~ MACEL ~
Lieutenant Bennett was pacing. That was never a good sign. If she was pacing, it meant she was pissed off.
As soon as Sam had returned with what little help the hospital could spare, Bennett had disappeared to her office, and there she’d stayed. In her absence, it had fallen to Sergeant Malleston to oversee the fort’s daily operations. The few medical personnel had been put up in the northern wing. They were to get any help they asked for. There had been barely any takers to Sam’s enticing offer of a long trek out of the valley and past the lake, so—having once attended a course in basic aid—Craig Armitage had been roped in to assist. He’d moaned about it until he discovered that the medic’s armband entitled him to a double portion at mealtimes.
Eilidh had been fairly solidly sedated for most of the time since then. Once or twice she’d woken up—always screaming, like she’d just had a nightmare. Usually they doped her up right away. Sometimes she’d be awake long enough to calm down. She’d even talk, asking for water or fresh pillows. Apparently Sam had happened to be around one such time, and asked her what was causing her daily night terrors. He didn’t get an answer. She’d just stuttered until Doctor Fleming arrived to knock her out again.
Doctor Fleming was the most senior of the four staff who had come up from the hospital. Round-faced and softly spoken, and with a fierce humour, she’d easily ingratiated herself with the men of Plateau Watch. That was when she was off duty. When she was treating Eilidh, she held fearsome command. But she knew what she was doing. She’d quickly established a rota for keeping watch on Eilidh, taken steps to minimise the time Eilidh spent awake and in pain. On the second day after her return, she’d haemorrhaged from a wound that looked to have healed, a tricky bleed that was dangerous more for the sheer volume of blood than anything else. Doctor Fleming had not long retired for the night, but even sleep deprived she’d managed to apply stopgap sutures to stop Eilidh from bleeding out.
After a week, Lieutenant Bennett finally showed her face again. Macel was dining on honeyed oats at the time, and lamenting the absence of milk. No cattle had been brought out to the Watch, and he couldn’t abide the powdered stuff. In any case, the sight of Lieutenant Bennett was enough to put him off his appetite. She looked half dead. Her hair was a mess, and red rims ran under her eyes. Her feet, characteristically, were bare; the soles had begun to blister.
If those blisters hurt her feet while she paced, she didn’t show it. Not even a wince escaped. The whole fort watched with a macabre sort of fascination, waiting for her to get to speaking. Even the staff from the hospital had cottoned on. “She’s scary,” one of the nurses whispered, when Bennett was facing away. She had a young face, gentle dimples beneath faintly stippled skin, framed by hair that looked as soft as eider.
“You wait till the moons align,” said Sam.
“Why? What happens then?”
“Every time the two sisters are full together, she picks the youngest, prettiest girl in the fort and eats them, one limb at a time. She’s especially fond of dark-haired girls.”
The nurse shuddered. Behind her Delie was cracking up. “Where do you come up with this crap, Sam? Don’t sweat it, babes, the Lieutenant’s never eaten a soul.”
Sam scowled at Delie. “I spend weeks—weeks—coming up with these scares. Could you give it at least five minutes before you go all nest-mother and give the game away?”
Behind him, Lieutenant Bennett coughed. It was the artificial cough that called for silence, and its call was heeded. She pivoted on fungus-ridden foot to face Sam. “Do you mind? I’m thinking.”
Sam had paled. “Sorry,” he said, in a sort of throaty rasp. Delie was stood stifling a fit of silent laughter.
“You were alone when you found Eilidh?” Bennett rounded on Macel suddenly. Her question took on an accusatory nature in the sparkling glare of her eyes, and he shrank back a little.
He shook his head. “I was with Bess,” he said. “Bessily Edwards.”
Bennett considered this. “I don’t know her.”
“She’s not a soldier,” said Macel. “She works with the horses. At the stables.”
“And she’s not seen fit to make her report,” said Bennett. “Which strikes me as rude. Typical of those horsefuckers, they make their home on my land and yet they act as if they don’t owe us so much as a courtesy.”
He gritted his teeth to dust. “Bessily’s missing,” he said. “She wasn’t there when we went back to get Eilidh, and she hasn’t come back. You know this. You were there.”
Bennett shrugged. “If she’s missing, Speke should file a report with the Constabulary. How else will Captain Clifford know to send out a search party?”
“Does it not concern you?” Liz Hamish shouted from a corner of the room. “That’s four people lost under your command.”
