by Jane Fletcher

Apart from the snow, the barracks at Roadsend looked exactly the same as the last time Katryn had been there. The eight women of C patrol dismounted at the gates and walked the short distance to the central parade ground. Katryn had to force her legs to move smoothly, matching her pace to that of the others. Her eyes took in the scene, trying not to flinch as they skimmed over the latrine block. The 12^th were no longer there. They had moved at the end of October to their winter posting, the Clemswood barracks – information Chip had made a point of finding out. Currently half of the 8^th were stationed in Roadsend, under the command of their lieutenant.

Katryn watched Chip bounce up the steps to the main office and stick her head around the door. Immediately Chip ducked back out and the lieutenant appeared, smiling a welcome. In the cold weather the horses were the first priority. With only half a squadron on site, there were two stable blocks free. There were also two bunk-houses. Katryn bit her lip as she tended her horse. She knew all four buildings were identical – in some cases right down to the graffiti scratched inside the lockers, but she found herself praying the patrol would not be allocated to the same dormitory she had slept in before.

Fortunately, the B patrol bunk-house was taken and they were put in the next one along. Even so it was disorientating. Katryn kept expecting Ellis to appear around each corner. Figures seen out of the corner of her eye looked like Jan or Tina. She found herself waiting to hear Sal’s voice from the bunk below hers. Katryn took a grip on her imagination. She knew where it was headed. Next I’m going to want someone to hold my hand when I go to the latrine. At that thought Katryn set her jaw. It was something she was going to have to face, and the sooner the better.

The others were waiting for Chip to return from a talk with the lieutenant. Katryn strode out of the bunk-house and along the edge of the parade ground. Despite her resolve it was impossible not to hesitate. There was an irrational urge to back away, but somewhere Katryn found the courage to push the door open and step inside. She stood by the water troughs and looked around. Of course there were no bloodstains left on the tiles. Slowly her racing pulse began to ease, only to jump when the door was again pushed open.

Chip slipped in, an anxious look on her face. "I saw you come in and I thought…" She broke off, clearly realising the potential for getting it wrong. Katryn tried to act untroubled, but failed, and she knew it, prompting Chip to continue. "It was in here you were attacked?" she asked softly.

"Yes."

Chip continued to study her. "Are you okay?"

Katryn forced a smile and nodded. Chip reached out a hand to squeeze her shoulder. Instantly every other thought in Katryn’s head was scattered. The effect of the touch jolted through her, shooting down her spine and rippling over her scalp. She turned her face away while fighting to control her expression.

"Are you sure you’re okay?" The level of concern in Chip’s voice had gone up a notch.

Perhaps if I act totally pathetic she’ll give me a hug. The thought was ridiculously tempting, but on a scale of maturity it scored in negative numbers. Katryn forced herself to stand up straighter and move away slightly to break the physical contact between them. "Yes ma’am, I’m fine... really I am." It wasn’t a complete lie – her shoulder was throbbing, but the bad memories were utterly routed.

Chip stood awkwardly as if unsure what to do with her arm. "I’ve er..." she began, and then gathered strength. "I’ve been talking to the lieutenant. We’ve got half an hour before dinner so I’m going to give a quick briefing. Are you alright to come along?"

"Yes, of course."

The two of them re-entered the bunk-house. The iron stove had just been lit and the members of C patrol were gathered around. Chip and Katryn took a place in the huddled group, holding their hands out to the warmth.

"Okay girls. In the circumstances I’m going to make this a very informal briefing. Feel free to interrupt." Chip grinned at the circle of faces and went on. "I’ve got a few more details on the reasons for our little jaunt here. The first report was right, it is mountain cats – supposedly. The lieutenant was quite honest and admitted she didn’t put much faith in the tales, but she doesn’t want to risk ignoring them. She’d like to take two patrols out to get the hunt over with quickly, but she doesn’t want to leave the barracks empty. In a month’s time, when things get busy, she won’t have the option. But she guessed rightly, that there’d be a spare patrol available at the moment. I also got the feeling she wanted the chance to show us the local scenery, so if there’s a crisis later there’ll be some of us in the 23^rd who are familiar with it."

"How many of these reputed cats are there?" Lee asked.

"If the report is from a farmer named Wisniewski it will be hundreds." Katryn interjected.

Chip shook her head. "Only three or four. The sightings are off to the south-west. Unfortunately it’s a bit too far to do the round trip in a day so we’ll be throwing ourselves on the mercy of local farmers for lodgings. And in these parts the farms will be…"

"Sheep." Katryn provided the information. "Lots of sheep. There’ll be no shortage of mutton stew and blankets."

