Jim Baen's Universe-Vol 2 Num 1

by Eric Flint

  "Why don't we go in?" the colonel asked. He took Shironne's gloved hand and laid it on his sleeve, leading her up a few steps and into the entryway of a house.

  Home-smells surrounded Shironne, and the taste of dirt. The owner didn't keep it as clean as her house. "Is this his house?"

  "It's a boarding house," the colonel explained. "He had a flat here. I sent a message ahead, to let the landlady know we were coming back."

  "Oh." She should have realized that. A sergeant wouldn't have the money to own a house. In fact, Benia claimed that as the reason they hadn't married yet.

  Voices echoed along hallways, distracting her. Late morning, and most of the residents should be at their work, Shironne guessed. Not all, it seemed. Two women argued somewhere above them, one angry, another pleading, their words indistinct at this distance.

  "Upstairs, sir," the lieutenant said.

  The colonel drew Shironne toward the sounds of the voices and they mounted the stairs. Someone passed close by as they came out onto the second floor landing, causing the colonel to halt abruptly. She hummed a lullaby under her breath, a fog of vague despondency surrounding her.

  "I beg your pardon, Madam," the colonel said, even though she'd been the one to walk into him.

  The woman's attention focused on him, her sudden interest pronounced enough to make Shironne wonder for the first time if the colonel was a handsome man. Then the woman's attention drifted away like smoke caught on the wind. She continued on up the stairs without even responding.

  The landlady, identifiable by the keys jangling at her waist, met them when they stopped at a doorway. She fawned over the officers in a subservient fashion and unlocked the door for them, curious and uneasy thoughts making a messy cloud around her in Shironne's mind. The colonel thanked her and informed her they would send for her if they needed further assistance— a polite way of asking her to go away. She left them, taking her worry and noisy keys with her.

  Shironne laid a gloved hand on the doorframe and stepped through onto a wood floor. "How is the room laid out?"

  The colonel entered behind her, giving her a brief description. The sitting room possessed only a low table, two chairs and a tea service near the hearth.

  "Could you take me to a chair?" Shironne asked.

  He took her hand, curiosity in his mind again, and placed it on the back of a chair. She sat and removed her left boot. "Is there anything on the floor?"

  "A braided rug in front of the hearth."

  Shironne stood and started away from the chair, feeling about with her bared foot. She couldn't sense much from the wood itself, but wood kept things. She felt dirt trapped in the grain, bits of skin and hair, food and saliva, all ground together into dust, only faintly identifiable. The pine floors had recently been scrubbed with lye and water.

  Shironne reached a spot near the middle of the room and stopped, her foot poised barely touching the floor. Blood had flowed there. "Did he die right here?"

  "That was where they found the body this morning," the lieutenant confirmed from just inside the doorway.

  "There's a lot of blood."

  "I don't see anything," the colonel said. "The landlady must have scrubbed it after they took the body."

  "But she didn't get it all. You never get anything really clean, sir. I can feel the blood in the cracks between the boards, and in the grain of the wood."

  "Hmmm. Are your feet as sensitive as your hands?"

  "No, sir, but more than . . . um, say, my elbow."

  "Interesting."

  Shironne moved her foot about, tapping spots on the bare wood. The blood had spread wide, which made her suspect the body laid there for some time. "How long before anyone found him, sir?"

  "We don't know for certain. They found the body early this morning and carried it to the morgue at about seven."

  She began making a wider circle, trying to determine what else the floor could tell her. "Someone barefoot was here, someone with small, dirty feet. They got some of the blood on them and probably left footprints."

  "Gone now. A child or a woman?"

  "Female, but definitely not my maid. Benia never goes barefoot. Once I told her what was really on the floor," Shironne almost laughed, remembering the woman's unseen horror, "and now she can't do it anymore."

  She continued feeling her way outward. She crossed a spot where many shod feet had passed, leaving dirt from the street outside. She came to a halt and pointed in the direction of the traffic. "What's that way, sir?"

  "Bedroom," he said.

  She followed the track the feet had walked.

  "There's a closed door about three feet in front of you," the colonel warned her.

  Shironne reached out a hand and located the door. She slid off one of her gloves and touched the porcelain doorknob. "The landlady cleaned this, too."

  "She'll want to let these rooms again quickly."

  "That doesn't help me much."

  "I don't think she had you in mind."

  Shironne turned the knob and pulled the door open. The bedroom smelled stale, as if air didn't pass through it. "Is there no window?"

  "No," the colonel replied from close behind her. "It's a tiny room, only the bed and an armoire. Hardly space to turn around."

  She stepped into the room, unexpectedly cracking her shin on a metal bed frame on her first step. She hissed, tears starting in her useless eyes.

