The Wrong Trail Knife

by Jane Fletcher

jane.fletcher@virgin.net

Disclaimers: Please see chapter one

PART TWO : KATRYN NAGATA

2nd August 532

Chapter eight – A jilted lover

As midnight grew near the streets of Woodside were so silent it seemed as if, not only the inhabitants, but the houses themselves, were sleeping. The dark ranks of buildings were huddled in the light of the moons, the walls slowly oozing out the heat they had absorbed during the long, hot summer’s day. The only sounds were the whooping of a night-bird and the dull clop of two pairs of militia boots striking the cobbles in a steady, unhurried rhythm.

The women in their black uniforms paused in their rounds at the edge of the market square. Militia Sergeant Katryn Nagata gazed around thoughtfully. The time to hunt for law-breakers was when the market was in full swing, and there would be pick-pockets and traders giving short measure. During the day the square would be the scene of as much illegal activity as was to be found in Woodside (which still wasn’t saying much) but now it was utterly devoid of life – law-abiding or otherwise.

Katryn’s eyes lifted to the upper stories of the buildings. The heat had prompted many occupants to leave their shutters open, which might attract the attention of thieves, however even the most stupid of burglars would have the sense to wait until the militia were out of sight before scrambling up a wall. The chances of stumbling across any criminals were very slim, but the rules decreed that two members of the militia must patrol the streets each night, and that was what she and her colleague were doing. At least pounding the beat in the cool of night was less unpleasant than during the sticky midday heat, but Katryn would rather have been at home, asleep in bed with Allison.

She glanced at the woman standing beside her, a new recruit to the militia, just passed her sixteenth birthday and still in her probation period. Private Dekker was stifling a yawn. Judging from her expression it owed as much to boredom as tiredness.

"Are you finding life in the militia as exciting as you hoped?" Katryn asked dryly.

Dekker’s mouth turned down at the corners. "Well… shall we say no worse than I feared. I reckon I can put up with it for two years."

"And then you’ll apply for admission to the rangers?" Katryn guessed as she began walking again.

Dekker fell into step beside her. "Oh yes. I’m applying the day I finish my probation – just one year, nine months and three days to go."

Katryn laughed and said nothing to crush the young woman’s hopes. However she knew of too many others who had joined the militia, intending to transfer to the rangers once they had completed their two year probation, only to fail the rigorous entry test for the elite service, and be forced to complete all fourteen years of their enlistment period in the militia.

"It is so dull here, I don’t know how you stand it. Did you never think of joining the rangers?" Dekker asked curiously as they left the market square.

"Not really." Katryn scrunched her nose a little as she replied. "It crossed my mind once or twice, back when I was your age, but I’m happy in Woodside. I’ve got family here, and a partner." Her expression shifted to a contented smile. Meeting Allison just before her probation was complete had put the final block on any ideas of applying for the rangers, and never once in the following seven years had Katryn regretted her choice. "We’ve been saving money. This time next year we’ll have a place of our own and a child."

"You’ve got enough for the imprinting fees?"

Katryn grinned at Dekker. "Well, I’m not expecting the temple to imprint us a baby for free."

"Your partner must be quite something to keep you here in Woodside."

"She is." Katryn agreed. "But even without her I don’t think I’d have joined the rangers – I’m not the adventurous sort. And I always wanted to be in the militia."

"Because of what happened to your gene-mother?"

Katryn glanced sideways. "You’ve heard about her?"

"Someone mentioned her back at the station – the last militiawoman in Woodside to be killed on duty. They weren’t too sure about how it happened though."

"It was a stupid accident. She stepped in to stop a tavern brawl and got stabbed in the back by someone too drunk to think or see straight. The killer was probably aiming at the person standing beside my gene-mother."

"That’s bad luck."

"Even worse luck that it was her first month back at work after giving birth to my sister."

"How old were you?"

"Just turned six."

"So your birth-mother lost her partner and was left with two young children – that’s rough. I guess the widow’s pension wouldn’t begin to compensate."

Katryn nodded and said nothing, but she suspected her childhood would have been far happier for everyone with both her mothers present. She hoped Dekker’s curiosity would not set her off probing any deeper, but was, in any case, saved by a sudden outbreak of shouting in the distance. The two militiawomen spared only a sharp glance at each other before breaking into a run towards the sound of the disturbance.

