BACK at their house, Rachel was still rather unsteady on her feet, so Michael supported her indoors and laid her down on the bed. He decided to play safe and send for the doctor. When he arrived, he examined Rachel closely and pronounced that the baby was still fine, and Rachel would recover in time. He advised her to rest for a day or two: her fainting was evidently due to stress and not to any under­lying sickness. But it was important not to put the baby at any risk.

“You’ve both been at the trial, haven’t you?” he remarked as they left the bedroom. Michael nodded. “I know all about it,” continued the doctor. “Everyone in Rigo’s talking about it. They say you gave a good impression on the stand. Do you think that lad will swing?”

“He may do, but we hope he doesn’t. Rachel does, at least: the thought of a hanging really upsets her—however bad the crime was. I haven’t mentioned this before, but Rachel’s elder sister took her own life some years ago: she hanged herself and Rachel was the first person to come across the body.”

“That would account for some of her distress.”

“We did meet up with the Governor, and did mention that we’d agree to her exercising clemency. But we can’t be sure.”

With that, the doctor took his leave and Michael went back to work at the shipyard, leaving Rachel to rest. When he got home that evening, he found Rachel very much recovered: ignoring the doctor’s advice she had got up and prepared dinner. Michael scolded her play­fully, but secretly he was relieved to find her so much better.

About two weeks later there was a knock on the door, and much to their surprise there was a Mountie standing outside with his horse: the very same Mountie who had befriended them in the hospital. They welcome him in.

“I can’t stay long but, sorry, I have a rather unpleasant duty in which I need your help, if you don’t mind coming with me please—” Just at that moment he noticed Rachel’s condition. “—but perhaps in the circumstances young Rachel needn’t come along with us. Allow me to congratulate you both, and wish you every happiness. But if you don’t mind, Michael…”

So Michael fetched out and saddled his horse, and together they rode to the hospital. There, the Mountie led Michael, not to the wards, but to the mortuary. There was a body there, lying on a slab, covered with a sheet.

“I’m afraid the body’s in rather poor condition: he must have been dead at least two weeks before he was discovered by a woodcutter, out in the forest. But if you’re prepared to take a look: you may recognise him.”

Michael nodded, anxiously. The Mountie drew back the sheet down to the neck. The face, surrounded by a bandage, looked very disfigured, swollen and greyish with dark blotches. The cheeks were puffed out as if the victim had been trying to blow a horn—but in the partly-open mouth no teeth were visible, just a line of caked black blood. There was a foul stench, as if of maggots.

Nevertheless there was something familiar about the horrible travesty of a figure. The yellow hair was recognisable.

“It’s Luke. I’m fairly sure it’s Luke Skinner. Unless it’s Simon—they looked very much alike—but Simon’s still alive and in custody, surely?”

The Mountie nodded and replaced the sheet. “Yes, indeed, the body was carrying an identity tag in the name of ‘Luke Skinner’. So that’s all we need from you, and I must thank you for your help in this unpleasant business. Luke was friendly with you, I believe?”

“Yes, it was he who warned us about Simon. So how did it happen?”

“That’s still under investigation. The body was clasping a revolver in one hand, with one chamber fired, and there’s a bullet wound in his head. But we can’t be sure it was suicide. Would you know of any reason?”

“I can’t imagine why he would take his own life. But there may have been motives for killing him. I assume Simon can be discounted?”

“Yes, Simon’s been in custody all the time.”

“Well, he had at least two other accomplices. Where are they?”

“Yes, we know about them. But they both appear to have disap­peared: we have men out searching for them. I’m afraid Labrador’s a pretty big country: easy to lose oneself in.”

“So what’s going to happen now?” asked Michael.

“There’ll be a post-mortem, then the body will be buried: it can’t be kept above ground any longer. But we’ll continue our investigations. Do you know of any other relatives?”

“Well, his father was killed last year—but his mother’s still alive, I believe. She’ll be living somewhere to the north of Waknuk, but I don’t know the exact address.”

“Thanks. We’ll get a message to her somehow. It’ll be a sad business for her so soon after losing her husband: one son dead and another destined for the gallows—”

“Maybe not,” interrupted Michael.

“You’re right. Maybe not.”

As Michael made his way home, he wondered how he was to break the news to Rachel. Should he lie to her? But the Mountie had mentioned ‘a rather unpleasant duty’ when he first appeared. Surely Rachel would never believe any cover story. And she had shown herself to be strong: she had recovered well from the gunshot wound and from the fainting attack in court. He decided to tell the truth, but not all the truth.

“I’m afraid there’s some sad news,” he began, once he and Rachel were seated side by side on the couch. “It’s Luke. You remember him? He’s dead. He was found dead in the forest. The police wanted me to help identify him.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“Oh no!” cried Rachel, tears starting from her eyes. “Poor Luke! And he was so helpful to us, considering whose brother he was. Do they know what happened?”

“No,” replied Michael, half truthfully. “They’re still investigating. It may have been an accident.”

“Had he been dead long? Would that explain why he never showed up in court?”

“They don’t know,” Michael lied, “but it’s possible. It’s being investigated.” He decided he would never reveal to Rachel what the condition of the body was, as he had seen it.

Rachel wiped away her tears. “Another friend lost to us,” she muttered, resignedly. “When will it end? And I wish we knew what’s become of Mark and Stephanie.”

As chance would have it, it was only a few days later, as Michael was riding home from work, that he experienced something that he hadn’t felt for months.

A thought-shape.