"Could be worse."

The briefing continued. Chip gave what further information she had, supplemented by Katryn’s knowledge of the surrounding countryside. Once the facts were finished the debate became more spirited, with jokes and laughter, and ending with anecdotes about mountain cats. Katryn gave the appearance of joining in, but her thoughts were elsewhere. Since joining the rangers she had served under two sergeants. It hardly seemed possible, yet being back at Roadsend had made the differences between then even more pronounced. There could not be the slightest doubt of whose patrol she would rather be in, but they did present opposite problems. One sergeant she had hated, and the other she liked far, far too much.

**********

From the doorway of the lock-up there was a clear view across the parade ground. The admin building and A patrol bunk-house obscured opposing corners, but no-one could cross from the stores to the bunk-houses without being seen. Katryn considered the sight for a few seconds and then gave her attention to Chip, who was experimenting with standing guard by the door.

"I guess they might have missed someone if they’d had their eyes closed." Chip’s tone was ironic.

"Dolokov thought they might be inside talking to the prisoner."

Chip’s eyebrows rose. "She was seriously suggesting discipline in the 12^th is that bad?"

"I think she was just desperate to show I was the murderer."

"And she wasn’t going to let the truth stand in her way." Chip grinned supportively. "Come on, next stop is the stables."

Katryn trailed a half step behind as they crossed the parade ground. She knew why Chip wanted a full tour of the scene of the murder. There were even a few rumours in the squadron that Chip was in some way responsible for the 23^rd being loaned to Eastern Division in the first place. Katryn had mixed feelings. To say that being proved innocent would be a relief was an absurd understatement. But what hope was there that the proof would be found? Katryn wondered if the only thing they would get were more doubts, and she did not know how she could take that.

At the stables Chip stood in the doorway, craning her neck one way and another, evaluating the angles.

"I was mainly sitting with my back to the doors." Katryn volunteered the information.

Chip wrinkled her nose in thought. "Wouldn’t matter which way you sat, you’ve only got a very oblique view of the door to the stores. You couldn’t even tell if it was open or closed." Her eyes lifted to the sky. "What was the light like?"

Katryn stood by her shoulder. "It was full daylight when I started, and a bit darker than now when the body was discovered. It was a couple of hours later than this, but it was near mid-summer."

Chip nodded and lead the way up the passageway behind the mess-hall. At the door to the stores she pulled a key from her pocket. A shudder ran through Katryn as she entered, but once again any bloodstains had long since been removed.

"Are there any significant changes?" Chip asked.

Katryn paced a slow circuit of the room. The piles of crates had been shifted around, and the general level of stock was noticeably lower, but nothing she could see as relevant. Chip followed, stopping once to examine the ventilation gaps at the bottom of the wall facing the mess. The openings were, at most, fifteen centimetres high. Iron bars fixed into the concrete were starting to rust, but not enough to compromise their effectiveness.

Katryn stood uncertainly in the centre of the room, looking around. The scene felt unreal. "I didn’t expect to be back here so soon."

"Yes... well, um... it’s how things worked out."

Katryn glanced across. The evasiveness in Chip’s voice was unmistakable. There was something the sergeant wasn’t saying, and she had deliberately turned her back to keep her face hidden. Katryn watched her clamber over a stack of crates. Then she felt herself staring, drinking in the details Chip’s body. Maybe the dreamlike air was due to the company. Chip managed to seem twice as real as anyone Katryn had ever known. Was it surprising if the surroundings appeared insubstantial by comparison? Sometimes she could swear Chip’s smile literally made the room brighter.

Chip moved on to the loading bay at the rear of the store-room. After first examining the door, she took the key from her pocket and unlocked it. The wharf was empty. The river looked bleak in the sullen light. Directly below, at a drop of at least two metres, was a narrow ribbon of ground between the water and the wall,. Immediately beneath the lip of the door a row of iron spikes were hammered into the wall. Each skewer had two barbs, one pointing out and the other hooked down. Chip took two of the boards that made up the bridge, laid them across the gap to the wharf, and walked out.