  "I'm sorry," he said. "I should have warned you."

  "Not your fault, sir," she said, regaining her equilibrium. She hated doing things like that— things people expected a blind girl to do.

  She leaned down and touched the bedclothes, feeling wool, worn and coated with years of human use. They'd been washed recently, but soap never got rid of everything. "The landlady must have re-made the bed."

  Frustrated, she reached out her gloved hand and tugged back the blanket, exposing the sheets. She pulled back the upper one, hoping not to dislodge the lower sheet at the same time.

  "I don't believe your mother would approve of this," the colonel said, his mind abruptly focused on her actions.

  "She's not here," Shironne reminded him. She ran her bare hand lightly across the sheet, starting at the head of the bed. "The landlady may have made the bed," she told the colonel, "but she didn't change the sheets."

  The colonel radiated disgust.

  "The sheets—they feel of him, the same man who bled on the floor."

  "How can you tell?"

  "I . . . um, don't know how, sir. I just know. Different people just feel different to me. I don't have any words for it. I recognized his blood because I'd touched his body. I recognize the sheets for the same reason, but I can't explain how."

  "The sheets?"

  "Um . . . what's on the sheets, sir. People leave bits of themselves behind; hair, skin, spit . . . other things." She slid her hand farther down the sheets and stopped. "I can feel him here," she said, "and . . . um, also my maid, Benia."

  "I think perhaps we've seen enough."

  Shironne almost laughed at his sudden squeamishness. "Colonel, I've touched this sort of thing before. I've known for some time my maid had a lover. Perhaps you shouldn't mention it to my mother, though."

  He packed away his worry and sighed. "You are a most unusual young lady."

  "Thank you, sir. It's just . . . I mean, how can I miss that sort of thing?" The world never stopped for her too-sensitive skin. "The odd thing is, another woman had been in this bed. The barefoot one, I think, although I'm not certain. I didn't really get much of a feel of her from the floor."

  "Ah. I'm sorry for your maid, then," the colonel said with a hint of sympathy followed by a quick flare of suspicion.

  "Benia wouldn't do this, sir. She loved him."

  "People sometimes do irrational things when wounded."

  "But she couldn't have lied to me about it, sir. People can't fool me if I'm touching them."

  That revelation sparked another fit of cogitation on his part, so Shironn
e returned her attention to the sheets. "Sir, I don't think the barefoot woman was his lover, or at least . . . um, not since these sheets were washed."

  "Hmm." He worried again.

  "I mean, I can feel a lot of him on the sheets, and a lot of Benia, but only hints of the other woman. I mean, if she was his lover too, there would be more . . ." She stopped, not certain how to explain it.

  "There would be more," he said firmly, sparing her.

  "Yes, sir."

  "So another woman was here," he said. "There could have been a fight over her."

  "And perhaps her husband killed the sergeant?"

  "It would make sense," the colonel said. "At least now we have a possible motive to follow up on."

  "I really don't think he would have brought another woman here, sir. He loved Benia."

  "No, you know she loved him. Can you be certain he felt the same?"

  Shironne dug back through her own memories, trying to recall everything Benia had ever said of her sergeant. "I just can't believe it, sir."

  The colonel thought cynical thoughts. "You're very young. You want to believe the best of others."

  "I'm fifteen," she told him, wondering if he could possibly know the evil in others' minds the way she did. "Is there anything else here I could feel, sir?"

  She heard him move past her into the small room. He opened the armoire and then shut it. "The landlady has removed everything already. Lieutenant?" he called back to the main room.

  "Yes, sir," the woman replied promptly.

  "Find out what the landlady did with the sergeant's personal property." The lieutenant agreed and left, her quiet presence fading away with her footsteps. "I think we know now why she looked nervous."

  Shironne followed her own trail back to the chair she'd sat in and felt around to retrieve her shoe. She finally located it and pulled on her sock. She was tying her shoe when the colonel came to tower over her.

  "I believe we're at a dead end for now," the colonel said. He touched a hand to her shoulder. "I should get you back to your house before your father misses you."

  Anger flared through his thoughts again.

  "He doesn't watch me as close as Mama."

  He took his hand away. "Still, I suspect he might blame her if he knew you were missing, wouldn't he?"

  "Yes, sir." She'd already chanced her father's ire by being gone this long.

  "Why don't I take you back then?" he said. His tone didn't indicate a question.

  Shironne sighed and rose. "I need to know, though, when you find out who did it."

  "I'll get you word. I promise."

  * * *

  The butler believed Mama's fabrication about locking Shironne in her room for the entire afternoon. When he found Shironne below stairs chatting with Cook in the kitchens, he roundly upbraided the woman for abetting her delinquency. The butler would prefer she be locked away permanently, Shironne knew. He feared her "oddness" might be catching.

