by Jane Fletcher

"Are you Sergeant Coppelli?" There was little more then a nose visible in the gap below the hood. The girl was lost in layers of what looked like rags although there were possibly a few complete garments among them.

"Yes."

"The lady said you’d give me twenty cents if I gave you this." The urchin held up a scrap of paper.

"The… who?"

"She didn’t say who she was."

Chip bent down to get a better view of the girl’s face. The fidgety eyes told her all she needed to make a guess. "Twenty cents? On top of what she already paid you?" Chip’s tone dripped scepticism.

The urchin shuffled her feet and then gave a broad grin. "Well… no harm me asking, was there?"

Chip held out her hand for the letter, her curiosity seething to know who had paid a street urchin to act as go-between. Who even knew she was in Roadsend? "Okay, but there’s ten cents in it if you describe the woman and tell me when and where you met her."

"Just an ordinary farmer. I think I’ve seen her around once or twice on market days. Don’t know where she’s from. She came up to me five minutes ago when I was standing over there." The girl held out a grubby finger. "Said you were in the militia building and I was to give this to you when you came out."

"She described me?"

"She said you were a sergeant in the 23^rd. I could tell it was you from the three bars on your badge."

Chip dug a coin out of her purse and flipped it over. The young girl caught it deftly and scampered away. Chip opened the folded sheet and read:

There was no signature at the bottom. Chip didn’t expect one. She looked down the street in the direction the girl had gone, but there was no point going after her. Even if she found the child again Chip was sure there was nothing more to be gained. Whoever had written the note wanted to keep her identify hidden, else why bother with the go-between, or the obscure rendezvous? That the unknown woman felt the need to go to such lengths was nearly as much of a mystery as the message itself.

Who in Roadsend apart from Sanchez knew what she was trying to do? And the lieutenant was not around. Chip had been on her way back from a wasted visit to the militia station when the urchin hailed her. Sanchez was out of town and would not be available until the next morning. Yet not only had the writer of the note claimed to know their objective, she also knew both Chip and Katryn were in Roadsend – knowledge all the more surprising since they had reached the town less then two hours ago and Chip’s current excursion was the first time either had set foot outside the barracks.

The back of Chip’s neck tingled as her thoughts moved further on. The writer had also known she was in the militia station, which could only have been found out by following her. Chip scoured the street. The person might well be watching her now. In fact she almost certainly was – how else could she be sure the urchin carried out her errand? There was no way to single the writer out from the crowds. It was a deeply unsettling idea. Chip turned on her heel and marched back to the barracks.

**********

Chip and Katryn arrived at the old mill an hour early and hid in woods overlooking the river, hoping to see the unknown note-writer arrive. However she was either there before them or not coming. As the sun dropped below the horizon it was time for Chip and Katryn to make their minds up about whether to go ahead with the rendezvous.

"I’m not happy about this." It was the third time Katryn had expressed the view.

"Neither am I." Chip’s eyes bored into the deserted building, as if hoping to see through the ancient timber walls. The conversation had been travelling in the same circle ever since she got back to the barracks. The set-up was too convoluted to be a joke. The best guess was that the woman was a survivor of the Butcher’s gang. The trouble with this conclusion being it was hard to see why she would want to either help catch Ellis’s murderer or inform against Takeda’s sister. "I wish I knew where she got her information about us and I wish I knew why she has to play these games. However, most of all I want to know what she has to tell us, and the only way we’ll find out is by talking to her."

"As long as it isn’t a trap."

Chip frowned. She shared Katryn’s doubts. The offer of information was too good to turn down. It was also too good to be trusted. Chip drew her sword and pushed her cloak back from her shoulders to leave her arms free. "One way or another it’s going to give us answers. We have to go in, but very carefully, and we watch each other’s back."

Katryn nodded and pulled an arrow from her quiver. The two of them slipped out of the trees. The overgrown path took them down towards the river. There was no sound as they approached except for the gushing of water along the mill-race and the piercing cries of birds returning to their roosts. A short flight of steps lead up to the doorway. At the top they stopped. The door itself had fallen in – or been kicked down.

