing no sign of doing what she told them to and were wildly galloping away with her.

  Ellen opened the letter and read.

  Officer Mittal,

  Please don’t try to find me out, or I will be dead. You know what happened to Husmann and Sanchez.

  I’ve heard that the gang from Eastford who stole all the sheep will be picking up supplies from the Diaz warehouse on Upper Dockside at 17 o’clock tonight. They have threatened Diaz that they will hurt her family if she does not give them what they want. She has caved in, but somebody has to stop them, or they will bleed us all dry.

  I did not know who best to send this to. I would have written to Sanchez, but I’ve heard that she is still sick. Your lieutenant is useless. You stood up to them before. Please, can you do something now?

  The letter was not signed. This was hardly a surprise.

  “Is it from Mandy?”

  “No.” Ellen looked up. “Are you sure you’ve no idea who sent it?”

  “None. You could go and ask young Pat if you want.”

  Ellen shook her head. Pat Simamora was four years old—a well-behaved and helpful child, but not a particularly bright one. Tracking her down was unlikely to produce any answer other than “a lady” and Ellen knew she did not have time to waste.

  “Is it something important?” Mama Becky was starting to sound worried.

  “No, but er...I’ve got to rush.” Ellen took two steps backward. “I’ll be back later.” She turned and ran.

  She crossed Newbridge road into the more prosperous parts of town. The streets were busy, yet nobody got in her way. Citizens stepped aside, seeing a running woman in the black Militia uniform. Ellen pelted past. Every back route and shortcut in town was familiar to her. She raced across a small square and turned into a deserted alleyway, but then doubts caught up with her. The pace left her feet and she coasted to an indecisive halt. Ellen stood with her hand braced against a wall, eyes closed, gasping for breath and thinking.

  Where was she going?

  The rules said that, on receiving important information about a crime, a rookie should report directly to her commanding officer. Yet Ellen knew Cohen would reject the letter outright. Most likely, she would declare it a hoax and set the Militia on the task of uncovering the source, which was the very last thing they should do. If any harm came to the letter writer, it would put anyone else off informing on the Butcher.

  In her mind, Ellen had been on her way to Chris Sanchez’s home—but what was the point in that? She already knew what Chris would say. There was only one sensible course of action. The words Chris had spoken in the garden echoed in Ellen’s head. The Rangers are your best bet. If you find out something they need to know, then tell them.

  Despite what the rule book might say, Ellen knew she had to bypass Cohen and hand the letter directly to the Rangers. And the sooner the better. Talking it over with Chris would be reassuring, but time was pressing and the Ranger Barracks were near at hand. Why race across town and back?

  Ellen glanced up at the sun. She could easily get to the Ranger barracks, hand the letter over to Captain Aitkin, explain as much as she knew, and still be at the Militia station in time to start the evening patrol. With luck, Lieutenant Cohen would never learn about her role in the matter.

  Ellen took a deep breath and stepped away from the wall. Chris had said that initiative would be called for. Now was not a bad time to start. Ellen turned around and ran back the way she had come.

  Chapter Five—The Warehouse Pick-up

  The Ranger barracks were on the northern side of town, backing on to the eastern branch of the River Tamer. A high brick wall surrounded the site, although it was mainly for show, underlining the military nature of the compound. As ever, the gates were open and unguarded. Ellen jogged through, past bunkhouses and stables, until she reached the central parade ground. The administration building was on the far side. This was the most likely place to find Captain Aitkin, and even if she was not there, the staff orderlies would know where she was.

  Two Rangers were in the outer room when Ellen entered. They looked up from their paperwork. Ellen wondered if she imagined the instant disdain in their eyes at the sight of her black uniform.

  “What do you want?”

  “I’d like to speak to Captain Aitkin. Is she around?”

  “She’s busy.”

  “It’s important.”

  The Rangers exchanged glances, but then one stood and walked to an inner door. “Who shall I say it is?”

  “I’m Rookie Ellen Mittal. That won’t interest her much, but say I have news about the Butcher’s gang.”

  The supplemental information evidently did interest Aitkin, even if the name did not, and Ellen was immediately shown in to the captain’s office. Aitkin sat at her desk. She looked up when Ellen entered. The captain of the 12th Squadron was in her early forties, with weathered skin, pinched cheeks, and an unwavering gaze.

  Captain Aitkin’s expression was guarded, but did not quite manage to conceal her curiosity or surprise. She waited until the door had closed before speaking. “Don’t tell me Lieutenant Cohen has sent you to ask my help with the gang.”

  “No, ma’am. She doesn’t know I’ve come to see you.”