“I’m not responsible for the stablegirls,” said Bennett. “And neither is anybody else here. I need all hands on site. Starting tomorrow, Sergeant Donnelly will be taking the roll each morning and each night. If you miss it and you’re not dead, there’ll be a disciplinary for you.” She pointed a bony finger at Sam. “I know you like to use noble causes as an excuse for slacking off, but that isn’t going to wash here. There’s a set of irons in the stores that will hold you well enough if you think of running off after this Bessily.”
Sam held her gaze with a determined stare that lasted until she bored of him and turned her back.
“Tomorrow,” she said, “I shall report to Captain Clifford. I suspect Miss Cailie is not long for this life, and the Captain will want to be informed.” A hubbub arose at this, an angry whispering. The terrified little nurse was shaking her head.
“She’d be fine if we had more medics,” someone shouted.
“I fail to see how that is true, and neither is it relevant.” Bennett straightened her back. “Sergeant Malleston will serve as proxy commander in my absence.” Just like he already had been, for the week that had been the most enjoyable since they came to Plateau Watch.
Most of the Watch’s garrison was elsewhere throughout the Lieutenant’s talk, Sergeant Malleston included, so she duly traipsed off on a progress of the fort to relay her message to the others. As soon as she was gone, the room erupted into chatter.
“Is she serious?” said Delie. “Is Eilidh going to die?”
“It was only a couple of cuts,” said Macel. Was he kidding himself? It had only been a few wounds—deep nicks admittedly, but the sort of thing that some stitches and a few nights’ bedrest wouldn’t fix. He poured the remainder of his oats into his mouth, wincing slightly as they tore at his throat on the way down, and started out of the room.
He met Doctor Fleming outside Eilidh’s room. Up until a week ago, the north wing had been used for the storage of dry goods; the goods themselves had been stacked up in the hallway outside, and their containers filled with the doctor’s supplies. This must have been the rats’ version of the Hills of Alénor, the fabled paradise of the afterdeath. Fleming was mixing a tincture when he found her. “I’d like to sit with Eilidh a while,” he said. “If that’s possible.”
She nodded her assent, and his suspicion was confirmed and disavowed in the same instance. “She’s on the mend at last, I think,” Fleming said. “No more screaming, and she’s able to keep down some solid foods. Still not fully stopped the bleeding though, so go gentle.” She thrust the bowl she’d been mixing into his hands. “Make sure she eats this. I’ll be here if you need me.”
Aside from the pain, the worst part of Eilidh’s situation had to be the food she was given. This bowl was full of a sickly green soup, viscous as treacle, with some suspect lumps poking through at the surface. The smell of something nasty came from it. A heel of floury bread stuck out like an island of heaven. Plateau Watch had a baker who excelled, a woman by the name of Clara, and for that Macel was thankful. It was heavy enough to soak up the worst of Eilidh’s soup as well.
He found her sat up. Her bed was a series of crates, covered over with thick woollen blankets and pillows stuffed with down. The bedding had been taken from the stores, but the little felt doll poking out from under the covers had come from Delie. It helped her sleep, she’d explained. But she could make do without it for a while. Eilidh needed it more. Delie had promised to shank Macel in the guts if he ever told anybody that she slept with a doll. He trusted her to keep that promise, so he pretended it had come from his own room. The mockery faded away after a day or so.
Eilidh seemed completely out of it at first, but livened up when she saw him. Her face was white and scabrous. She smiled a little, and a touch of colour came to her. “Macel Donea,” she said. “Come to eat in front of me?”
“This is for you,” he told her, offering her the bowl. “Doctor Fleming told me to give it to you.”
She pulled a face. “What’s in it?”
“Medicine,” he shrugged. “Maybe something that was once a vegetable.”
Eilidh took a long sniff of the bowl, and shuddered. “It doesn’t smell like vegetables.”
“It probably tastes nicer than it smells. Lots of things do.”
“Like what?”
“Your soup, for one.”
Reluctantly, hesitantly, Eilidh scooped some up with the bread, and brought it to her lips. They were cracked and dry. She could probably do with some water, he thought. But she licked them moist as she ate, and they seemed to take on a more normal visage. “You lied to me,” she said, “this tastes exactly as bad as it smells.”
“Sorry,” he grinned. “Doctor’s orders.”
There was a jug half-filled with water standing on top of a large wooden barrel, now serving as a table. He ambled over to it and poured its contents into a cup, which he passed to Eilidh. She drank gratefully. “It’s nice to wash this taste out of my mouth,” she said. “Tell Doctor Fleming I want real food next time.”