While Katryn kept her attention on the surrounding hillside Chip slipped around the threshold, straining her eyes against the gloom inside. The structure appeared generally sound. The ceiling was still intact, as were the floorboards. The millstones were gone, leaving only the huge wooden gears. The stairs to the upper level looked a touch unsafe, but they had probably been in much the same condition when the mill was in use. Chip guessed it had been abandoned for less than a dozen years. Three inner doorways lead to adjoining rooms. There was no sign of the woman they had come to meet.

Chip was just starting to think the note had been a practical joke (although Sanchez did not seem the type and it was difficult to see who else might have played it) when she saw a faint light coming from one of the back rooms. "I think our friend is here." she whispered to Katryn.

Chip moved away from the door, still keeping her back to the wall. Katryn followed, the arrow nocked on her bowstring. As Chip’s eyes adjusted to the dim light the glow from the inner room seemed a little brighter, yet it was obvious the candle or lantern was being shielded in some way. They edged around the walls. Finally Chip stepped though the inner doorway. Again she found herself in an empty room, however now she could see that the light was emanating from an open trapdoor in the floor.

Katryn stood guard while Chip knelt by the hatch and peered in. The opening was a good metre square, large enough for flour sacks carried across shoulders to pass through easily. Stairs lead down to a cellar, two-thirds underground. A window was high on one wall, squeezed in just below the ceiling. The glass had all gone but thick iron bars remained; vines and branches poked through. Rotting straw and empty sacks littered part of the floor. The candle was in a holder on the wall. The only furniture was a battered table pushed against the far wall and a stool. Sitting on the stool was a hunched figure, bundled in layers of rags like the street urchin. The woman showed no sign of moving, possibly she was old and hard of hearing, possibly she was asleep. Chip began to descend the staircase, placing each foot to land as silently as she could manage.

At the bottom of the stairs Chip paused and glanced up. Katryn was standing to one side of the opening, her eyes trained on the outer room. Chip turned her attention to the woman at the bench.

"Hey!" Katryn’s sudden cry broke the silence.

Chip’s head shot up. Katryn was staring to raise her bow, but before it was half drawn Chip heard the familiar twang of a bowstring. Katyrn flung herself sidewards, landing sprawled across the trap opening.

Chip leapt for the stairs. There was the thud of a projectile striking wood. In a calm, logical corner of her mind Chip registered that the arrow was therefore not lodged in Katryn. Chip’s foot hit the first stair at the same moment that the sound of running footsteps reverberated through the mill. Katryn was struggling to avoid falling down the stairs. She had one leg pulled in through the hatch, hunting for footing. Her elbows were fighting for purchase on the edge of the hatchway.

Chip’s second foot hit the stair. Katryn was twisting, starting to rise when above her appeared another figure, dressed in a ranger’s uniform, drawn sword in hand.

"Katryn look out" Chip shouted.

Katryn abandoned her battle with the hatchway. She tumbled back through the opening, dropping away from the downward swinging arc of the sword. Halfway down the stairs she collided with Chip. Katryn ended up sprawled on the earthen floor. Chip fared a little better, but even before she had regained her balance there was the crash of the trapdoor slamming shut and the unmistakable sound of a bolt being driven home. Then there was silence.

Katryn scrambled to her feet. They both stared up at the closed hatchway and then at the seated figure – unbelievably she had not stirred. Chip crossed the floor and reached out to shake the woman’s shoulder. At her touch the figure slumped sideways. Chip’s initial horrified thought that the woman was dead lasted no more than a second, until the rags dropped away to reveal a sack stuffed with straw.

"What game are they at?" Katryn asked, bewildered.

"I don’t know, but we’re playing it by my rules once we get out." Chip’s voice was grim. She returned to the stairs, climbing high enough so she could push experimentally against the hinged flap. It showed no sign of moving, but the wood was old and cracked. "I think we can get through but it will mean using my sword like an axe."

"Use mine. I’ve got less use for it."

Chip nodded while she continued to examine the timber, deciding on the best point of attack.

"Chip, move!" Katryn screamed.

Chip flung herself off the stairs and hit the ground rolling. An arrow thudded into the wooden frame at the spot where she’d been crouched. Chip’s momentum took her back up to her knees. Her eyes darted around the cellar. There was nowhere to hide. The open-treads of the stairs offered no protection. There was just one option.