  Aitkin let the silence drag out, while Ellen tried not to wilt under her stare. At last the captain asked, “So why are you here?”

  Ellen pulled the note from her pocket. “This was handed to me a short while ago. I thought you’d make better use of it than Lieutenant Cohen.”

  Up until now, Aitkin’s manner had been dry and dismissive. She still tried to appear aloof, but the sharpening of her interest was unmistakable as she opened the sheet of paper. After a few seconds her eyes darted back to Ellen. Now there was no attempt to disguise her attentiveness. For
the first time, Captain Aitkin regarded Ellen as if she was someone worth taking seriously.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “It was passed on by one of the young kids who lives on the same street as me.” Ellen did not want to drag her mother into the affair.

  “You don’t think it’s a game on this kid’s part?”

  “She’s too young. She can’t write.”

  “Somebody might be using her.”

  “If it’s a hoaxer’s idea of a joke, making us look like fools by running after nothing, she’d want to share the laugh with her friends. But nobody will be around that late at night. And she’d have to know we suspected the Eastford gang.”

  “If it’s not a joke then it might be a trap.”

  “It might. But in that case, it’s a trap set for the Militia. They won’t be expecting the Rangers.”

  Captain Aitkin leaned back in the chair and considered Ellen. “Is that why you brought the letter here, rather than giving it to your commanding officer?”

  The question was an awkward one that Ellen did not want to answer in too much detail. She felt her cheeks start to burn, but forced herself to speak. “In part, ma’am. But mainly, like I said, I thought you’d be the best people to deal with it. Lieutenant Cohen might not want to...” Ellen swallowed, unwilling to finish the sentence.

  A flicker of a smile crossed the captain’s face. “No. You’re right. She probably wouldn’t.” In a fluid move, Aitkin swung off her chair, stepped around her desk, and opened the door. “Get Lieutenant Green and the sergeants. I want them here on the double.”

  At the sharp command, the two orderlies literally dropped the papers in their hands and sped off. Aitkin turned to Ellen, stepping back, but still holding the door open. “Wait outside until I call for you.”

  “I’m due at the Militia station soon, ma’am.”

  Aitkin shook her head sharply. “I won’t be keeping you long, but I think we might need more of your assistance. If it gets sticky with Lieutenant Cohen, you can blame me for commandeering you. But only once the whole affair is over. I don’t want you saying anything until then.”

  So much for hopes of keeping her part hidden from Cohen. Ellen found a stool in a corner of the main office and sat down, anxiously. Would Aitkin really be able to protect her from any repercussions? Cohen was certain to be furious. Ellen chewed her lip, trying to take comfort in the thought that she had done the only sensible thing, and it was not as if she had so much to lose. Cohen had never expressed any approval of her hard work or dedication. Thinking about it, Ellen could not remember a single word of praise. She sighed and stared at the ceiling, trying to convince herself that, no matter how it turned out, things were not going to get any worse.

  Ellen’s brooding was interrupted by the arrival of the five summoned Rangers—four sergeants and a lieutenant. In quick succession, they hurried into the office. None of them spared more than a disinterested glance at Ellen. The door shut after the last one. Ellen sat, shoulders slumped, wondering if maybe she should have first talked it over with Chris Sanchez after all.

  The two staff orderlies returned and went back to their work. They made a show of ignoring Ellen, although a couple of times she caught expressions of frank curiosity directed her way. For a while there was only the rumble of voices from the captain’s office, and then the door opened again.

  “Militiawoman Mittal.”

  Ellen felt hideously self-conscious as she returned to the captain’s office, and not merely for the way her black uniform stood out in a room full of green. Everyone outranked her. The faces studying her displayed varying combinations of mistrust and bemusement.

  Aitkin was the only one to smile. “Mittal. I want to thank you for bringing this to our attention. For what it’s worth, I think you’ve done the right thing, and I suspect a lot of other people will too. We’re going to have a number of Rangers on hand tonight, ready to seize the gang members, if that’s who they turn out to be. But we want some more help from you.” She beckoned Ellen forward and pointed to a street map of Roadsend laid out on her desk. “The warehouse mentioned. It’s here, correct?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I want you to be the one who initially challenges the gang. But don’t worry. We’ll be there. You’ll have plenty of support to back you up if it turns violent.”

  “Um...” Ellen felt her insides cramp. “Why me, ma’am?”