While Katryn waited in the doorway Chip took a few minutes, surveying the entire riverbank. Then she came back, shut and locked the door. They left the stores and continued around the site. Chip spent some time examining the end of the alley beside the kitchen, where it met the outer wall, but still she said nothing. They stopped once more before leaving the barracks, when Chip went into the officers’ block to return the store-room key,

The others from C patrol had gone into town to find a tavern. Katryn was expecting to go in search of them, however Chip had not quite finished. At the side of the barracks there was a gap between the walls and the backs of a row of shops. From what Katryn could see it was not so much a path as somewhere people dumped rubbish. This did not deter Chip from making her way along it. The ground sloped away steeply at the end to bring them out on the banks of the river. Chip stood with the water lapping a few centimetres from her toes.

The light was failing rapidly. The far bank was disappearing into the gloom. Chip turned left and walked a few steps until she stood under the rear door of the stores. Katryn looked at the spikes, projecting like a claw over Chip’s head – a powerful disincentive to climbing up. Chip took a few more steps further along the bank. Ice fringed the edge of the river. There was no sound except the slop of cold water. The thin band of snow was marked by the footprints of birds and one lone dog, but nothing larger.

Chip turned back and rejoined Katryn at the end of the alleyway. The building ahead jutted out a good metre into the river. Its walls rose directly from the water. There were deep crevices where the mortar between the stones had been partly washed away. Chip patted her hand against the stones. A trickle of cement dust drifted down onto the snow.

"Would this be the back of the White Swan Inn?" Chip threw the question over her shoulder.

"Er… yes. I think so." Katryn replied.

Chip took a few steps back, craned her neck to peer around the corner, and then walked back to the wall. Her fingers explored the gaps between the stones. There was no shortage of hand and toeholds. Within seconds she had scrambled out over the water and disappeared round the corner.

"It’s alright Katryn, come on here." Chip’s voice called out.

Katryn removed her gloves and followed. Around the other side she saw a wooden quay running the entire length of the tavern’s rear wall. Chip was standing there, waiting. Katryn negotiated the last few handholds and clambered on to join her.

Further along the quay was a flight of steps up. A doorway in the wall near where they stood was the only other exit. Chip pushed experimentally and it swung back, revealing a large courtyard, open to the sky, with mildew covered cobbles. A row of barrels lined the far wall. In one corner was a small building housing the latrines. A short flight of steps lead down to the cellar while another flight went up to a door which, from the noise coming through, could only be the tap-room.

"The rear exit." Chip said thoughtfully.

"This is definitely the back of the White Swan." Katryn confirmed. "I’ve been here a few times, though I’ve never come in this way before. I can see they’d use the door for delivering barrels, but I don’t know how often it’s left open."

"We could ask, but I’d guess it’s open whenever the tavern is. The landlady wants to get drinkers into her tap-room. You don’t do that by locking your doors, and barge crews make good customers."

The two rangers walked up the steps and into the inn. They were enveloped by heat and noise. Even before their eyes had adjusted to the light a loud whoop caught their attention. The rest of C patrol were already there – not so surprising, since the White Swan was the first tavern encountered on the way into town. Chip and Katryn striped off their cloaks and wandered over, smiling, to take their place at the table with their comrades.

There was no opportunity to speak to Chip privately, or any hint of what she was thinking. As the evening progressed Katryn’s eyes strayed anxiously in her direction. Now they had returned to Roadsend, and had the chance to look again at the site, it seemed even more impossible to understand how Ellis had been murdered. Katryn prayed Chip was not reconsidering ideas about her innocence. She needed Chip to believe in her. She wanted Chip physically. Her body ached at the thought of lying with Chip’s arms wrapped tight around her. But she could live without it – she couldn’t live without Chip’s trust.

**********

The two patrols rode out the next day and returned to Roadsend four days later. Their hunt had found only one geriatric cat, too sick to hibernate, which had done them the favour of dying a few hours before they caught up with it. It was after midday when the rangers arrived back at the barracks. Chip announced C patrol would stay at Roadsend for that night and set off for Eastford on the next morning – a reasonable decision from the point of view of the horses, even without other motives.

The current opportunity was one she didn’t want to waste. It appeared that LeCoup had got over her anger. C patrol had been send to Roadsend at the first excuse. Chip was sure it was a duel message – not that LeCoup approved of meddling with the squadron’s deployment, but, like her, LeCoup wanted the murderer caught. It was also a demonstration of how much easier it was to get things done if you had LeCoup on your side.

The members of the two squadrons had got on well together. If the rangers from the 8^th had heard stories on the divisional grapevine they didn’t connect the murdered sergeant with Katryn, and no-one had taken steps to enlighten them. After lunch the returning rangers were given some free-time, which was taken as a good excuse to arrange an inter-squadron game of football in the parade ground. Chip was tempted to join in, except that she had more important things to do.