It felt indistinct and unformed, but it seemed to have a pleading quality about it, as if a telepath somewhere was trying to make contact. He reined in his horse and put out an enquiry as strongly as he could: “Who is it?”

There was a long pause, and Michael wondered if the mysterious person was trying to get nearer to him. But eventually another thought-shape came through, faint but discernible. “Michael, is that you?”

It was Mark!

“I’m here. I’ll keep sending numbers, to guide you to me.”

It took nearly half an hour, but finally Mark and Stephanie appear­ed, arm-in-arm, emerging from a side street, Mark still limping and leaning heavily on a stick. Michael rushed towards them, and clasped them in a mutual embrace, Stephanie smothering him in kisses.

“Oh, Michael, we’ve been so worried about you! And Rachel: is she all right?”

“We’ve been worrying about you too—ever since we last heard from you on the Kentak road. Seems like a lifetime ago. Yes Rachel’s fine—she’s at home now. So where have you been?

“It’s a long story,” put in Stephanie. “But first of all I must tell you: Mark and I are engaged.”

“You are! I’m delighted to hear it, and I’m sure Rachel will be, too. So you changed your mind, Stephanie? Glad to hear it. You must come home with us and we can all tell our stories. How far can you walk, Mark? You seem to have hurt your leg.”

“I’ll explain later. We’ve been walking around Rigo quite a lot, for the past two days, looking for you. We arrived on the stage-coach. But I could do with a rest, sure.”

“Can you mount my horse? Stephanie and I will walk: it’s a fair step but we’ll get there. Rachel already knows you’re here: I sent her a thought-shape—though we seldom use them these days.”

So Mark, with Michael’s assistance, mounted the horse and they walked at a gentle pace back to Michael’s home.

Not surprisingly, Rachel was thrilled to see Stephanie and Mark once more, and the mutual hugging and kissing went on for quite a while. Both the newcomers complimented Rachel on the expected baby, and before long they were sat around the table enjoying dinner: Rachel having hurriedly prepared enough for four.

They continued relating their adventures late into the evening, until Michael, due at the shipyard the following morning, called a halt. Stephanie had not yet come to what had happened at Ashapi, and was relieved at not having to bring it up until another day.

The following evening, the story-telling continued. When Michael began to speak of their stay at Peter’s house, Mark’s and Stephanie’s eyes lit up. “I knew it was genuine!” they both exclaimed, almost simultaneously.

Michael looked puzzled until they explained. Mark fetched out his copy of the letter from Peter to Amelia, which he had carefully preserved, and handed it to Michael: Rachel leant over and examined it too.

“Peter never told us he’d written to Rachel’s mother,” said Michael, “—but I suppose we must have given him our addresses at some point. Very thoughtful of him: maybe he contacted my parents as well. That’s good, because we’ve been rather remiss about writing to them—so much has been happening here.”

He continued with the story as far as their arrival in Rigo, their meetings with Bill the old sailor, and Luke Skinner, and got as far as their disastrous attempt to board the ship Pinta, bound for Newf. At that point Mark and Stephanie gasped.

“Oh how awful for you, Rachel dear!” cried Stephanie. “And your poor friend—Bill you said his name was?—too! But you look perfectly well to us: you must be tough inside! And the baby! Were you already expecting when it happened? And do they know who did it?”

“Yes and yes,” replied Rachel, “although I hadn’t told Michael yet. I was terribly lucky—the bullet never went near the baby. And yes—it was Simon Skinner, son of Jerome Skinner and Luke’s brother—”

“—Who’s been convicted of murder,” continued Michael, “and he’s in prison waiting to be hanged. The trial was quite an ordeal for us.”

“It was indeed,” said Rachel. “And I’m afraid I fainted as the sentence was read out. But I’m all right—really! Just that—I don’t want anyone to hang on my account—not even Bill’s. You know why.”

“I think I do,” replied Mark, remembering Anne.

“But we’re expecting the Governor to commute his sentence to life imprisonment,” said Michael. “We’ve met her—name’s Hilary Bligh—she’s a nice lady and she promised to take our views into account.”

“We heard a bit about her from your friends Jack and Adrian, back in Kentak. They’re all right, by the way, they were great, they helped us a lot. But now we must continue our side of the story.”

“Tomorrow, perhaps,” said Rachel, looking at the clock. “Michael’s having a busy time at work, and I’ve got to think of the baby…”

So it was the following evening that Mark and Stephanie resumed their tale, telling of their joyful reunion with Stephanie’s mother Martha (who still tended to call her ‘Sophie’). At that, Rachel felt impelled to spring to Stephanie’s side and deliver another, congratulatory, hug. But when Stephanie, picking up the tale, came to relate the awful happenings in the inn at Ashapi, the hugs became hugs of sympathy and commiseration, and tears flowed freely.

“I’m all right, really,” said Stephanie after a long pause, wiping her eyes. “I must be one of the lucky ones—I suppose years of living in the Fringes ‘toughened me up’, sort of. And I had to let him do it. Even Mark didn’t believe me at first—but when I explained that that horrible man might have caught sight of my feet…”

There was silence for quite a while, as the implications sank in.

At length Mark took up the tale, explaining how they had met the Waknuk Inspector, who recognised them but was surprisingly conciliatory and sent them on their way. Then he told of their reunion with his mother and and then Rachel’s (“She’s fine, Rachel, really she is—and since she got Peter’s letter she’s been less worried about you”), their abortive wedding plans, the pursuit of the villainous ostler and its catastrophic outcome.

“So there I was, laid up for weeks with a broken leg, cursing myself. But now we’re here, all together again. So what do we do now?”