~ DAVID ~
The cup of coffee on David’s desk was full to the brim and stone cold. He’d made it first thing this morning, but he’d only managed one sip. Such was the sickness in his gut that it seemed to curdle the milk and turn the sugar bitter. A letter from Chris had awaited him at his desk. The message was clear: the plans had changed.
He wasn’t sure why he was feeling nervous. Chris changed the plans all the time. It was the only way to win, he said—the only way to get the better of Bradshaw. A failure to adapt to the changing circumstances would be a failure to reach their objectives. These changes were normally presented to David in the form of a good-humoured meeting where Chris ran through his latest ideas for a few minutes and then they drank together for the rest of the hour. Or rather, Chris drank, and David humoured him. It was all good fun.
Yet nervous he was, and that not helped at all by Jack Yarwood. Yarwood had knocked on David’s door mid-morning, while he awaited Chris’ arrival. “The General’s not happy,” Yarwood had told David. “Word is he’s been going on about conspiracy since yesterday morning. He reckons the Governor wanted his daughter to get killed.”
It was conspiracy, despite Chris’ reassurances to the contrary. Molly Bradshaw’s death had not been on impulse. Even if Skerrett had acted alone, it had been planned. But David had a suspicion that Chris might have been involved. The morning of the incident, Chris had greeted him at the Tower, and insisted that the soldiers of the Constabulary do not interfere unless and until their lives were threatened. “Whatever happens on that dais, the Lightness is not to be harmed. Your soldiers are not to act.” Chris had been quite plain on that.
David had never properly met Molly Bradshaw. She was seventeen, if he remembered right. Seventeen. He could have killed Skerrett then and there—would have done, were it not for Chris’ instructions. The evening after, when he was alone in the cell with Skerrett, the temptation to beat him bloody was strong.
Chris needed him alive and well, though. They’d had an arrangement of some sort—an arrangement that stood until Chris said it didn’t. So David had stayed his fists, and made sure there was bread and water enough for Skerrett to sustain himself. He’d spat in the bread.
There’d been no visitors after Yarwood. David sat stewing, waiting for his door to open. The only question was who would come to him first. If Yarwood’s rumours were true, Bradshaw would pay him a visit soon enough. Maybe he already suspected David’s guilt. Maybe not. Either way, he’d ask David—as the Lord Constable—to conduct an investigation.
Any investigation would require him to turn himself in.
Shit. He hoped Chris would hurry up, and that the changes to his plan involved a way of absolving them of any guilt. Let Skerrett take the fall, let it seem that he’d acted alone. Nobody had asked him to murder the poor girl. That was his decision. Why should David be blamed for it?
And then there was Lieutenant Jackson. It was now a shade over two weeks since Jackson had left David’s office, and there’d been not a peep from him since. Deadshrike wasn’t that far away. Any day now, Jackson should be back to report what he found.
But nobody came, not until six hours later. Lieutenant Baxendale knocked on the door, and informed David that there was a visitor for him in the reception. He thanked Baxendale, and stood to greet his visitor. Baxendale pressed a scrap of paper into his hand as they passed in the doorway. It was small, written in the spidery scrawl which Chris liked to use. ‘Need a body,’ it read. ‘Somebody dispensable. Put them in a cell for me’.
He folded the paper up tightly as he walked, and dropped it into his inside pocket. The reception was, as always, quiet. Poulton’s partner on reception was Curlie, filling in a puzzle sheet behind the desk. There was only one other in the room. She was sat with her back to David, but her braided brown hair and matching leather boots, which she’d taken off and placed neatly beside her bare feet, identified her at once.
“Lieutenant Bennett,” he said, and she turned to him.
It could not have been a more serendipitous arrival.
“I hope you don’t mind the intrusion, Captain Clifford,” she said. “I bear news.”
“As long as you don’t plan to present today’s news as publicly as the last time. Do you know how many people saw that procession? How many children?”
“Bartley’s body was covered. There was a sheet.”
“And how many stupid people do you think there are? What else would warrant a funeral procession through town, if not a body? Godsouls, Lieutenant, you sent a man ahead to spread the word.”