She left the bunk-house, heading for the gates. At the edge of the parade ground she paused, watching the two teams. Chip couldn’t help it, the sight of Katryn, darting past opponents with the ball, was hard to tear herself away from. By force of will she shunted her gaze on to the opposite corner of the square. At the door to the kitchen stood a round, middle-aged woman in civilian clothes. If she wasn’t a cook then she was going out of her way to look like one. This woman’s eyes were also following Katryn, but, Chip suspected, for very different reasons to her own. It occurred to Chip that the cook might be someone worth talking to, if there was time, but she wasn’t at the top of the list.

Chip headed into town. The streets were busy and she had no trouble getting directions to the militia station. Once there she found that Lieutenant Sanchez was not only on duty, but available to see her right away. Chip took a seat in the cramped office and considered the woman in the other side of the desk, wondering how best to play it.

"How may I help you, Sergeant?" Sanchez kicked off the conversation.

"Er.. yes, ma’am. I understand there was a murder at the barracks here a few months ago." At Chip’s words the lieutenant’s eyes narrowed though she made no attempt to interrupt. "It happens that one of the suspects was transferred to my patrol. Obviously I’m not too happy at the thought of a subordinate who makes a habit of sticking knives into officers she doesn’t like. Equally, I don’t want false accusations thrown at a blameless member of my patrol."

"Private Nagata?" Chip nodded in answer. Sanchez continued. "I sent a report to your captain, did that not answer your questions?"

"Officially, yes. But I was wondering what you might be able to tell me – off the record. It would be nice to have some idea of who the murderer was, even if it couldn’t be proved."

Sanchez sat back in her chair. "Personally, I’m certain it wasn’t Nagata. Unless I’m missing something obvious the murderer has a lot of brains and imagination. You can bet she is someone who arranged things so that no suspicion landed on herself. Her only mistake was not allowing for the age of the knife. If it wasn’t for that slip your Private Nagata would’ve been dangling from a noose months ago and no-one would now be any the wiser."

"Do you have any idea who the murderer might be?"

"None at all. You’re welcome to go through the statements I collected. See if you can spot anything I missed. I hate having unsolved murders on my patch, but I’ve more or less given up with this one."

Chip subjected Sanchez to a shrewd look. "You don’t strike me as the sort of woman to give up easily."

A flush of annoyance darkened the lieutenant’s face. "It’s a question of jurisdiction. The official story is that a gang of thieves obtained a duplicate key to the stores. They got in via the rear door but were disturbed by Sergeant Ellis. They wrested the trail knife off her and killed her before fleeing. Also that Sergeant Ellis had swapped knives with Private Nagata before leaving the bunk-house, for reasons she is now unable to reveal."

"But you don’t believe that?" It was half question, half statement.

"No. Sergeant Ellis was killed by a ranger. However, Captain Dolokov of the 12^th was not…" Sanchez paused, scowling. "…helpful. She did everything she could to block my investigation inside the barracks, while trying to pressure me into wasting time chasing after this non-existent local gang."

"Why are you so sure it was a ranger?"

Sanchez hesitated and then held out her hand. "Can I see your trail-knife?" Chip drew it from her belt and handed it over. She watched as the lieutenant studied the knife pensively, rolling the handle between her fingers. The blade was twenty centimetres long, weighted at the end for both hacking and thrusting, sharpened to a razor edge. It was nearly a minute before Sanchez spoke again. "It’s a nasty piece of weaponry, dangerous in anyone’s hands. But to be really effective it needs a trained user. I’d have stabbed Sergeant Ellis holding it like this." She indicated with the blade. "But the person who killed Ellis held the knife like this." She rotated her wrist so the blade lay horizontal. "Now I’ve seen how it’s done I can work out why – the blade slipped between the ribs, straight to the heart with less risk of deflection and the minimum of blood spilt. And it was a single thrust, no retries or prodding about." She shook her head. "I don’t have the training to do that, and there aren’t any local thieves who do either. Plus there was no sign of a fight in the stores. The murderer was someone Ellis knew."

"And you really have no ideas who?"

Sanchez shook her head. "Normally I’d try to identify motive and opportunity. But opportunity is a non-starter; everyone has an alibi. And as for motive…" She sighed. "If you prod around, virtually everyone had a reason to want Sergeant Ellis dead. I know Val Bergstrom quite well... the lieutenant of the 12^th. She’s a local girl – did her time in the militia with me here in Roadsend. Whenever the 12^th is posted here we get together for a drink and a chat. From what she’s told me my main surprise is that Ellis didn’t get murdered years ago. It could’ve been virtually anyone in the entire squadron. Work out how they did it and I’ll tell you their motive. The only thing I…" her voice cut off abruptly.