“I think you should leave it to the medical professional to decide what food is best for you. Look, if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a question.”
“Ask away,” said Eilidh. “But if it’s sexual I’m not interested. And that would be the case even if I wasn’t bleeding from a dozen holes.”
“It’s not sexual,” Macel reassured her. “What happened to you? You were missing for months—where did you go?”
“I was waiting for someone to ask me that,” she said. “I hate to disappoint you, but there’s not really much to be said. I remember... a shadow. Like there was somebody following us, but there wasn’t anyone. Next I can recall, everything hurt, and you were standing over me with the dead girl.”
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“The dead girl?” Was she talking about Bess? Who else? But Bess wasn’t dead.
“She wasn’t dead when you were with her,” said Eilidh. “She was dead before, though. She’s been dead a long time. I saw her in the tunnel.” Her voice rose to a whine, and trailed off. Her lip was quivering. A dark shadow flitted across her eyes.
Macel waited a few seconds, but she didn’t elaborate. “What, er, what tunnel would this be?” He tried to probe her gently, to keep her calm. Otherwise she might not answer at all.
Eilidh shivered bodily. “When I’m asleep, I go to a tunnel. It’s cold there, cold and muddy. It feels like all the life has been sucked out of it. She’s there too, the dead girl. She never moves. That’s how I know she’s dead.”
“How can you be sure? Did you see her up close?”
She shook her head. “I can’t move around in the tunnel. They come if I do...”
“Who comes?”
She shook her head again, more vigorously. “No. Don’t ask me about them.” She screwed her eyes shut tightly. Her breathing was getting heavier by the second, and drops of sweat were beetling down her brow.
He backed away slowly. The air seemed denser, somehow hostile.
Eilidh called to him as he reached the door. “I don’t want to sleep again,” she said. “Tell Doctor Fleming. I want to stay awake.”
“I’ll tell her.” He slipped out of the room and shut the door behind him. All the tension vanished at the moment he did so, and he let out a deep breath he’d apparently been holding in. Doctor Fleming wasn’t there, but one of the nurses was, the one with the big teeth. She smiled at him, and he smiled back.
The dead girl. In his mind’s eye, the nurse had the face of Bess, pale and bloated and blackened in the extremities.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” He blinked, and Bess was gone. It was only the nurse, not dead at all. She looked at him with concern in her eyes. He turned away from her and retreated to his own chambers. There, he could sleep.
It wasn’t until he was without her that Macel had realised just how much he’d made his life dependent on Bess. Every night since they’d moved out to Plateau Watch, he’d visited her, and they’d whiled away the evening hours with empty talk and childish jokes. On the first night after, while everybody else was occupied with thoughts of Eilidh, he caught himself halfway across the yard to Speke’s cottage.
That day there had been some rain. It hadn’t lasted long, but the deluge had been a heavy one. The ruts in the muddy ground had flooded. By the light of the moons, he saw his face reflected in these shimmering pools. The Macel in the reflection was gaunt and tired. It was a long day, he’d reasoned—that was why he’d let his autopilot take him halfway to where Bess wasn’t. Romantic notions of being lost without her simply didn’t enter into it. He was overtired, so he would be best turning in for the night.
The following evening, he’d been awake enough to catch himself before he left the fort’s cookhouse. That night, and every night since, he’d sat alone in the quiet of his own quarters until he drifted off to uneasy sleep.
Tonight, the autopilot kicked in again. Eilidh’s words still lingered at the forefront of his mind, and with them worries for Bess. He stole through the empty cookhouse, past the great steel pans that held the remnants of the stew, and into the cold scullery. There was a wooden bench there, beside the outer door. He sat down with his boots in his hand, and stuffed one on. He had to hurry. Bess would be waiting.
No. She wouldn’t. “She’s not there,” he muttered to himself.
“Who’s not there?” The voice had come from the darkness, and made him jump. It was the nurse from before—a small shadow, fair skin framed by hair of deep umber and eyes of steel grey. She stepped into the dim light of the back hallway, laughing like a child. He supposed he must have looked a real picture, stubble unkempt, one shoe off and the other unlaced.
“Nobody,” he said quickly. “I don’t believe we’ve ever properly met. Look, I’m Macel.”
“Janna.”
He held out a hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Janna.”