Bennett had paled. “I didn’t think—”
“No.” David shook his head. “But no matter. What’s done is done. Perhaps you would be so kind as to accompany me.” He pointed towards the corridor which led to his office. Bennett nodded.
Oddly, she didn’t say a word on the walk to his office. She strode along haughtily enough, her chest puffed, but she was silent. Even when he showed her to a seat, she didn’t speak.
It was courtesy, he knew, to offer coffee. Water, maybe. Something to drink, in any case. He didn’t. “What is it you wanted to say?”
“Another of the missing soldiers has returned.”
“Another... tell me I won’t find another procession on the tower steps if I look outside.”
She shook her head. “No, Captain. She’s alive. Eilidh Cailie.”
The name was supposed to mean something to him, he supposed. He’d read the file. That was a long time ago, and he’d forgotten the names. There were more important things to do. And when the first one turned up dead, he’d just assumed the others would be the same. It had been the only likely resolution since the start. By the time the Eia landed, they’d been missing for a fortnight. If they were going to wander back, they’d have done it by then.
Still, better late than never.
“Has she explained where she’s been all this time?” It had been more than half a year now. Their being dead at the bottom of some hole somewhere made far more sense than this. He’d even had Lieutenant Baxendale fill out some forms to that effect, ready for him to sign the moment they got confirmation.
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Lieutenant Bennett shook her head. “There’s been barely a peep from her. We’ve had her sedated pretty solidly since we found her. Her wounds are grievous.”
“Wounds? Should she not have been brought to the hospital?”
Bennett squirmed, shrinking back into her seat. He must have raised his voice. “I instructed against that, Captain. The hospital’s not long been out of lockdown. I didn’t wish to burden them.”
He found himself shaking his head in sheer despair. “What do you think the hospital’s for? They’re not going to begrudge a seriously injured soldier occupying a bed. It’s been coming up three weeks now, anyway, they’ve had ample time to get back to normal operations.” It was an assumption, admittedly, but he thought it a fair one. “How have her wounds been treated, if you won’t dare bother the hospital?”
“I borrowed some of the hospital staff. Not many, a doctor and a few nurses—mainly the ones that weren’t in the hospital when it was shut up.”
“So you were perfectly happy to take staff away from the hospital, but it was too much to take Cailie down to the hospital’s excellent facilities? Am I getting that right?”
Bennett, for some reason, chuckled. “When you say it like that, it sounds idiotic.”
“That’s because it is bloody idiotic, Lieutenant. I don’t know why you’re laughing, because this is a disgrace.” Her face snapped rigid at that. “I’ve half a mind to dismiss you here and now.” He sighed. “Send her down as soon as you return to the Watch.”
“Sir. Oh, there is one more thing.”
“What?” Did he really want to know?
“Another woman’s gone missing. Name’s Bessily, or something like that.”
“A soldier?”
She shook her head. “She works at the stables on site. A horse-wrangler or something.”
“How long has she been gone for?” It was a big, empty world. If somebody were to wander off, it could easily take them a day or two to get their bearings and make it back. Worth noting an absence, but no cause for concern. Much more than a week and there was unlikely to be any hope. If Eilidh Cailie was sensible, she could give some useful answers as to how she managed to survive six months in the wilderness. Most wouldn’t.
Lieutenant Bennett scooped up David’s cold coffee and drank it down in one mouthful, grimacing all the while. “A month and a bit,” she said. “She was last seen around the same time Cailie was found.”
“A month and a bit? Why didn’t you report it sooner?”
“Like I said, Captain, she isn’t a soldier. It’s not my business to keep tabs on the stablehands. Macel Donea reported her missing. Apparently he’s been screwing her regularly.”
David nodded. “When did Donea make his report?”
“The same day she disappeared,” said Bennett, “but I thought she’d maybe got lost. I figured she’d wandered back to the stables.”
“But she hadn’t?”
“If she did, nobody saw her. The stablemaster, man called Speke, said she asked him for a few days’ liberty. Time to wander.”
“What did you say the soldier’s name was, who reported her? Donea?”
“That’s right,” Bennett confirmed.
“Why don’t you have him lead a search party? See if he can find her.” Bennett blanched. That struck David as odd—he vaguely remembered Macel Donea, and his impressions had always been generally positive. “Is that too difficult a task for him?”