Katryn was a step ahead of her. By the time Chip reached the table Katryn had grabbed the edge and thrown it on its side. The two of them jerked it round so it faced the window, its legs touching the opposing wall. Chip spared a look for the candle – darkness would make them less of a target, but there was no time, already she could hear the soft creak of the bow being drawn again. Chip dived over the top of the table. Katryn was beside her an instant later as a second arrow struck the wall above their heads and rebounded back onto the floor. Small flakes of stone rained down on them.

The space was cramped. It took a bit of squirming before they were both half-lying side by side, keeping as low as possible, shoulders against the wall and knees drawn up against the underside of the table. For a long time everything was very quiet. Then there was the sound of footsteps on the floorboards directly overhead. Chip cautiously peered around the edge of the table. She caught the glint of candle light on an arrow poking through the window, and pulled her head back. There was more than one attacker. The footsteps stopped by the trapdoor and a voice rang out.

"Sergeant Coppelli?" There was a pause. "I just wanted to say I’m sorry, but you’ve given me no choice."

Chip and Katryn stared at each other in amazement, both at the words and at recognising Lieutenant Bergstrom’s voice.

"Are you hoping for me to say I accept your apology?" Chip shouted back at last.

"No, of course not." Bergstrom had missed the irony. "I just wanted to ask how you worked out it was my sister who tipped off the gang." When Chip said nothing Bergstrom continued. "I’ve spent years in fear, thinking it would come out. I was just starting to relax when you came around, threatening me. I was right, wasn’t I? You were hoping to rattle me into admitting something? And I heard what you said in the courtyard afterwards. How did you know?"

Chip covered her face with her hands, shaking her head in disbelief. What she had missed – or blundered into? Her hands dropped. Bluff might be the best way of getting answers. "We got lucky with some old reports. The only thing we weren’t sure of was the extent of your sister’s involvement with the Butcher."

"Oh yes. Fran, my shit-head little sister." Bergstrom said bitterly. "Please, you’ve got to believe me, if I’d known she was going to pass the warning on I’d never have told her. I’d have let her die with the other scum – like she deserved."

"Hey." The anger in the shout from the window allowed Chip to make a fair guess at the identity of the archer.

Bergstrom ignored the complaint and went on. "I guess it was obvious mum would prefer Fran, seeing how she’s her birth-daughter... especially since my birth-mother walked out, but…" She broke off, sudden pain tearing her voice. "I’d have done anything to please mum, but it was always Fran, Fran, Fran – like the sun shone out of her arse... spoilt brat. When I was in the militia I knew Fran was mixing with the wrong people – like it was a game. I tried to shield her for mum’s sake, though it stuck in my gullet. I joined the rangers partly to get away. But first posting and I was back in Roadsend again. Then we had the briefing about the raid on the Butcher’s hideout. If Fran had been killed it would have broken mum’s heart. But I swear, I never thought the silly bitch would pass the warning on."

"Oh, come on. They were my friends." Bergstrom’s sister at the window was goaded into speaking up. "And, like you, I never thought they’d try ambushing the squadron. I thought they’d just run and hide. Once I knew what the Butcher was planning I was out of there. She thought if she gave the rangers a bloody nose they’d leave her alone. I knew Fort Krowe would hunt her to the ends of the earth. That’s why I went straight into town and made myself very conspicuous the whole time the ambush was happening."

"And left me and the rest of the squadron to walk into it."

It was an old and very bitter argument. Chip pinched the bridge of her nose in despair. But at least she could almost tie up the whole story. She raised her voice. "So what about Ellis?"

"Ellis!" Bergstrom spat put the name. "What do you want to know? She saw me panic when the fighting started and I realised it was my fault. I was blabbering away. Ellis was always holding it over me, and she was getting worse after Fitz’s death and Dolokov told her she wouldn’t be allowed to re-enlist. I guess she felt she had nothing to lose." There was the sound of footsteps from above. Bergstrom was moving again. "I wasn’t sorry at her death, but I’ll be sorry about yours. I never ever meant for any decent rangers to die."