"The only thing…?" Chip prompted.

Sanchez leaned forward and dropped her voice. "Okay. This is completely off the record – right?"

"Sure."

"It was just… Dolokov was so keen to stop me probing into the murder that I sometimes wondered if she knew who it was, and didn’t want to lose that person over Ellis. Maybe it was just frustration leading me into paranoia, but my only advice is to start by working out who are the most valuable members of the squadron." Sanchez pushed back from the table and stood up. "And now… do you want to look at the statements?"

"Oh… yes please."

"They’re over here." Sanchez lead the way.

**********

Chip returned to the barracks some time later. The football game was over and a gentle snow had started to fall. There had been no surprises in the statements. The six women in the tavern all swore independently that none of the others had disappeared for part of the evening. The sentries outside the lock-up swore repeatedly that they had not lapsed in their attention. And both Bergstrom and Adebeyo swore they had been in each others company all evening. The only one who was on her own at any time was Sergeant Takeda, and she had the evidence of the sentries that she had made only one crossing of the parade ground.

Chip considered going into the bunk-house to warm up, but then she remembered the cook. There was still an hour before dinner, hopefully the cook would have things sufficiently under control to chat for a while. In Chip’s experience military chefs came in two flavours, mother hens who would cluck away non-stop and sour despots whose only conversation was to swear worse than any ranger. To her relief it was apparent within seconds of entering the kitchen that the Roadsend cook was firmly in the former group. All of the rangers, from the divisional commander down, were her ‘girls’. Engaging the flour covered woman in conversation was not hard, but steering the flow of words in the desired direction took a lot more effort. Eventually Chip got there, via the oblique route of Katryn.

"I thought it was her I saw playing football… poor lamb." The cook slapped a boulder of dough on the table, punctuating her speech. "She should have got an award for topping Ellis. I can’t imagine why they did what they did. I don’t know anyone who wasn’t glad to see the back of the woman… not that I want to talk ill of the dead, you understand."

"You didn’t get on with…" Chip did not get the chance to finish.

"I couldn’t stand her. I like to think I treasure all my girls, but there was always this sinking feeling when I heard the 12^th were coming. And it was just Ellis. You get some people like that; she couldn’t cope unless she had everyone under her thumb. A real bully. She used to come in here, trying it on with me, shouting. So I told her – I’m a civvy, I don’t have to say ma’am and I only report to the quartermaster."

The cook snorted and thumped both fists into the dough before continuing. "It was the girls in her patrol I felt sorry for. The cheeky one, Bo, she was always coming in here, cadging bits to eat and telling me about the goings on. I've heard some say Bo isn’t up to much as a ranger, but I reckon she’s sharp enough, just that there was no point in her trying. Everything she did was wrong by Ellis. And there was Pat. You’re not telling me she was happy sleeping with Ellis, but she didn’t get the choice. That’s not right, and there’s no need for it." The cook smiled at Chip. "I know what you girls are like, but there’s no shortage of women in town who’re desperate to have a ranger warm their bed. Ellis didn’t have the prettiest face, but she had a sergeant’s badge and that always helps."

"I know, it’s what I rely on. I’d be lonely without it. " Chip said, matching the teasing tone.

The cook barged her with a hip. "Oh, go on. I’m sure you don’t need it. You’ve got a lovely smile."

Thanks. Chip thought, stifling a sigh.

The cook went on. "And I can tell you no-one ever said that of Ellis. She had to be totally in control. That’s why she couldn’t chat up someone who was free to say no. That’s why she treated her girls the way she did. Take that other one… the one who drinks… what’s her name." The cook smudged flour across her forehead. "…whatever. Ellis used to pick on her. Okay – the girl’s got a problem with drink, she needs help, not abuse. But Ellis liked it. It meant the poor lamb was totally in her power. She’s coming up to the end of her fourteen years. Bo told me Ellis kept threatening to block her re-enlistment because of the drink… but it was just a game. Ellis could be nasty like that. She’d even pick fights with the other sergeants. Her and Val Bergstrom hated each other, I’m surprised they never came to blows. And on the day she died I heard her having a go at Sergeant Takeda. The pair of them were standing outside the mess snarling at each other, just like my sister’s dog. That’s a vicious brute as well; only the other day it went for…"

Chip cut in to try and steer the conversation back. "Somebody must have got on all right with Ellis."