  She put a tearful Benia off with the assurance that the colonel would keep them informed, feeling horribly guilty the whole time.

  "I hope he finds out who did it," Shironne said that night while her mother brushed out her hair. Her father hadn't returned home for some reason, the best possible end to any day. "Benia seems like she'll never be happy again."

  "I know. I sense it too. Did he say he would let us know what he found?"

  Trepidation accompanied her mother's question, coupled with a hint of anticipation. Mama apparently had mixed feelings about the colonel and his inquisitive nature. "He said he would. I asked him to contact Cook, though, by way of the servant's entrance."

  Her mother's relief spread about her like a cool fog. "That should pass. Your father doesn't like for us to have visitors."

  "I think the colonel understands, Mama, about Father, I mean."

  Mama sighed wistfully. "Good," she said after a moment. "Do you suppose he'll be able to find the person who killed the sergeant?"

  Shironne bit her lip as the brush caught a snarl in her curly hair. "I don't know, Mama. Something we looked at is just wrong."

  Her two younger sisters came into the bedroom to have their hair brushed, and their conversation came to an end.

  * * *

  Shironne played with her cup of chocolate in the morning, still unable to place what she'd missed at the sergeant's flat. It seemed to come close, only to slip away like a fish in a pond. The landlady had cleaned everything and told the lieutenant she'd donated his clothes and blankets to the poor, which left the colonel with very little to investigate.

  The second housemaid slipped into her room to take her breakfast tray. "Miss," she whispered conspiratorially, "there's someone in the kitchen to see you."

  Shironne located her sturdy boots, put them on, and then hurried down the back stairs, avoiding the other servants on the way. She halted on the landing though, her mouth hanging open, when the missing idea came swimming within reach.

  She found Lieutenant Kassannan waiting for her under Cook's stern eye. "The colonel would like to speak with you again," the lieutenant said when Shironne approached the servants' table. "He has an idea."

  "I think I do, as well."

  Curiosity surged in the woman's mind, quickly hidden away. "The colonel told me to get your mother's permission first, miss. I left the carriage waiting on the next street over, and I've brought your hat."

  Shironne grinned. She owned the silly hat now. Her mother came down the servants' stair a moment later, evidently fetched by the second housemaid as well.

  "The colonel would like to borrow your daughter again, Madam," the lieutenant told her. "If you're willing."

  Shironne sensed her mother's worry. "I'd like to go. I've figured something out, and I need to tell him. I'll be careful, Mama. No one will see me."

  "Sweetheart, let the colonel take care of this. You've done what you promised."

  "Mama, please, I want to do this. I can be helpful."

  "The colonel said we should offer her a job," the lieutenant added.

  "Was he serious?" Shironne asked, her own curiosity echoed by her mother's.

  "Half-way to, miss. You're young, but he would certainly be willing to take you on when you come of age."

  Awfully far away, Shironne thought. "Mama, do you think I could?"

  Her mother sighed, her mind turning quickly. "I suppose you must, but I want you to promise me . . ."

  In the end, there were about ten things she had to pledge. In addition to not being seen, heard, or injured, she promised to stay with the lieutenant or the colonel at all times. Shironne doubted she could stick to it. She had a talent for falling into trouble.

  * * *

  "Miss Anjir," the colonel said as she entered his office, "I spoke to our surgeon last night. We may have proceeded under a false assumption."

  "We assumed a man killed him."

  "Very good," he said.

  Shironne pictured in her mind the way the knife must have gone in and come out, angled sharply. She could only think of one way it had happened. "She used both hands to stab him, raised like this, above her head and then coming down, sir."

  "And what could you deduce from that?"

  "Well, I don't know how tall he was, sir."

  The colonel came nearer. "About six inches shorter than me," he said. He held out a hand and raised her gloved fingers to it. "So the wound would have come about this high off the ground."

  She felt his hand, trying to fix the height in her mind. It was too high for her to stab at herself, not with any strength behind it. If she stood on her toes, it might make the difference. "A little taller than me, then?"

  "Short of average," the colonel agreed.

  "Everyone thinks I'm a little girl because I'm short," Shironne lamented.

  "You've disabused us of that notion," the colonel told her. "I was, however, severely castigated by the surgeon for involving you in this."

  "You didn't involve me, sir. I involved myself." She drew hersel
f up, trying to look taller. "Well, I didn't catch it yesterday, but I wonder if maybe the woman lives in the boarding house."

  "Excuse me?" the colonel said.

  "She was barefoot and she walked straight out the door. No one goes out a door and then stops to put their shoes on— it would be remarked. I don't think she ever went outside. She must live in the same building."