The footsteps receded. Chip followed their progress until they left the mill, but she didn’t dare assume the archer at the window had also gone. From Bergstrom’s final words it was clear the renegade lieutenant was determined to kill them both. Chips gaze moved on to the candle, considering her chances of extinguishing it. But, even with the candle out, there would be little gain. If they started hacking at the trapdoor Bergstrom’s sister wouldn’t need light to know where to send the arrow. Katryn’s bow lay on the ground near the foot of the stairs. Again, getting it was not worth the risk involved. There was not room behind the table for Katryn to draw the bow without making a target of herself.

Chip’s examination of the room ended with Katryn. For the first time she noticed the blood soaking the shoulder of Katryn’s jacket. "You’re hurt!"

Katryn glanced down, as if previously unaware of it. "Just a flesh wound. The arrow nicked my arm."

"Let me see."

"It’s not a priority."

"We might as well do something while we wait for Bergstrom to set fire to the mill."

"You think that’s what she’s going to do?"

"It’s what I’d do in her place."

Katryn looked up at the locked trapdoor. "We aren’t in a very good position, are we?"

Chip gave a humourless laugh. "Not really. But we might get lucky, and our chances will be better with your arm bandaged."

Katryn nodded and slipped her shoulder out of her jacket. The arrow had sliced a deep gash. Blood was still flowing, but it was not a serious injury. Chip took the field-dressing from the pouch on her belt to bind the gapping wound.

Katryn leaned her head back against the wall. "I suppose you don’t have any of the healer-gift?" She spoke with her eyes closed.

"The barest residual trace. We were all tested. Prudence is the best in my family, and she can’t do much more than cure a headache. How about you?"

"The same. My sister had a bit more than me. I wouldn’t have trusted her with a headache though."

Chip finished tying the knot and helped Katryn back into her jacket. She looked up. Katryn’s face was in profile in the candlelight. Chip opened her mouth to speak and closed it again. Then she set her jaw – in the circumstances there was no point holding back. Hopefully Katryn would take it as a compliment, rather than an unwelcome additional trial. "Your sister... you know… if your ex-partner left you for her, your sister must be really something."

"She’s something all right."

"I mean… what I meant is… I like you a lot... and I... just wanted you to know that." Chip’s voice failed her, but she had probably said enough She braced herself for a rebuff.

"I know." Katryn slowly rolled her head around to meet Chip’s eyes. Astonishingly she was smiling sadly. "You’re not so bad yourself."

Very deliberately Katryn reached out to interlace her fingers with Chip’s. She raised their joined hands to her lips and kissed each of Chip’s knuckles in turn.

"Oh, shit." Chip gasped.

Katryn looked up, a slightly quizzical expression on her face.

Chip managed a sickly grin. "I’m sorry... it’s what Kim is always telling me... my line in sweet-talking need polishing."

Katryn’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. She pressed the back of Chip’s hand to her cheek. Chip watched her in amazement, trying to think of something else to say. "Er... my timing could stand some improvement as well. This is one of those rare occasions where lifelong commitment might not count for as much as a one night stand."

"You think we have no chance?"

"We’re rangers and we’re still breathing. Of course we stand a chance."

Katryn moved their joined hands to her lap. She stared at the intertwined fingers pensively. "Bergstrom’s taking her time with the fire."

"Maybe she has other plans."

"Such as?"

"I don’t know, we need to think. See if we can out-manoeuvre her. It’s our only hope." Chip lifted her eyes to the floorboards above them. Her heart was pounding. The feel of Katryn’s hand made rational thought almost impossible.

"Well, if not, it’s been nice knowing you. Thanks for believing me."

The depth in Katryn’s voice pulled Chip’s gaze back down. Their eyes met and locked. Then Katryn leaned forward and kissed Chip, slowly and very softly. It wasn’t the situation for passion, however the tenderness in Katryn’s kiss flooded through Chip. Their mouths moulded together, wordlessly expressing both promises and regrets. At last Katryn shifted back to her original position. All the time she kept their hands clasped.