They charged into a side alleyway and emerged onto a wider street at the far end. The shouting was louder, although it was still impossible to make out the words. With Katryn in the lead they rounded the last corner. Standing in the middle of the road was a woman, clearly the worse for drink. She swayed and staggered as if the cobblestones under her feet were the deck of a pitching boat. From her mouth came a string of abuse, screamed at the closed front door of a house.

"Bitches. You’re just a pair of fucking bitches."

Katryn’s initial thought was that the shouter was an adolescent troublemaker, unable to hold her drink. However, when she got closer, she saw the woman was closer to forty than fourteen and, from the cut of her clothes, not an destitute alcoholic. The woman seemed unaware of the militia arriving, but it was possible the occupants of the house had been watching from a window, judging when it was safe to emerge. As the militiawomen reached the angry drunk the door opened and two other middle-aged women emerged. One of them held a small lantern aloft and the yellow light flowed out over the cobbles.

At the sight of them the drunk made an indecisive lurch forward and then her face crumpled. "Why?" Her voice cracked as she spoke the single word. Then she launched into further speech. "Why? I love you. You know I do. I love you. Why d’you leave me? Come home, please."

"Elli…" one of the women in the doorway began, but the other cut her off with a hand on the arm.

A jilted lover. Katryn thought, sizing up the situation. A depressingly common occurrence; and one that would require tact. The drunk was probably a honest citizen who had made the mistake of trying to drink away her grief. Katryn stepped between the antagonists, with her face towards the drunk. "I think, ma’am, it might be best if you went home – sleep it off. It will be easier to sort things out in the morning."

The drunk ignored Katryn, and stared instead, with tears in her eyes, at the women in the doorway. "You promised you’d love me forever…"

From behind Katryn came a snort that sounded half-way to a laugh. Katryn glanced over her shoulder. It was impossible to say what the rights and wrongs of the situation were; but, from the patronising expressions of the two women in the doorway and the distraught misery on the face of the other, Katryn knew where her sympathies lay. It was a shame that it wasn’t against the law to stand on your own doorstep looking unbearably smug.

Katryn turned back to the drunk. "Ma’am, come on now. Why don’t you go home?" She pitched her voice low and reassuring in the hope that the tone, if not the words, would register.

The drunk’s eyes fixed on Katryn for the first time. "Why are you on their side?"

Katryn met the combative glare. "I’m not. I’m on the side of the law, and you can’t stand in the street at midnight, shouting and waking the whole neighbourhood."

Their eyes were locked for several seconds, but then the other woman dropped her gaze. The fight went of her and her shoulders sagged. Katryn put a hand on her arm and gently steered the unsteady woman away. With her other hand she gestured for Dekker to join them. "If you tell us where you live we’ll see you safely home."

The drunk went meekly for the first few steps, but then a sneering voice rang out. "By the Goddess, if you could see yourself now, you wouldn’t come around asking why."

The drunk tensed and jerked free of Katryn’s grip. Katryn gave her a firm shove in the right direction, and then turned back to face the two women in the doorway, trusting Dekker to keep control of the other.

"You are not helping matters. Could you both please go in and close the door. We will deal with the situation." Katryn said sharply. She glared at the women, waiting for them to obey her instructions.

Without needed to look Katryn could tell the drunk had staggered on for a few steps before regaining what she could of her balance. Now the sound of her uneven footsteps were approaching, having outmanoeuvred the inexperienced Dekker. Katryn put out an arm to stop the women lumbering past, but instead the sounds came directly behind her, and then the back of Katryn’s head imploded. The buildings jolted sideways and blurred. The cobblestones of the street turned to water, then raced up to meet her. A whirling cartwheel of sparks was swallowed by darkness.

**********

Katryn awoke in the militia station with one of the town healers bending over her. The woman’s eyes were unfocused as she concentrated on the mysterious other senses of the healer’s craft. Lieutenant Rashid’s anxious face wavered in the background. The window beyond was dark, so it was still night. Katryn’s head felt hollow, but she could detect the soothing influence of the healer’s talent flowing out from the hand on her brow. She let her eyes-lids close, and drifted in the ripples of well-being, while vaguely wondering how she had got to the station and what had happened to the drunk.

Eventually the healer sat back and announced, "I guess you’ll live. You’ve got a thick skull, it didn’t crack as easily as the bottle."