Janna, it turned out, had jumped at the chance to come to the Watch. She’d spent the last few months locked inside the hospital, unable to leave. She’d only been out for a few days. “I know I should have been happy to be in the sunshine, but I had to come and help,” she explained. “Everybody down there looks at me like I’m dirty. It’s just cause I was there. I’m not a leper.”
There’d been a sickness in the hospital. The details hadn’t reached as far as Plateau Watch, but the sentiment had. It had been a bad one. Many were dead, the Governor’s wife apparently among them. He wondered if Janna had known the Governor’s wife.
She looked lonely either way.
“We don’t have lepers here,” he said. “Come with me.”
Macel brought her along to the shed in the yard where the kindling was kept. He knew Sam and Delie and the others were inside drinking, like always. He’d heard them from his bunkroom, as he was sat there thinking about Bess. Somehow the kindling shed had never been closed to them. Lieutenant Bennett definitely did not approve of their using a storage facility for their recreation. She’d also never put a stop to it. Sam reckoned she knew all about it, and just didn’t care as long as they were able to do their jobs by the morning. Macel had come to think that Sam didn’t know Lieutenant Bennett well at all.
He should have anticipated the first words they said to him. “On to the next one already?” Matt Grogan was slurring his words already. He had the unfortunate combination of a low tolerance for alcohol and a taste for the especially strong spirits. Whenever he drank, and he drank most nights, he ended up paralytic. Macel gave him the finger and searched for Delie. She was perched on a bushel-box of smaller cuttings of wood, wide enough for three people to sit comfortably. Perfect. He bundled Janna onto the crate and sat between the two women.
“You don’t mind if Janna joins us?”
Delie shook her head. “The more the merrier. What are you imbibing, babes?”
“Whatever’s going. I’m not fussy.” Janna accepted the drink she was given graciously, and sat politely to sup on it, but the face of disgust as it hit her throat suggested that she might well start being fussy from this point on. She coughed and spluttered and drew laughs from the small group centred around Matt Grogan, some of whom took to imitating putting a bottle to their mouth and retching it up.
Delie shook her head. “Idiots,” she muttered. Then, grabbing another drink for herself, she scooted to the very edge of the bushel-box. Positioned very precariously on the very edge, she tipped her head back to drink... and shunted off the box onto the floor. Sticky amber cider spilled all over her. Matt Grogan and his chums roared with laughter, and Janna was forgotten.
A shadow fell over the kindling hut, unnoticed by everyone. There was a spectre amongst them, and it took the form of Bess—a dark, dead phantom amidst the merry. Why could none of them see her? She was stood right next to Eric Scobie, practically touching his shoulder. A silent plea came from her eyes.
“Are you alright, mate?” Sam asked. “You look spooked.”
“I’m fine,” said Macel. And he was. The phantom was gone. Bess was never here.
And she never would be.
Eilidh Cailie’s words came bouncing back. “The dead girl.” Bess was out there, all alone. Could she find her way back if she wanted to?
“I’m going to find her.” He spoke before he was even conscious of this newfound resolution.
“What? Macel, we’ve been through this,” said Sam, moving to block Macel’s escape.
“She’s too far gone,” Delie chimed in. “You’ll never find her.”
He pushed past Sam. “I’ll take that chance.”
“The Lieutenant said no,” said Sam.
“I didn’t think you were the sort who cared about what Lieutenant Bennett said,” Delie said.
“I’m not.” Sam pointed at Macel. “He is.”
“Not this time. If I don’t look for Bess, who will? I owe it to her.” Macel handed his bottle, still sealed, to Sam. “You have this, Sam. I want to keep a clear head.”
He turned and left the kindling shed, before he changed his mind.
The halls of Plateau Watch were silent and rife with shadow. Moonlight crept through the windows, bathing all it hit with a warm glow. Around it the darkness was impenetrable. Beneath his feet, the floorboards squealed. He stopped dead the first few times it happened, strained his ears to listen, but there was no sound but the distant sound of laughter from the kindling shed, muffled by several walls.
In the kitchens, he found everything he could need. Two steel pots had been left upside down beside a sink; these he helped himself to, stacking one inside the other to better carry them. Into the pots he threw a fistful of cutlery. The rest he’d taken from his own room. A hunting dirk and a serrated knife were his priorities. They were already safely stowed in his pack, nestled between blankets and a bedroll. With them, two flasks full of water, some flints to start a fire, a flare if things got bad. Bess had made noises once about camping out in the wilds, to be observed by none but the stars, so Macel had gathered all the things in preparation. They’d still been sat ready. It was an hour later that he emerged from his bunkroom, a bag on his back.
