Over the course of the Gaunt’s Ghosts series, I have enjoyed examining life behind the scenes of the regiment: what downtime is like, what day-to-day feels like in the various camps and accommodations, what it’s like to be a child, or a wife, or any other part of the non-com entourage. Gaunt is in charge of a large travelling ‘family’, a large proportion of which is civilian and supporting, rather than military assets. They’re his responsibility, too, but sometimes the structures of Imperial and military law do not comfortably apply to the close, intimate society of the entourage, and do not adequately protect it. My interest in this ‘domestic’ side of Guard life probably began back in The Guns of Tanith, with the notorious Lijah Cuu storyline, and has been revisited through Dalin and Yoncy, and most recently, Captain Daur’s bride, Elodie. The ‘back-room life’ is now a major theme, and will become, in several different ways, a crucial part of the next two novels, The Warmaster and Anarch. This powerful and quietly shocking story by Nik Vincent delves into that part of regimental existence. It is firmly set in current Ghosts continuity (beginning six days after the end of Salvation’s Reach and, literally, on the final page of the first story in this volume, ‘Family’). It is one of the other stories in this volume that presents vital and important connective tissue between the last novel and the storylines of the next. It’s a hard story because the subject matter is so gruelling, but I think Nik’s written it superbly. Once again, pay attention and take notes. This story will have significant repercussions in The Warmaster… Finally, this is the first time I’ve allowed somebody else to write actual Ghosts characters. Yes, as you know, Nik’s my wife, so I trust her. I very much admire her writing, and we work in the same room, so I could look over her shoulder as she composed. We discussed the story at length, and I was close by to advise her about what certain characters would do or say. Not that she needed hand-holding at all. Oh no, not at fething all… Dan Abnett Viduity Nik Vincent The Highness Ser Armaduke, six days out from Salvation’s Reach, 782.M41 (the 27th year of the Sabbat Worlds Crusade) I Elodie passed Gol Kolea on the companionway a couple of hundred metres from Tona Criid’s compartment. His head was down, and when she tried to greet him, he appeared not to notice her. She kept walking. He probably had stuff on his mind. She did too. Everyone did. Elodie had spent the afternoon sitting with Ban for as long as Curth and Lesp would allow. It had been six days since he’d been carried out of Salvation’s Reach. Six days since the surgeries to his legs and abdomen that had saved his life. Today, Ban had walked for the first time. It had felt like a miracle. Ana Curth had also told Elodie that there had been other damage. Ban Daur would be a soldier again; he would fight with the Guard for as long as they wanted him or until he died for the Emperor. There was only a very small chance that Elodie’s husband would ever be a father. There was only a very small chance that Ban would ever be able to give her a child. Elodie knocked gently on Tona Criid’s compartment door. Dalin opened the hatch. ‘Mum,’ he called, stepping aside to let Elodie in. ‘Someone to see you.’ ‘Who is it?’ asked Tona, impatient. She was doing pull-ups, hanging from a maintenance duct that ran the length of the narrow living quarters. She swung one arm free so that she turned in the air to catch a glimpse of the woman entering. She flexed her single supporting arm when she saw Elodie and dropped to the floor. ‘Elodie,’ she said, surprise and regret in her voice. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you.’ ‘No, I’m sorry,’ said Elodie. ‘I shouldn’t have come. You’re busy and it’s late.’ ‘I’m glad you did. Sit down.’ She picked up the bottle of amasec that Gol had brought to supper and tilted it. ‘I think the Guard owes you a couple of drinks. I know it owes me.’ ‘Thanks,’ said Elodie, smiling for the first time. ‘I’ll get glasses,’ said Dalin, ‘and then I should get back to my bunk.’ ‘Are the accommodation decks as bad as they say?’ asked Elodie. Dalin laughed. ‘We’re Guard,’ he said. ‘Are the non-com hab decks as bad as they say?’ ‘Don’t tell Ban, but if I’d had to live there I wouldn’t have waited for him to ask me to get married, I’d have got on my knees myself,’ said Elodie. ‘And they call me mercenary,’ said Tona. Dalin said goodnight and left the women to talk. ‘How is Ban?’ asked Tona. ‘He walked today,’ said Elodie. ‘That’s good news,’ said Tona. ‘Good for us, anyway.’ ‘It is good,’ said Elodie. ‘Good for all of us. Good for him. I wanted to talk about something else, though. If that’s all right?’ ‘What’s going on, Elodie?’ asked Tona, aware of a tone in the other woman’s voice. ‘That’s just it,’ said Elodie. ‘I’m not sure. I don’t really know. Except that I know something’s going on.’ ‘And you can’t talk to Ban because he’s in recovery?’ ‘I can’t talk to Ban because he’s a man… and because he’s Guard.’ ‘I’m Guard,’ said Tona. ‘Yes,’ said Elodie. ‘Can we forget that, just for now?’ ‘Something’s obviously bothering you, Elodie. I think you’d better start talking,’ said Tona. II ‘Is this a disciplinary, sir?’ asked Harjeon. ‘Are you being petulant?’ asked Captain Meryn. He didn’t have the privacy of the cabin for long; the ship was crowded and even the captains were doubling up and sharing office space. Besides, he wanted to get this over with. ‘No, sir,’ said Harjeon. ‘I’ve lost half of E Company. If I have to lose one more infantryman, how much do you think I’ll miss you, Harjeon?’ Harjeon squirmed. He was an uncomfortable man. He had never learned the social graces that seemed to come easily to other people. He wasn’t funny and he had no small talk. It made him an angry man. He bent too easily to authority, and then took out his frustrations on the people beneath him. Except that he was the lowest of the low in the Guard. He had never progressed through the ranks. He was not a career soldier. He was barely a competent soldier. ‘I was a solicitor’s clerk,’ said Harjeon. ‘My first lesson was on confidentiality. I know how to keep my mouth shut, sir.’ He’d known how to mock up the paperwork for the viduity scam, too. They’d liked him well enough when they could use him. ‘If it’s not over,’ said Meryn, ‘if the Commissariat starts asking questions again, just remember who falsified the documents for all those pensions. I’m not going down for this.’ ‘No, sir,’ said Harjeon. ‘Now, get out of my sight,’ said Meryn. Harjeon hated his captain’s contempt. He despised the contempt he felt for himself. Harjeon saluted Meryn and left the cabin, closing the hatch behind him. It was fifth bell and time for his meal rotation in the canteen, but his stomach was twisted in a hard knot and he could feel the bile in his throat. He descended two decks and took a short cut through the maintenance ducts. He’d done it hundreds of times on dozens of troop ships. Everyone found some privacy somewhere. It wasn’t hard to come up with an excuse for being somewhere you shouldn’t be, especially if you were too old to be a private, but you weren’t dead yet. Especially if you could look stupid. Harjeon liked the hab decks. He liked the chaos. The Guard were important down here. All Guard. Any Guard. He liked women, too. Not hard women, not killers like Criid or clever women like that Doctor Curth. He liked sad, soft, lonely women. He could feel contempt for women like that, more contempt than he felt for himself. III ‘It’s the women,’ said Elodie. ‘What about the women?’ asked Tona. ‘You’re not telling me anything. You’re going to have to give me something if you want my help.’ ‘It’s little things,’ said Elodie. ‘I know a lot of women, a lot of wives, and a lot of girlfriends, and some of the working girls.’ ‘Of course you do,’ said Tona. ‘It stands to reason that they respect you, that they come to you. You have status among them, and you’re everyone’s friend. You mustn’t let them use you, Elodie.’ ‘No, it’s not like that,’ said Elodie. ‘They’re talking, mostly to each other, but I’m hearing things… Things that worry me.’ ‘What things?’ asked Tona. ‘There are a lot of broken women down there,’ said Elodie. ‘It’s a community, and everyone looks out for each other, but a lot of women are alone, struggling to raise kids. Some have got grown kids in the Guard. Some have even lost husbands and children in the campaigns.’ ‘It’s always been like that,’ said Tona. ‘I don’t know how they get by, but they always have.’ ‘That’s just it,’ said Elodie. ‘Something’s happening. They’re not getting by any more.’ ‘What do you mean?’ asked Tona. ‘They’re frightened,’ said Elodie. ‘They’re shutting themselves away. There have been accidents, too.’ ‘They’re hurting themselves?’ asked Tona. ‘That’s what some of the younger women are saying,’ said Elodie. ‘But it’s rumours?’ asked Tona. ‘The women are gossiping, and they’re worried, but something’s going on,’ said Elodie. Tona took a swig of Gol’s amasec. ‘Salvation’s Reach was bad,’ she said. ‘There were big losses. Half of E Company was wiped out. Things are always unsettled for a while after something like that.’ ‘You think it’ll be all right?’ asked Elodie. ‘I hope so,’ said Tona. ‘You haven’t told me anything that I can take to Gaunt.’ Elodie gasped. ‘I wouldn’t want you to do that,’ she said. ‘I just…’ ‘I know,’ said Tona. ‘You’re worried. Why don’t you see if you can find anything out? Talk to one of the older women. One of the leaders, you know who they are. Come back to me in a few days.’ ‘Are you sure?’ asked Elodie. ‘I don’t want to waste your time.’ ‘There’s nothing to do here, anyway,’ said Tona. ‘I’m going so crazy that I’m doing pull-ups from the ceiling.’ ‘Thank you,’ said Elodie. IV Harjeon held Elavia hard by the throat until her lips turned blue. He watched the skin of her neck around his fingers turn white as he increased the pressure. Her eyes bulged as she tried to plead with him. There was barely space for two people to move around each other in the cramped space, let alone fight. He had to keep control. The bunks were divided by plasteel sheets. There were curtains instead of hatches, and only the compartments at the ends of rows, against bulkheads, offered any kind of privacy at all. ‘Understand this,’ he said in a hard whisper to avoid being overheard by the non-coms milling around the hab-deck. ‘If you ever mention my name to anyone, I will kill you. You know that I can do it.’ The woman finally went limp, and the weight of her body was too much for Harjeon to hold up. He let her fall awkwardly to the ground. He heard the hard crack of an elbow and then of her brow. The arm was broken. Her head would be badly bruised. Harjeon sat down and waited for Elavia to come round. After a minute or two, just as he was becoming impatient, she coughed and gasped, and then moaned with the pain in her elbow. As she sat up, her left arm hung limp at her side. She brought her right arm up to her head. It was bleeding. ‘You’re a mess,’ said Harjeon. ‘You’re not entitled to the stipend. I got it for you and I can take it away. If you go to the authorities, you’ll implicate yourself. Do you know what that means?’ Elavia hardly dared to look at him. She shook her head. ‘Stealing from the Guard is a capital offence. If you tell them about the stipend they’ll know you’re stealing. They’ll put a round through your stupid skull. Understand that.’ Elavia understood it very well. She understood that her man had died on Jago. He had belonged to her and that was enough for them. Other people had something they called marriage, but it wasn’t their way. Harjeon had explained it to her. She had paid him a percentage so she could keep her pension. All she wanted was to stay with the Guard, to go where her man would have gone, to try to live the life without him that she could have lived with him. Harjeon pulled up the collar of his fatigues, pulled down the back of his jacket and walked away. His captain could silence him, and he could even humiliate him, but there was only one of him to bully. There were dozens of women for Harjeon to torment, dozens he had been extorting. He’d had his own lucrative little sideline during the viduity scam, and it was ripe for exploitation. V ‘Leaving so soon?’ asked Ban. ‘Do you mind?’ asked Elodie. ‘I promised someone…’ She tailed off. She didn’t want to lie to her husband, but she couldn’t involve him in what she was doing. ‘Are you on one of your missions, again?’ asked Ban, smiling at his wife. ‘You’re too sweet for your own good. Who are you trying to help now?’ ‘It’s nothing, really,’ said Elodie, ‘just one of the widows. She lost her husband and you’re safe.’ ‘I am,’ said Ban, squeezing his wife’s hand. ‘And Doctor Curth wants me back in that walking frame in five minutes, so go. Do your good deed. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ Elodie leaned in to kiss her husband. It was not enough, and he cupped the back of her neck and pulled her closer. The kiss lingered for long moments. ‘No agitating the patient,’ said Ana Curth, walking up the ward towards them. ‘He’s got work to do.’ ‘Sorry, doctor,’ said Elodie. ‘For the Emperor’s sake, Elodie, call me Ana,’ said Ana Curth. ‘And I’m teasing. Kiss your man while you can. It’s good for both of you.’ ‘I’m going,’ said Elodie, rising from beside the cot with a broad smile on her face. ‘Ban… Ana.’ Half an hour later she was in the hab decks, drinking something that had been offered as caffeine, but which was, at best, its second cousin once removed. ‘Thank you for seeing me, Honne,’ she said, putting her mug down. ‘A captain’s wife asks to see me, what choice do I have?’ said Honne. ‘I’d never force you to talk,’ said Elodie. ‘You need to know that. But I hope you will.’ ‘You don’t have to force, though, do you, mamzel? You only have to ask.’ The older woman folded her arms over her bosom and sat back in her chair. ‘You’re a good woman, Honne, and everybody knows it. The other women trust you. You help them birth their children. You give them solace when they grieve for their husbands. When they need you, you’re there.’ ‘There’s nothing left for me to do. Two husbands, four sons, two daughters, all gone to the Emperor. So, I midwife and I dress scalds and I salve bruises and I dry tears, and I leave it to the Emperor to deal with the dead.’ ‘How many bodies have you laid out, Honne?’ asked Elodie. ‘That’s bodies,’ said Honne, ‘and you know it. I’m talking about souls. Two husbands, four sons and two daughters all with souls, and even you can’t tell me otherwise.’ The woman was defiant. Elodie could work with that. ‘The living have souls, too,’ she said. ‘You deal with them every day. Women are suffering, Honne. I know they are, but I don’t know why. If I knew why I could help.’ ‘You don’t know why. I don’t know why,’ said Honne. ‘You won’t say why,’ said Elodie. ‘I know that I have dressed burns and I have salved bruises and I have dried tears. I know that women are hurting more than is normal. I know that their mouths are shut,’ said Honne. ‘They must say something,’ said Elodie. ‘Someone must have said something.’ ‘They say they are clumsy. They say they trip and fall. They say they walk into doors. It means nothing,’ said Honne. ‘It means I am talking too much.’ She picked up her mug of caffeine and cradled it to her bosom, her arms still half crossed, defensive. ‘They are not hurting themselves,’ said Elodie. ‘Someone is hurting them. Who?’ ‘They are women,’ said Honne. She held the mug to her mouth and took a long swig of caffeine. The two women drank. Elodie talked. Honne said nothing more. She simply nursed her empty mug until Elodie’s caffeine had gone cold. She would not leave until the captain’s wife left. She would keep the rules of etiquette, but she would not speak further on the subject. She already felt that she had betrayed the silent women. VI Harjeon had her in an armlock, her face mashed against the rough plasteel of the bulkhead, grazing her skin raw. He pushed his knee into the small of her back and wrapped his free hand in her hair. She was screaming. He was filled with rage and panic, and he had to stop her screaming. When she stopped screaming, when he finally let her go, he hardly knew what he had done. He only knew that he had done what he had needed to do to keep himself safe, safe from the Commissariat, safe from Meryn’s threats, safe from this woman who could give him away. ‘You’re mine,’ he said. ‘You owe me. And there’ll be plenty more where that came from if you ever mention my name to anyone.’ She tried to speak, but her nose and mouth were filled with blood and she was gasping for breath through the pain. She reached a hand up to her shoulder. That hurt, too. Taria would never tell anyone where she got her money. It had been one bad man after another. They’d all wanted to do what they’d wanted to do to her. None of them had wanted her enough to marry her. And, anyway, they’d all died. She’d lived on her wits for a while, but that was worse. Men had still done what they’d wanted, but they’d paid for it. It was worse, much worse. When Harjeon had come, after Jago, with the pension papers, she’d signed. It was a lie, a lie that meant she was tied to one bad man forever. Except Harjeon had only wanted money. Until now. If it cost her one broken nose in two years, she’d keep her mouth shut. ‘If the Commissariat finds out, they’ll put a round through your head,’ he said. ‘Scamming the pension is treason. You’re a dead woman.’ He left her sitting against the bulkhead, blood dripping onto her dress. She could feel the bruising spreading around her eyes. VII Three days later, when Elodie knocked on the door of Tona’s compartment again, it was Yoncy who answered. ‘Auntie Elodie,’ she said. ‘Have you come for supper?’ Tona came to the hatch behind her daughter. ‘Wash your hands, Yoncy,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry,’ said Elodie, ‘I forgot you eat at five bells.’ ‘You’re welcome to join us,’ said Tona. ‘Someone always does, and there’s plenty to go around. No real meat tonight, I’m afraid, but I’m a dab hand with slab.’ ‘I don’t want to talk in front of the child,’ said Elodie. ‘Then we’ll talk afterwards,’ said Tona. ‘It’s good for her to have proper female company. She’s got a thousand uncles.’ They ate and cleared the dishes, and then the two women sat down to talk. Gol’s amasec was all gone, but Tona had some sacra, which she poured for them. ‘She’s a funny little thing, isn’t she, your daughter? Lots of energy, and a great appetite. How old is she now, nine, ten?’ ‘She’s thirteen,’ said Tona. ‘I’m expecting a growth spurt any minute.’ ‘Girls do that, don’t they? Grow up suddenly,’ said Elodie. ‘You’re evading the issue, Elodie,’ said Tona. ‘Why don’t you tell me what you found out?’ ‘I went to talk to one of the women, as you suggested,’ said Elodie. ‘She was very defensive, but she confirmed my suspicions. The women aren’t hurting themselves, they’re being hurt.’ ‘Someone’s hurting them?’ asked Tona. ‘Who?’ ‘That’s the problem,’ said Elodie. ‘I don’t know who, and I don’t know why.’ ‘What did she say, exactly?’ asked Tona. ‘She didn’t say anything, but she implied quite a lot. She’s seeing a lot of women with injuries, and she’s helping them. The injuries don’t match the claims the women are making about how they were caused. When I asked who was hurting the women, she said, “They are women.”’ ‘That’s all she said?’ asked Tona. ‘Just, “They are women”?’ ‘That’s all,’ said Elodie, ‘but the implication seemed clear to me.’ ‘She was implying that it’s a man?’ asked Tona. ‘A man or men,’ said Elodie. ‘If it’s domestic and the women won’t speak out, we can’t take this to Gaunt,’ said Tona. ‘I didn’t think so,’ said Elodie. ‘I don’t want to lose my trust with the women, either. And I don’t want to jeopardise this woman’s standing in her community. She does a lot of good.’ ‘We’ll go to Ana Curth,’ said Tona. ‘Is that a good idea?’ asked Elodie. ‘She’s the head of medicae,’ said Tona. ‘If any of the injuries are bad enough for the victims to end up in the medicae bay, Ana already knows about this… Even if she doesn’t actually know about it.’ ‘What can she do?’ asked Elodie. ‘The next time a woman comes in with an injury, she might be able to persuade her to talk,’ said Tona. ‘She’s a pretty impressive woman when she’s got the bit between her teeth. If she tells you to do something, you do it.’ ‘Would you talk to her for me?’ asked Elodie. ‘I’m not sure…’ ‘Better coming from me,’ said Tona. ‘I’ll see her tomorrow. I wanted to drop in to see Lesp about some ink, I’ll do it then.’ VIII Salandra needed the pension. She needed it for her children. Her children whom everyone believed to be another woman’s orphans. Guard orphans. It didn’t matter how or when or why it had all happened, they were her children and this was the only life her family had known for a dozen years. A percentage of the pension went straight back into Harjeon’s pocket, but that didn’t matter, either. She was frugal. She had learned to manage. What made him think she would tell anyone? Why had he beaten her? She despised him, but there was nothing to be done. She grabbed the bucket and drew it towards her again. How many times had she thrown up? Why was her neck so stiff? She must go see… She must go see… The old woman, what was her name? IX ‘Do you need something, Tona?’ asked Ana Curth as the Guard strode through the medicae. ‘Five minutes of your time when you go off duty, if you can manage it,’ said Tona. ‘Wait in my office,’ said Ana. ‘A few stern words with Captain Daur and I’m done for this shift.’ ‘Consider them spoken and understood,’ said Ban Daur, waving a greeting at Tona. ‘Lesp already covered this ground.’ ‘Lesp isn’t your attending doctor,’ said Ana Curth. ‘Five minutes, Tona.’ Tona pulled a face at Ban, and strode to Ana’s office to wait for her. Three minutes later, Ana Curth walked in, unbuttoned her smock and sat heavily in her chair, clearly exhausted. ‘Right, let’s have it,’ she said. ‘First things first,’ said Tona. ‘Are you coping all right?’ ‘I appreciate the concern, Tona, but I’m busy, I’m understaffed, and I answer to Gaunt.’ ‘Well, that put me in my place,’ said Tona. Ana sighed. ‘It’s easier than answering the question, that’s all,’ she said. ‘For the purposes of moving on, of course I’m coping. That’s not the question.’ ‘You’re miserable,’ said Tona. ‘Of course I’m miserable,’ said Ana. ‘I know it won’t help, but it gets less awful,’ said Tona. ‘That’s how I’m coping,’ said Ana. ‘The knowledge that it gets less awful… Until the next time.’ ‘Yes,’ said Tona. ‘Until the next time.’ ‘So,’ said Ana, ‘give me something else to think about. Tell me what I can do for you.’ ‘Can you keep an eye on non-coms accident figures? See if they’re going up? Look for injuries, particularly among the women,’ said Tona. ‘They’re high,’ said Ana. Tona was surprised. ‘It can happen,’ said Ana. ‘Sometimes, after an engagement… Sometimes the combatants don’t know how to deal with the things they’ve gone through – the mental and emotional traumas.’ ‘They take it out on the women?’ asked Tona. ‘Sometimes,’ said Ana. ‘It’s one of the tragedies of war. Everyone pays a price. The victims are strong and the culprits are remorseful. Often they love each other.’ ‘They tell you all this?’ asked Tona. ‘The women make excuses for the men, or they say it like it is. They’re very accepting,’ said Ana. ‘Then it’s not that,’ said Tona. ‘Have any women come in here with injuries that you’ve been suspicious about or that they’ve refused to explain?’ Ana got up from her chair and crossed to a cabinet of medicae records. She took out a thick file and leafed through it, pulling out several sheets. ‘I’ve treated five women for unexplained injuries in the past week,’ she said, ‘including fractures to a nose, an elbow and a wrist, a dislocated shoulder, and two concussions. What’s going on, Tona?’ ‘I don’t know yet,’ said Tona. ‘The problem is, nobody’s talking.’ ‘Well if I get another woman coming into my medicae in a state like this, she’s damned well going to talk to me,’ said Ana, slapping down the medical records of the five victims. ‘That’s what I hoped you’d say,’ said Tona. She got up to leave. ‘The other stuff, when it happens, you do something about it, right?’ ‘Always,’ said Ana. ‘Good,’ said Tona. X Stremmy was worried about her mother. She was sick. She tried to stand up, but she kept falling over, and she was saying funny things that didn’t make any sense. It had all started the last time Private Harjeon had come to see them. Stremmy and her twin brother Flory had been sent away, and when they’d come back their mother had been lying down with a headache. They hadn’t eaten that night. It was two days later, and her mother was worse. Stremmy tried to ask her mother what she should do. When her mother didn’t answer, she wasn’t worried any more, she was frightened. Stremmy decided she’d have to do something by herself. XI ‘What’s the matter, child?’ asked Honne when Stremmy found her at the barter market, trying to trade some beautifully darned but very old petticoats for a nearly new wrap. ‘Mum’s sick, can you come?’ asked Stremmy. ‘Salandra’s sick?’ asked Honne, scooping up the petticoats that she’d arranged on the corner of a trestle table. ‘How long has she been sick?’ ‘I don’t know,’ said the child. ‘Ever since Private Harjeon came.’ The old woman and the child wove their way through the cramped passages of the hab decks to Salandra’s tiny cabin. The stench of stale vomit hit her before she’d drawn back the oily old curtain that separated the space from the narrow companionway and the hundreds of other tiny, family rooms that led off it. Flory was sitting on the floor next to his mother. She was still and silent. Honne crossed the room in two or three strides, gestured the boy out of the way and bent to examine the woman. Salandra opened her eyes when Honne spoke to her. ‘They’re mine. Don’t let them take my children,’ she said. ‘No one’s going to take the children away,’ said Honne. ‘They need the pension when I’m dead,’ said Salandra. ‘Make sure Harjeon keeps his word. I’m not a traitor. It’s not treason to give the children a pension.’ ‘Be still,’ said Honne. ‘You’re delirious. I need to look at you.’ There was a smudge of black blood around Salandra’s right nostril, and her pupils were unequal. Honne gently felt the woman’s head. The right, rear quadrant was warm to the touch. ‘Flory, find two fit strong people,’ said Honne. ‘We’re going to carry your mother to the medicae bay. She needs a doctor.’ ‘Will Mum be all right?’ asked Stremmy. ‘I hope so,’ said Honne. ‘You’re a good girl for coming to find me. Now stay here and look after each other until I come back.’ ‘Don’t tell,’ said Salandra as she was lifted from her bed. ‘Don’t say a word. I promised Harjeon I wouldn’t ever speak of it. Shhh.’ XII Salandra never regained consciousness after she was taken to the medicae. Despite Ana Curth’s best efforts, she died within the hour. ‘What happened here?’ asked Curth. It was less than forty-eight hours after her conversation with Tona Criid, and this woman had clearly been beaten to death. The skull fracture had been fatal, but when she examined her, Ana found other injuries. ‘I don’t know,’ said Honne. ‘She said nothing.’ ‘Then I’m having her husband arrested,’ said Ana. ‘She has no husband,’ said Honne. ‘Don’t split hairs with me, woman,’ said Ana. ‘I’m in no mood for wrangling words. Her man, whoever he is, will be arrested for this.’ ‘She has no man,’ said Honne. ‘There’s never been a man. She cares for orphaned children who lost their mother at Hagia.’ ‘Someone did this,’ said Ana Curth. Honne shrugged. Salandra had been delirious. She had intended to take her secrets with her to the grave. Souls were not Honne’s responsibility, not dead souls. The souls of the living, that was different. Stremmy and Flory were living souls. They’d lost two mothers. XIII At first bell, Ana Curth walked the companionway to Tona Criid’s compartment. She’d stayed in the medicae long into the night, long after her shift was over, trying to piece it all together. There was no definitive answer. It didn’t make sense. The hatch opened to the smell of eggs. Ana knew they were powdered and stored and might be decades old, and she wondered how Tona managed to get them to smell as if they’d been newly laid. ‘Ana,’ said Tona, surprised. She couldn’t remember the last time the doctor had visited her in her quarters. ‘Tona, can I come in?’ ‘Eat with us,’ said Tona. ‘There’s plenty.’ ‘Your eggs smell wonderful,’ said Ana. She stopped in her tracks as she saw Elodie sitting at the small table with Yoncy. ‘On second thoughts, I’ll come back,’ she said. ‘If it’s about the women,’ said Tona, ‘it was Elodie who brought it to me in the first place.’ ‘Oh,’ said Ana. ‘What about the child?’ ‘Yoncy, would you like to eat breakfast tucked up in your bunk?’ asked Tona. ‘Yes please, mummy,’ said Yoncy, getting down from the table. Tona scooped some scrambled egg into a bowl, added a hunk of bread and handed it to her daughter. Yoncy ducked behind the partition, closing the hatch behind her, and climbed into her bunk where it was warm and dark. ‘You’d think she’d find it claustrophobic in there,’ said Ana. ‘It’s so cramped and airless.’ ‘It beats me, but it’s her favourite place, lately,’ said Tona. ‘A woman died, yesterday,’ said Ana Curth, when they were alone. ‘She was brought into the medicae with a fractured skull. She’d been beaten, badly.’ ‘Did you find out who was responsible?’ asked Tona. ‘That’s just it,’ said Ana. ‘The woman who brought her in said she didn’t have a husband or lover. So, I checked her records, and there’s nothing about her being connected to a man. She came into the regiment with a woman Guard at Vervunhive. The mother of her children. She was a casualty at Hagia.’ ‘So, it wasn’t a domestic incident,’ said Elodie. ‘That got me thinking about the other women,’ said Ana. ‘I’ve spent most of the night sifting through records for the other five women who had unexplained injuries or who wouldn’t talk about the causes of their injuries.’ ‘What did you find?’ asked Tona. ‘None of the women have current registered partners,’ said Anna. ‘Two had registered partners, not married, killed in action, and the other three had registered partners, married, killed in action. Salandra, the woman who died yesterday, was raising Guard dependents.’ ‘They were all single women,’ said Elodie, surprised. ‘I also checked the records of the other women who had come in with injuries caused in domestic incidents or altercations,’ said Ana. ‘There were seven of them. Four were married. One had a registered partner, not married. Two were single with no registered partner.’ ‘So you think that the silence must be about something else?’ asked Elodie. ‘Yes,’ said Ana. ‘The pattern of injuries was different, too. I looked again at the injuries to the six women who were silent. Whoever hurt these women employs the same moves, over and over. The breaks and bruises are consistent with armlocks and with banging heads. He always attacks in the same ways. He’s a sadist. One woman had clearly had her face smashed against a bulkhead, possibly repeatedly. Her nose was a mess. She’d also suffered a dislocated shoulder. The bruising to the wrist suggested he’d brutally forced an armlock. I think whoever it is enjoys inflicting pain on these women.’ ‘So we can take it to the Commissariat,’ said Tona. ‘How?’ asked Elodie. ‘We don’t have a suspect, and I don’t know why, but the women won’t talk.’ XIV There were eleven women. Harjeon was already incapable when the first one had sat down at the small table. There must have been something in the caffeine the old woman had given to him. He didn’t know her. He’d come down to the deck habs for one of his visits. To talk to one of the women. She hadn’t been there. Honne had been there in her place. ‘She had to step out. She asked me to wait for you,’ she’d said. ‘I’ve got caffeine. You’re very good to her. She’s very grateful.’ One at a time, their faces had swum before his eyes. They’d said things as if from a great distance. They’d called him things. His body had taken the blows until he’d felt the warm froth in his mouth. He’d been relaxed, soft, numb. They’d punched like little girls. He hadn’t known they’d held blades in their fists. XV They carried the body into the medicae. ‘What in the name of the God Emperor happened here?’ asked Ana Curth. ‘You won’t save him,’ said Honne. ‘I’m going to try,’ said Ana. Lesp was at her side, cutting Harjeon’s blood-soaked fatigues off his body as she took his vitals. ‘Who did this?’ she asked as the stab wounds were exposed. ‘No one,’ said Honne. Ana scowled at the old woman. ‘Was it you?’ she asked. Honne allowed herself a low chuckle. ‘They won’t kill him,’ she said. ‘That will.’ She gestured to the medicae tray at the head of the gurney, and turned to walk away. She stopped several paces further down the medicae bay, and turned to face Ana Curth. She looked right at the doctor, and without blinking, said, ‘He hurt the women. He’ll get what he deserves.’ Then she turned once more and walked away. Ana watched her for a moment. Harjeon was naked on the gurney, and Lesp was checking and cleaning the wounds to his chest and abdomen. Some of them were quite superficial, others more serious. Ana noticed that Harjeon’s skin was blooming in odd discoloured patterns, as if he had a rash forming. She looked at the medicae tray. She hesitated for a moment. She picked up a syringe. Filled it, and found the vein in the back of Harjeon’s left hand. She trembled slightly, stopped, and then in one swift move, she gave him the injection. Thirty seconds later, Harjeon started convulsing. His neck went into rictus. His eyes bulged. Lesp called the code. Ana Curth and Lesp worked on the private for a further twelve minutes, but he was dead. XVI ‘Reporting on the death of Private Harjeon, E Company,’ said Ana Curth. ‘Take a seat, doctor. Tell me what happened,’ said Gaunt. ‘I’d rather stand, thank you, colonel-commissar. This won’t take long.’ ‘As you like.’ ‘Private Harjeon was brought into the medicae with stab wounds,’ said Ana Curth. She did not need to refer to her notes. ‘The autopsy shows that they were mostly superficial. The three serious stab wounds would have required surgery. He would have survived the attack.’ ‘And yet, he’s dead,’ said Gaunt. ‘The toxicology report shows that Private Harjeon had ingested a recreational drug that reacted with a pharmaceutical that I administered during surgery prep,’ said Ana. ‘The patient suffered a seizure resulting in heart failure and brain death.’ ‘Record death by misadventure,’ said Gaunt, holding out his hand for the paperwork to sign off on the latest casualty in his regiment. ‘I should have seen it,’ said Ana, still clutching the reports. ‘He shouldn’t have broken the rules,’ said Gaunt. ‘Drug abuse is not tolerated. He would have been executed for it. Hand me that, and let’s be done with it.’ XVII ‘I’m sorry to have troubled you with another meeting,’ said Elodie, ‘but I wanted to let you know that it’s over.’ She was sitting at a tiny table in the hab decks with her hands wrapped around another mug of terrible caffeine. ‘Thank you, mamzel,’ said Honne. ‘Private Harjeon died in medicae after reacting to a pharmaceutical. He got into a fight, but his injuries weren’t fatal. They’re not looking for anyone in connection with the stabbing.’ ‘Thank you, mamzel,’ said Honne, again. ‘He won’t be hurting any more women, Honne,’ said Elodie. ‘I wouldn’t know anything about that,’ said Honne. ‘No,’ said Elodie. ‘Nonetheless.’ XVIII ‘Thank you, Tona,’ said Elodie, after her visit to Honne. They were sitting drinking sacra in Tona’s quarters. ‘I didn’t do anything,’ said Tona. ‘These things sort themselves out in the end.’ ‘Do you worry about the men?’ asked Elodie. ‘They’re good men,’ said Tona. ‘For every hundred good men, for every thousand, there’s one evil fether.’ ‘Like Harjeon?’ asked Elodie. ‘Like him,’ said Tona. ‘We look after each other, though, don’t we? Don’t think about Harjeon. For every one of him there are a hundred Bans. For every one of him there are even a few Caffs.’