Chip stared at Katryn, her mind reeling. Of all the responses she had anticipated this had been this very last on the list. She didn’t know whether to cry with despair or joy. The chances of either of them seeing sunrise the next day did not look good, but Katryn had admitted feeling some affection for her. And at least, if she was going to die, it would be nice to go out holding Katryn’s hand.

**********

It was well past midnight. The candle had long since burnt down, but the full orb of Hardie was now low enough in the sky to shine square through the barred window of the cellar. The bands of brilliant moonlight lay across the earthen floor. There was no sound except for two sets of soft even breathing, echoing off the stone walls. Then came the faint scratching of the bolt being eased back and the sigh of seeping air as the trapdoor was carefully lifted.

Bergstrom peered down into the cellar. From the hatchway there was a clear view of the two huddled figures behind the table, wrapped in grey cloaks, with wide-brimmed rangers’ hats pulled down over their eyes. The moonlight was bright enough to catch a hint of the green in the jackets underneath. Neither figure moved, nor did the gentle breathing falter. Bergstrom beckoned her sister Francesca over. It was a small sop to her conscience that she would not be the one to end the lives of her blameless fellow rangers. Francesca looked at her targets and nocked an arrow. She drew back, bracing her hand under her chin and touching lips and nose to the string. There was a moment to take aim, not that it required much effort at such close range, then she loosed the shot. The arrow struck fully into the breast of the figure furthest away. It keeled over from the impact. The other shape in grey shifted slightly but showed no sign of waking. A few seconds later Francesca’s second arrow thudded into the remaining figure. A shudder ran though it, then it slumped down slightly further into the shadow behind the table. The breathing stopped.

Bergstrom realised her hands were moist and shaking, but it was over. She brushed her palms dry on her thighs and stepped onto the stairs, her eyes fixed on the motionless shapes below. Francesca followed her down. The pair of them crossed the cellar to the upturned table and looked down. It took a few heartbeats for them to identify the figures as two sacks of straw wrapped in grey cloaks. Before either could react there was the sound of movement behind them.

"You know, us falling for the stuffed bag trick was bad enough, but you can’t even claim you’d had no warning." Chip’s voice rang out.

Bergstrom and her sister spun around to see Katryn and Chip standing in the shadows under the stairs. Chip held her knife and sword. Katryn had an arrow nocked and her bow three-quarters drawn. Chip carried on. "But I’m glad you put in an appearance. It’s a bit cold, standing here without our cloaks and jackets."

"But… I heard… they were breathing." Francesca blurted out.

"We heard echoes, and told ourselves they were coming from where we expected." Bergstrom said harshly, cutting off her sister’s mumbling.

Chip inclined her head to agree with Bergstrom’s statement. "So… are you going to surrender nicely?"

It was a reasonable suggestion. Francesca did not even have an arrow to hand and Bergstrom’s sword was still sheathed. Katryn could drop one of them before they had a chance to move, leaving the other to fight two against one. Francesca looked stunned, but she reached the inevitable conclusion and tossed her useless bow aside, however Bergstrom backed away to the furthest corner of the cellar.

"You know I can’t do that. And there’s no point. I’m not going to be dragged through a court martial, just to provide entertainment when I’m strung up by the neck. I…" Her composure started to unravel. "I never meant any of this to happen. I wanted to be a good ranger. I’ve really tried over the years to make amends. I’d have a perfect record if it wasn’t for her…" Bergstrom’s hand jerked in her sister’s direction. "Mum’s little darling. I wreaked it all for her and she never once said thank-you. And mum… she didn’t…" Bergstrom’s voice choked away. In a fluid movement she whipped her sword out from the scabbard. "Tell everyone I’m sorry."

The others in the cellar realised a second too late what Bergstrom intended. Before any could move Bergstrom had flipped the sword around and pressed the point to her chest. One hand grasped the hilt. With the other she clutched the tip and pressed it against her heart. She pitched forward, dropping like a felled tree. Insanely, the thought to shoot through Chip’s head was, She’s going to cut her fingers. Then Bergstrom crashed into the ground, the force of the impact driving the point of the sword clear through her body. The bloody blade erupted from her back. Her body twitched once convulsively, and was still.

"VAL!" Francesca screamed her name, then the echoes died away and there was silence in the cellar.

continued in chapter 21