At most, ten minutes could have passed after that before he found himself once again passing through the quiet cookhouse. The last time he’d stolen through a darkened kitchen, it had been to free Raphe. He remembered the boy’s excited eyes when he led him into the fresh air, remembered those same eyes unseeing when Raphe’s head was mounted on a spike from the walls of Cadéist. And he remembered how Tanis had wept, when she heard of her love’s death. He wouldn’t let Bess weep like that. He was going to find her.
But as he walked through the cookhouse, a noise from the darkness made him stop. He looked around, as far as his eyes could strain to see. Only shadow lay there. Nothing was moving.
He started again... and then came another noise. He turned his whole body around this time, but once again, nothing moved.
His blood was ice inside him.
Was this how Eilidh felt, being followed by something unseen? She’d seen things in her nightmares, and they’d really spooked her. On the journey from Belaboras, she hadn’t seemed much like a superstitious type. Hers was a scientific mind. Demons were just a cradle story, monsters a myth. Ghosts? They were echoes, imprints of a former time and a former energy. They were never sinister.
They were nothing to be afraid of.
Yet here he felt afraid.
Another noise. Was it footsteps? It sounded like footsteps. Somebody walking very gently on the wood. But he could see nobody. Around him the dark pools seemed to thicken by the minute.
And then a light. He could see the glow all of a sudden. It came from the outer scullery, around the corner. A strange place to have a gathering.
He’d never been more aware of his breathing than as he walked towards the corner. Each step was carefully considered to keep the floor from announcing his approach. When he got as far as he could get, he froze.
You’re being silly. There are almost a hundred people at Plateau Watch—isn’t it more likely to be one of them in the kitchens than an evil ghost?
He jerked forward, rounding the corner in a single motion so he couldn’t back out.
“We were beginning to think you weren’t coming this way.” Macel jumped at the voice. Delie was leaning against the far wall, holding a torch in her hand. Sam was with her, and Janna the nurse. “Sam reckoned you’d use the front entrance, but I figured you’d go the same way you always went with Bess.”
Macel felt like an idiot. “You shouldn’t hide like that. You scared me.”
“You’re easily scared,” Sam shrugged.
“What are you guys doing here?”
“If you’re going after Bessily, I’m going with you,” said Sam. “Two hands are better than one, and six are better than two.”
Macel shook his head. “No, Sam. Bennett will put you in irons. She was very specific about that.”
“Seems worth it to me.”
“Besides,” said Delie. “You’d never survive on your own. Did you even pack any food?”
Food. Of course he’d overlooked something. “I was going to hunt my own.”
Delie looked at him sceptically. “Uh-huh. Face it, Macel, you need us. Lucky for you, nobody ever thought to eat all the food dear Horton sent for Sam. It’s been hiding in the stores the whole time. And I have a key.” She dangled an unassuming key in the air; a tag attached to it read ‘FT PLATEAU STORES’. A heaving hempen sack was resting at Sam’s feet. “Turns out all those punishment duties Bennett stuck me on were worth something after all,” Delie grinned.
Macel turned to Sam. “What happened to your plan? You’re supposed to be heading south with Hortense.”
Delie’s pursed lips told Macel that Sam still hadn’t told her this. She kept her mouth shut.
“I’ve written her a note,” said Sam. “Had it written for days now, just in case you did something stupid like this. Wilding’s going to deliver it to her when he can. She’ll go on without me, and I’ll catch up to her. Besides, we’ll find Bess in no time. There’s three of us, after all.”
“Four.” And then there was Janna. The young nurse didn’t know any of them well, she hadn’t even met Bess. There was nothing obliging her to come.
“You can stay if you want to,” Macel said to her.
“Your friend might be hurt,” said Janna. “Adela told me none of you were medics.”
“I also told you to call me Delie,” said Delie, through gritted teeth. Janna ignored her.
“Miss Tema would want to help,” she said. “If she can, I can.”
“Well, we’ll be glad of your company,” Macel said. “Come on. I want to be well away before Bennett wakes up.”
So they walked, out of the scullery, across the duckboard bridge and past the farriers’ cottage, down to the trickling river which wended its way between the hills. Macel kept his eye on those hills as he passed, in case the dancing lights might return. But tonight everything was silent. The four walked along, a rigid column, and none uttered a word until Plateau Watch had been obscured by thickets of trees.
Hang tight, Bess, Macel thought. I’m coming.