Elodie leant on her mop. ‘In the meantime, the billets flood, major,’ she replied.
‘It’s a mess,’ he agreed.
‘They say it’s the heavy rain,’ said Elodie. ‘Backing up along the storm drains.’
‘Does that happen a lot?’
‘Apparently, it’s never happened before,’ she replied.
‘Well, then we’re blessed,’ said Baskevyl. ‘Are you all right?’
She shrugged and nodded. She didn’t look all right. She was drawn, as though she hadn’t slept much or well, and where her hands gripped the mop, Baskevyl could see that she’d bitten her nails off short.
‘I don’t know what happened, major,’ she said. ‘I still can’t get the stink of blood out of my clothes. The Sons of Sek were right on us and then… they were dead and the world folded up.’
‘Folded up?’
‘I passed out. I don’t know. There was a sound.’
‘What sound?’
‘Like a… a bone saw. I’ve seen some bad things, major, and been in some dangerous places, but that was the most terrifying thing that ever happened to me. Terrifying because I have no idea what it was.’
‘But the child’s all right?’
‘I haven’t seen her. She’s with Dalin, I think. I suppose she is. Yoncy never says much, but–’
‘But?’
Elodie looked at him.
‘She’s a very strange child.’
‘She always has been, mam.’
‘She says things sometimes,’ said Elodie. ‘Creepy things, really. I… I used to think that it was because she was just a child, but she’s not, is she? I mean she’s not a child anymore. She acts much younger than she is, like it’s a defence mechanism. A way to get people to like her.’
Baskevyl nodded. ‘To be fair,’ he said, ‘she’s had a tangled upbringing. What she’s seen in her life, I wouldn’t wish that on any child. If she acts young to make people like her, then it’s probably an effort to get some security.’
‘Maybe,’ Elodie replied with a shrug.
‘What?’ asked Baskevyl.
She shook her head. He felt he shouldn’t press her. Ban Daur was due back soon. Maybe she’d confide in her husband.
‘Do you know what a changeling is, major?’ she asked suddenly.
‘Like… in the faerie tales?’ he asked.
‘Yes. Sometimes, I honestly think she’s that. Not human. Switched at birth.’
‘Isn’t that… a little unkind?’ he ventured.
‘Of course it is,’ she agreed. ‘But you know the story about her, don’t you? Half the retinue was convinced that Kolea had two sons, not a son and a daughter. Naturally, that’s nonsense. But why would so many people think it?’
‘Hearsay?’ Baskevyl suggested. ‘Crossed wires? Stories getting mixed up?’
‘There’s no point asking Gol,’ Elodie said. ‘I think a lot of his memories are missing, you know, since Hagia. It’s as though he doesn’t even know his own children properly.’
‘He hasn’t been much of a father to them,’ said Baskevyl. He grimaced. ‘That came out wrong. What I mean is, he hasn’t had much chance. He thought they were both dead for the longest time, and by the time he found out they were alive, Criid had taken them on. Saved them both. Anyway, we can’t ask Gol.’
‘Is he still missing?’
Baskevyl nodded.
‘Look, don’t say anything,’ Elodie said. ‘I mean, what I said about Yoncy. Everyone’s on edge and I’m just jumping at shadows because of what happened at Low Keen. That shook me up, Bask, it really did. So this is just my nerves talking.’
‘I won’t,’ said Baskevyl.
At the far end of the undercroft billet, a space had been set aside for supply crates and piles of kitbags. The Munitorum had shipped in the personal effects of the Tanith troops still deployed in the field at Millgate. Bonin, Domor and Sergeant Major Yerolemew were sorting through the kitbags, working from a list.
Baskevyl knew what they were doing. The list was the casualty list from the Millgate action. The men were setting aside the personal belongings of the troopers who wouldn’t be coming back to claim them.
It was a miserable task, one they had to do all too often. The effects of the dead would be sorted through, dispersed, recycled where possible. Decorations would be returned to the regimental coffer. Personal trinkets might be given to close friends as mementos.
Baskevyl watched them work for a while, then admitted to himself that it was unkind not to help them.
They nodded to him as he came over. Along with Commissar Fazekiel, Baskevyl and Domor had endured a tough time together prior to the evacuation from Low Keen.
‘Any word on Gol?’ Domor asked immediately.
Baskevyl shook his head.
‘And we can’t even get a warning upstairs to the chief,’ Domor sighed. ‘Since when did Gaunt fail to respond to a request from the ranks?’
‘He’s First Lord Executor now, Shoggy,’ said Baskevyl. ‘He’s got a plateful.’
‘But it’s urgent,’ Domor stressed. ‘The fething ordos sniffing after Kolea’s blood.’
‘Daur’s on it,’ said Baskevyl. ‘He’s promised to take the matter right to Gaunt, first chance he gets.’
‘If the fething ordos are sniffing after Gol’s blood,’ said Bonin quietly, ‘getting word to the chief isn’t going to help. They’ll have him. That’s what they do.’
‘Cheerful,’ said Domor.
Bonin shrugged. There was nothing cheerful about him. With Mkoll gone, Bonin had been made chief of scouts. But that was only a title. Circumstances prevented Domor, Baskevyl and Bonin from re-joining the main regiment elements in Millgate. They all felt the frustration of being stuck, inactive, away from their companies. Out in the field, Caober or Vivvo would be running scout operations.
Bandmaster Yerolemew was looking grim too. The old, one-armed sergeant major was working methodically through the kitbags. Jakub Wilder had been his direct superior. Baskevyl could feel the shame hanging on the old man’s shoulders, and the responsibility. Yerolemew was acting lead of V Company for the duration.
‘Damn,’ the old man whispered. He’d just unzipped a kitbag.
‘What?’ asked Domor.
‘It’s Mkoll’s,’ Yerolemew replied.
‘I’ll take that,’ said Bonin. ‘Don’t sort it.’
Yerolemew zipped the bag back up and handed it to the scout.
‘You know the procedure, Mach,’ Baskevyl said gently.
Bonin nodded.
‘I do,’ he said. ‘But Mkoll’s MIA. He’s not dead. Not until we find a body. Until then, I’ll take care of this.’
‘What are you doing?’ asked Dalin.
He’d found his sister standing alone in the hallway outside the billet area. She was staring at the broad flight of steps that led up into the palace.
‘Papa’s coming,’ she whispered, not taking her eyes off the steps.
Dalin breathed out heavily. Yoncy had a habit of calling everybody ‘papa’ or ‘uncle’. He was getting sick of it. It had been cute when she was small, but she was a young woman now. With her hair shaved short after the recent lice problem, she looked like a teenage pilgrim. What did they call them? Esholi?
Dalin wanted to tell her to stop it with the infantile chatter. It was grating. She showed no sign of puberty yet, but she was getting taller. She was only a head shorter than he was.
But he refrained. Something bad had happened to her at Low Keen. He decided to cut her a little slack.
‘Gol will be here soon enough. Tona too,’ he said.
‘Papa said to wait for him, Dal,’ she said. ‘He would send word. I have to wait and listen for him.’
‘What happened at Low Keen, Yoncy?’ he asked.
‘Papa said it was time. I don’t want it to be time. I don’t want it, Dal. But he said it was. And he said I had to be brave about it. Then the men came, so the shadow fell.’