Bennett squirmed. “Donea’s already gone. I can only assume he’s following her—he didn’t report for roll this morning, Rice or Preston neither. I’ve sent the garrison out to bring them back.
“The whole garrison?” Plateau Watch was home to eighty, or not far short. Eighty was far too many to waste on a fool’s errand.
She was hasty on the retraction. “Not quite the whole garrison. I kept a token number back. Half a dozen enlisted, plus Sergeant Malleston.” Unfortunately for her, the retraction wasn’t nearly good enough. David wasn’t sure whether or not he should laugh in her face. She hadn’t even held back ten percent. It was as if fate had intervened to direct her into his office, today of all days. Chris’ message drifted about the forefront of his mind. ‘Somebody dispensable’.
There was nobody as dispensable as Anna Bennett.
Silently, he met the gaze of Baxendale, stood tight against the door. He nodded, and Baxendale slipped out of the room. Bennett never noticed a thing.
David spoke sternly with Bennett. “I’m afraid that’s just not good enough, Lieutenant. Time and time again you infuriate me.” He slammed a clenched fist on the table. His now-empty cup rattled, and Bennett recoiled. “No more, I say. You needn’t worry about hurrying back to Plateau Watch. I’ll have someone inform Sergeant Malleston.”
“Sir?” The question was a squeak, as though she feared any answer.
“Consider your command terminated. I have another position for you, Lieutenant. I hope you’ll find it as difficult to mess this up as you seem to have found holding your own authority.”
“No, Captain, you don’t need to fire me. I didn’t know you were unhappy with me, I’d have done better—”
“Your performance shouldn’t have been dependent on my happiness.” He shook his head. “There’s no use arguing, the decision has been taken.”
Bennett brushed an unruly strand of hair out of her eye. “What position?”
David met her gaze, briefly. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant. Truly.” And he even meant it.
The door to his office opened then, and in came Lieutenant Baxendale. She’d brought help. Poulton, Onslow, Webster—half a dozen Constabulary guards followed Lieutenant Baxendale into the room. They each had muskets drawn.
Bennett turned on their entry, but she didn’t seem to process what was going on. She stayed in her seat. It wasn’t until Sergeant Poulton grabbed her arm that she panicked. She turned back to David, her mouth half open, the question silent.
And then David condemned her.
“Lieutenant Anna Bennett,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. He swallowed, clenched his fists, to steel himself. “By orders of the Council, you are under arrest.”
“What?” Bennett’s eyes were wide. “On what charge?”
“Find her a cell,” said David. Lieutenant Baxendale nodded and darted out of the room, while the others moved closer to Bennett.
“Right, up you get,” said Poulton. He lifted one of Bennett’s arms, and Onslow lifted the other, and together they pulled Bennett bodily to her feet. “Time to go.”
“On what charge, Captain?” Bennett shrieked.
He couldn’t meet her gaze. Let her scream into the wind, but he’d only end up feeling sorry for her. “Get her out of here,” he said, to Fostyke who was nearest the door.
“No!” Bennett wriggled, somehow managed to pull her arm free of Onslow’s grip. She lashed out, her elbow striking Onslow in the teeth. That was as far as she got before two more guards took hold of her free arm and pinned her down. “I’m innocent,” she yelled, as they marched her away. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Onslow had dusted herself down and stood in front of Bennett. “You hit me,” she said. “You little bitch.” And she spat, right in Bennett’s face.
That was unbecoming. “Onslow—” David had intended to reprimand her, but before he had a chance to, Bennett jerked her head forward. The butt caught Onslow square in the face. Onslow fell to the floor, her face a mess of blood, unconscious. David shook his head. “Why is the Lieutenant still here? Get her locked away.”
Poulton and the others took Bennett away, still screaming obscenities as she went. David could hear her pleading her innocence all the way down the stairs to the cells. Onslow’s bloodied face was proof that she wasn’t.
Fostyke was the only soldier who hadn’t been needed to restrain Bennett. He stood with a slack-jawed look on his face, watching David from the door.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” David snapped. “Take Onslow to the hospital.”
“Sir.”
He carried Onslow out, and at last David was alone again.