"Was that what she hit me with?" Katryn said slowly. "From the way it felt I’d have guessed at a slab of granite – except I didn’t see how she’d kept it hidden."

The healer’s smile broadened. "And the blow obviously hasn’t shattered your wits. You should go home now and get as much rest as possible, but I’d like to see you again, first thing tomorrow."

The healer patted Katryn on the shoulder and rose to her feet. She gave a respectful nod to the lieutenant and bustled out through the door. Katryn sat up and swung her feet over the side of the bench she’d been lying on. The motion left her a little queasy and light-headed, but her eyes had no trouble focusing, which, as she was experienced enough to know, was the most important thing.

Lieutenant Rashid slipped into the chair vacated by the healer. "How do you feel?"

"Like a fool. Of all people I should know not to turn my back on a drunk."

"Is that what happened? The report I got from Private Dekker was a bit confused."

"That’s not surprising." Katryn said ruefully. "If Dekker had been more aware I wouldn’t have got hit. But again that’s my fault – I should’ve made allowances for her inexperience."

The lieutenant’s lips pursed into a thin line. "Maybe, but I’m not going to question you about it now. Are you okay to walk, or shall I get someone to help carry you home?"

"I think I’m okay – the healer would have warned me otherwise."

"Fair enough. But I’ll come with you. We don’t want you passing out in a gutter."

Katryn had no problems on the short walk and the lieutenant parted company with her at the doorstep of her mother’s shop. Inside it was dark and silent. The lantern was in its place beside the door. Katryn hesitated for a second before lighting it. Normally she had no fears negotiating the house in the dark, but the last thing she wanted was to trip on an unexpected obstacle and bang her head again.

The four walls of the baker’s shop sprung up around her as the wick flared into life. Katryn looked around with mixed emotions. The shop had been her home all her life – but for not much longer. Katryn was eager to be gone. It was not that she could accuse her mother of anything serious. There were no examples of malice or physical cruelty to point at, merely a lack of affection and the constant sense of being on the outside. Throughout their childhood her sister, Cy, had been cuddled and indulged, while Katryn had been mainly ignored.

As a young girl Katryn had been hurt and confused by the favouritism. As an adolescent she had got the idea her mother was over-compensating for the lost of Cy’s birth-mother, so the neighbours couldn’t say Delia Nagata was neglecting her gene-daughter by comparison with her birth-daughter. Now Katryn suspected the truth was far less convoluted – her mother simply liked Cy better than her. The money for the temple imprinting fees had been ready for over a year, but Katryn had wanted to put off having the child until she and Allison could also afford to move out from her mother’s house. She wanted to raise their child somewhere she felt she belonged.

Katryn walked out through the back of the shop and past the ovens. Even this late at night she could still feel the unwelcome heat radiating from them. Then she climbed the twisting rear stairway to the upper floor. She paused on the landing and looked at the three closed doors. Of course, the smallest room was hers. Her mother had explained Cy needed the bigger room since she worked in the shop and therefore spent more time in the house. Katryn’s lips tightened at the memory. Cy didn’t have more possessions or spend more time sleeping, and she didn’t have a permanent partner. However logic didn’t come into it, and Katryn and Allison were squeezed into a tiny cubby-hole.

Katryn pushed open the door to her room and stepped inside. In the light of the lantern she saw at once that the bed was empty. Katryn ran a hand over her face, the after-effects of shock were catching up with her and she just wanted to go to sleep without more delay. Obviously someone, Dekker probably, had brought news of the assault, and Allison had gone out to meet her. Katryn did not fancy wandering around the streets, especially as she would doubtless miss Allison on the way to the station. Hopefully, if Cy was awake, she would know how long Allison had been gone.

Katryn did not wait for an answer to her knock on Cy’s door. It would be nice to think Cy cared enough for her to go out looking with Allison, but, in any case, Katryn was too spent to bother with formalities. She felt as if she had been through a mangle, and the beginnings of a headache were knotting at the back of her skull.

The sight of two figures in Cy’s bed didn’t surprise Katryn. With her nineteenth birthday less than a month away, Cy was well into the stage of casual relationships – in fact she was a year older than Katryn had been when she met Allison. And then the two women jerked awake and sat up, staring towards the door and blinking in the light of the lantern.

Nobody spoke. There wasn’t much to say, although Katryn found herself desperately hoping for some innocent explanation. A forlorn wish, the expressions said it all. Allison had the grace to look guilty, but on Cy’s face, for the second time that night, Katryn found herself looking at a smug, triumphant sneer.