  “Because we don’t want to alert the gang and scare them off. They aren’t going to run from one lone Militiawoman on patrol. If they see a Ranger they’ll know something funny is going on. And equally, we don’t want to pounce on some innocent traders if it’s a hoax—and that’s if anyone turns up at all. You’re local. You know all the people in town. You’ll spot if they’re strangers, or local women acting out of character. I’m sure it will only take you a few seconds to work out whether they’re thieves or honest traders making a late night pick-up. We’ll get into position early and make sure we don’t get seen. You should also try to keep out of sight until the wagon or whatever arrives. Then go and challenge them. If they’re on the level you can just walk away.”

  “And if they’re not?” Ellen tried not to sound panicked.

  “Wave your hands, shout for help, do something. We don’t need to worry with fancy signals. We’ll be watching and we’ll be able to tell what you mean.”

  “I’m supposed to be on duty tonight, patrolling the town.”

  “Perfect. You can patrol by Upper Dockside.”

  “I’m only a rookie. Corporal Rasheed will pick our route.”

  “A pity. Then you’re going to have to slip away from her and get to the rendezvous on your own. I don’t want anyone else told about this. And certainly not Corporal Rasheed. I’ve dealt with her before. She can be a...” Aitkin’s tone implied that complete pain in the ass was how she wanted to end the sentence.

  “But—”

  Aitkin straightened up and fixed a stern glare on Ellen. Her tone also hardened. “It’s not a suggestion. It’s an order. Be at Diaz warehouse by seventeen o’clock. And don’t worry about any disciplinary charges. I’ll clear it with your Lieutenant Cohen tomorrow.”

  Ellen pulled herself rigidly to attention. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Strictly speaking, Aitkin was exceeding her authority. The Rangers and the Militia did not have the same chain of command and Aitkin was not entitled to issue direct orders to any Militiawoman. However she was a captain, and all the branches of the military were supposed to work together. Ellen could refuse to obey, but then she would have to refer the issue to Lieutenant Cohen. No matter how it worked out, that option could only land her in a lot more trouble. At least this way she would have Aitkin on her side and taking a share of the responsibility.

  Aitkin nodded. “And don’t breathe a word to anyone.”

  *

  Ellen charged through the door of the Militia station and stumbled to a halt, gasping for breath. Terrie Rasheed was standing by the table, mug in hand. She twisted around, scowling. “What sort of time do you call this? You’re late.”

  “Sorry, ma’am.”

  “What happened?”

  “I just, um...” Ellen shrugged apologetically.

  “Well? What?”

  “I lost track of time. I...er...”

  “Is that the best frigging excuse you can come up with?”

  “I went home and put my feet up. I didn’t mean it, but I must have drifted off to sleep.”

  “You fell asleep?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Terrie snorted but then turned away, drained her tea, then dumped the empty mug on the table. “Damned rookies, sauntering in whenever they feel like it.”

  Ellen concentrated on catching her breath and controlling her expression. This was the first time she had ever been late, and it was only by a bare quarter hour. Terrie was the one with the reputation for slack timekeeping. It would be a rare occurrence if she had been on time today. Ellen was prepa
red to bet money that Terrie had only been waiting for a few minutes—just long enough to make and drink a cup of tea.

  Terrie pushed past her to the door. “Well, come on. Don’t stand there gawking. You’ve wasted enough time as it is.”

  Ellen followed on. Suddenly her anger drained away, overwhelmed by the thought that she was now committed to her course of action. More even than by not handing the letter over to her commanding officer—that was a breach of protocol. She had just lied to a senior officer.

  *

  The Twisted Crook had the reputation of being the rowdiest tavern in Roadsend. From two streets away, Ellen could hear the racket being raised in its taproom. It got louder with each step closer. She and Terrie emerged from the alleyway onto the dockside. Overhead, small Laurel was just starting to sink and the other moon, Hardie, was rising, nearly full. To the west lay open country, cut by the silver river winding off into the darkness. The sheep docks were deserted, the empty pens a maze of railings and gates. Two barges were moored alongside, but the crews were nowhere in sight. Most likely they were in the Twisted Crook.

  The Militiawomen skirted the pens, approaching the tavern door. Shouting came from inside, but there was no anger in the voices, the speakers were merely trying to be heard over the clamor of singing and laughter.

  Terrie stamped to a halt and gestured to Ellen. “I’m going to check that everything is okay in here. You scout along the dock and give the barges the once-over.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Ellen turned away sharply to conceal her expression. Looking at the outside of the barges was a pointless exercise. It was insulting if Terrie seriously thought she was incapable of seeing through the ploy. However, Ellen’s main reaction was of elation. She had been worried about how to get away, but Terrie’s timing of an illicit beer could not have been better. From the moons’ position, it was nearly a quarter to 17 o’clock. The Diaz warehouse was midway between the Ranger Barracks and East Bridge, on the other side of town, but a quarter hour was easily long enough to get there.