"Name one." the cook retorted.

Chip pursed her lips. "The corporal? Surely the patrol couldn’t function if she didn’t get on with the sergeant?"

The cook’s eyes rolled to the ceiling. "Hardly. Jan keeps a tight lid on herself, but after the thing with her gene-mother I’m surprised she wasn’t the one to gut Ellis."

"Her gene-mother?"

"Bo told me all about it. They were stationed down at Monday Market when they got the news Jan’s gene-mother was dying. Jan put in for compassionate leave and Ellis said no – no reason, they weren’t stretched at the time. Jan appealed to the captain, but Ellis stuck her heels in. It had to go to a full review. In the end Jan got her leave after two days of faffing around and got to her gene-mother a few hours after she died – just too late to say good-bye. But that was Ellis through and through. She didn’t need an excuse – she had the power to say when people could come and go, and she was going to use it."

The cook finished pounding the dough and began to shape lumps on a baking tray. Chip considered the woman’s back thoughtfully. It was hard to know how much faith to put in third hand gossip, but it was certainly interesting. "You don’t think it might have been Jan who did it?" Chip tried to make her tone as mild as possible.

"Jan’s too quiet. Not that that’s always a safe marker; sometimes they’re the most dangerous when they’re pushed too far. Like the big girl in the patrol, Tina Agosta. She acts all quiet – I use to think she was a bit dim, and then she blows." The cook glanced back over her shoulder. "You know, I think Ellis was frightened of Tina. But that’s a bully all over. They never pick on someone they think can give it back. But she picked on the wrong person in the end." She returned to the dough.

"So you’re sure it’s the woman in my patrol who did it?"

"Oh yes – not that I’ve had much to do with her. It was the first time she’d been in Roadsend – her and the other young one."

"That’s a bit worrying." Chip did not attempt to argue Katryn’s case. It was far more instructive letting the cook have a free hand.

"You shouldn’t hold it against her, anyone can snap, and Bo was telling me Ellis was really awful to her. It would have pushed the Blessed Himoti into fighting back. Though that didn’t stop Bo joining in…" The cook broke off and turned around, looking uncomfortable. "I suppose you heard that she got a beating from the others?" Chip nodded and the cook went on. "No-one is supposed to know anything about it, but…" She shrugged. "I heard that Jan and Tina would have no part in it, and the alkie… Sal, she only went as far as being a look-out for the rest. Some of the girls from the other patrols joined in. But it says something if half a patrol won’t avenge their own sergeant." The cook picked up the baking tray and waddled with it towards the oven. Chip obligingly opened the door. The cook smiled at her. "Now don’t you worry about that new girl of yours. She’s already taken more than she should’ve." The cook swung the door shut. "She deserves a second chance."

**********

On the way back to the bunk-house Chip stopped in the centre of the deserted patrol ground. Dusk was not far away. The churned snow held a grey sheen in the last of the light. She turned in a full circle, finishing looking towards the latrine block. Her eyes became unfocused as she played with the fantasy of being able to turn back time – of being able to go to Katryn’s aid. In the hope she’ll hurl herself into your arms in gratitude? Chip jeered at herself. Do you think she’d squeal with delight at the sight of her heroic rescuer? She shook her head. Katryn wasn’t the squealing type. Chip knew she wouldn’t find her anything like as attractive if she was.

There were layers to Katryn. On the surface she was reserved and calm. Beneath it there was steel. She had to be strong to gone through the previous year without cracking. And under all that was someone who had been hurt far too much, in too many ways. Chip closed her eyes. She wanted to help heal the pain, but what hope was there that Katryn would ever look to her for comfort?

Chip rubbed her hands over her face in despair. It was part of the skill of imprinters to select the best combination of genes to ensure a healthy baby with no predisposition to disease. When you considered the amount the Tangs had paid for the Golden Chapel you’d have thought the imprinter could have put in a bit of effort and done something more creative with her bone structure.

"You’ve got a lovely smile." Chip groaned as she remembered the cook’s words, and the dozens of times she’d heard it before. It was the nearest thing to a flattering description she ever got, and Chip was quite coldly certain it would take more than grinning like an idiot to merit Katryn’s attention.

Chip hunched her shoulders and continued walking across the parade ground. She kicked at a lump of ice. It was probably just as well. If Katryn ever admitted the same feelings towards her Chip thought she’d pass out from the shock. And what would that do for my reputation as a mean, tough ranger sergeant?

continued in chapter 18