**********

The anteroom outside the captain’s office was empty apart from Katryn. She sat, staring at the door and trying not to cry any more – for what good it did. She knew her eyes were as red as they were going to get. The healer had clucked over Katryn’s condition when she had called in that morning. Screaming rows were not a recommended treatment for head injuries and, despite the healer’s instructions, Katryn had got very little rest, finally bedding-down on the floor of a friend’s house just before dawn.

The angry words had been predictable and pointless. Their mother had felt that, although Cy had been a little inconsiderate, Katryn was making too much fuss, and it was all obviously Allison’s fault anyway. Cy had been defiantly provocative. Allison herself had said very little, and had soon settled into a mood of sullen bravado, doing no more than occasionally muttering, "So what?"

Katryn had mainly wanted to get away. It had been Cy, with an appalling sense of timing, who had tried to draw out the confrontation. But then, confrontation had probably been Cy’s main motive from the start. It wasn’t that Cy disliked her older sister, rather that she was driven to continually prove her favoured position. Katryn was coldly certain Cy did not want Allison because she was attracted to her. Cy wanted Allison because she was Katryn’s. It had been the same since they were children, and their mother had encouraged Cy in thinking she had a right to anything she wanted.

Katryn remember a rag-doll she’d had as a child. Cy had taken a fancy to the doll, making so much fuss that, in the end, their mother had declared eleven-year-old Katryn was too old for dolls, and must give her loved toy to her younger sister. For two weeks Cy had taken every opportunity to flaunt her prize, but, once the satisfaction of victory had faded, the rag-doll was forgotten. Katryn had found it some months later, filthy, rain-soaked and discarded in the yard at the back of the house.

To her dismay, the memory of the doll’s pathetic remains brought fresh tears to Katryn’s eyes. She pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, trying to fight them back. At that moment the door to the captain’s office opened and Katryn’s name was called. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and marched in.

Captain Kalispera was sitting at her desk. She looked up as Katryn entered. "Sergeant Nagata, I’m pleased you’ve asked to see me. I’d have wanted to talk to you anyway about last night. I trust you’re feeling well." Her voice sounded uncertain as she examined Katryn’s appearance.

"I’ve got no problems as a result of the blow, ma’am."

"But you have some other problems?" the captain suggested.

"Yes ma’am."

"I haven’t seen the report yet, but with your record I’d think it went without saying no blame was attached to you."

"Thank you ma’am."

"So what’s your problem?"

"I wish to transfer to the militia in another town."

"Which one?"

"Any one – the further away the better."

The captain looked at her in surprise. "Surely not because of what happened last night?"

"Not the incident with the drunk."

"Then why?"

"Personal reasons." Katryn had to fight to keep her voice steady,

Captain Kalispera sat back and considered her shrewdly. "Can I assume your early return home last night caught someone by surprise?"

"Yes ma’am." Tears were again burning in Katryn’s eyes.

"I’m sorry, I’m really sorry." Captain Kalispera said softly. "And it wasn’t telepathy on my part in guessing. I’ve seen it happen far too often before. Which is why I can be confident in telling you that running away isn’t the right response. Someone has taken your lover. If you run away she’ll have taken your friends, your family and your home as well. In a few months you’ll be feeling stronger, and will regret having given her so much. You need to stay and overcome your difficulties."

"I don’t think so." Katryn could not bring herself to say more. "I can’t stay in Woodside."

The captain shook her head. "I’m afraid I can’t help you. The garrison is understrength. So, by the rules, I’m only allowed to transfer people out in certain exceptional circumstances, and your situation doesn’t qualify."

Katryn hung her head. It was not just losing Allison. Cy would be wanting to wring as much out of the situation as she could. Even if Katryn used her share of the savings to move away from her mother’s shop, Cy would track her down and lay siege to the front door. If she couldn’t see Katryn suffering then half the fun would be lost. Cy would make sure Katryn couldn’t avoid the sight of her parading her new toy through town. The thought of months of torment ahead was unbearable.

There seemed no way out, and then a new idea launched itself into Katryn’s head – something Dekker had said the previous night. It was every militiawoman’s right to apply once, and once only. Katryn had never availed herself of her right. She had never wanted to before. She looked up. "I wish to apply for admission to the rangers."

continued in chapter 9

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