Slowly the Val reaches out to take the cloth from his head. Then she looks at me, at the colonel behind me and finally at her partner, and then she just looks puzzled. Never seen that in a Val before.
‘Who are you?’
‘Sven,’ I say. ‘Lieutenant Sven Tveskoeg, Death’s Head, Obsidian Cross, second class . . .’
It doesn’t occur to me to lie until afterwards and then it is too late anyway. I get on with introducing the others. ‘This is Colonel Vijay, our commanding officer. Sergeant Neen, Corporal Franc, Troopers Rachel and Shil. Rachel’s our sniper . . . You’ve already met our intelligence officer Haze.’
The Vals are looking at me. So are the Aux, and Colonel Vijay. Our commanding officer? Franc mouths at Shil.
I’ll deal with that later.
‘You’re Uplifted?’ asks green singlet.
‘Death’s Head,’ I reply. ‘And these are the Aux.’ It’s short for auxiliaries. The Vals don’t know about the Death’s Head auxiliaries. That’s OK; I only invented them a few months ago.
‘Let me get this right,’ says the Val. ‘You’re Death’s Head, with a braid for an intelligence officer?’
‘Yeah.’ I nod.
Glancing at the other Val, she shrugs.
‘Got to be true,’ says blue singlet. ‘Too fucking weird not to be.’ As we watch, she slides the tube from under her thong and wipes her fingers on her thigh. ‘Hate these fucking things.’
‘Never tried one.’
Her grin is sour. ‘Wrong plumbing.’
They are Vals 5 and 7. That makes them senior to those in Ilseville. It also makes them good at their job. Vals shift up with battles won. Any Val above 25 you want to handle with care. Above 15, you can make that extreme care.
‘So,’ I say. ‘What are you doing here?’
We look at one another. The Vals are still prisoners. That is, I’m gripping a pistol, Neen hasn’t lowered his rifle and Rachel is holding her Z93z. But we all know the rules have changed. How much, we’ll judge from their answer.
‘We’re after the reward,’ says Val 5.
‘What reward?’ Colonel Vijay asks.
It takes her a second to realize he’s serious. ‘General Jaxx’s son. Dead or alive. A million credits in gold.’
‘Jaxx’s son? ‘ says Neen. ‘Here? ‘
‘We figured that’s why you’re here,’ says one.
A thought occurs to the other. ‘If you’re not here for that?’
‘Then, why are we here?’ I take the initiative because Colonel Vijay is standing as if struck by lightning. ‘A mission,’ I say. ‘For the U/Free.’
‘You serious?’
‘Yeah. I’m serious. And there’s no million-credit reward for what we’re here to do . . .’ More’s the pity, I think. I could buy a hundred Golden Memories with what someone’s willing to pay for Vijay.
The first Val is listening.
‘We’ll ransom you,’ I say. ‘We can negotiate the price in a moment.’
‘Custom sets the price,’ she says, bristling slightly.
I know that. It just didn’t occur to me she would agree. A 5th-and a 7th-level Val come expensive. Of course, our receiving the ransom depends on their getting off Hekati alive.
‘So,’ I say. ‘The price is agreed?’
She pauses, giving the occasion respect. ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘It is.’
Stepping forward, I offer my hand.
When I look round, Neen has grounded his rifle. Colonel Vijay is smiling, somewhat grimly. Even the Vals look happier. The rules governing this are covered by contract. Vals 5 and 7 can no longer hunt us. At least, not without warning us that the truce is over first.
We let them go. Then we head out ourselves. Not that I don’t trust them. I just want a couple of mountain ridges between us before nightfall.
Chapter 21
You know that bit below the ribcage on a woman, above the navel and under the lowest rib, where the skin of her gut stretches so tight you can see a caged heart beating?
No, I don’t either.
My old lieutenant told me to look for it the day I visited my first brothel. Mind you, I was thirteen and he was always after the impossible.
Franc’s skin is taut, right enough.
Her navel is a tight knot, but her heart is safely back behind her ribs. And she doesn’t have body hair because she scrapes between her thighs, under her arms, and across her skull each morning with a knife – or so Rachel told Haze.
Never seen her do it.
‘Stand still,’ I say.
Pulling a blade from my boot, I check its edge. Sharp enough for our needs.
Twilight is the only time Hekati is bearable. For now, the wind is at Franc’s naked back. Soon, the last of the sun will vanish behind a slope; the wind will switch directions and with it will come the cold.
A moon is already rising.
Of course, the moon doesn’t actually exist. It’s another illusion.
Like the sun setting and the night sky, which is just a pattern of stars reflected through glass. I don’t care how many times Haze tells us. It still looks like the sun, the moon and the stars to me.
‘Sir,’ says Franc. ‘What are you thinking?’
‘About the moon.’
‘Beautiful,’ she says. ‘Isn’t it?’ See, she agrees with me.
Franc and I are up here to have a little discussion. She thinks she is losing her edge in battle. I think she’s as fast and deadly as she ever was. Except once you lose faith in yourself it doesn’t matter what anyone else tells you.
You find it again fast, or you lose it for ever.
Sometimes, of course, it’s not there to start with. Sometimes you only stumble on it later . . .
The colonel is down in a valley with the rest of the Aux.
I have told them he’s eighteen and not here from choice. They are to cut him the slack due any new recruit. Enough to stop him killing himself; not enough to get them killed instead. In the meantime, they are to salute him, feed him and obey his orders wherever possible. As for the Jaxx thing, they’d be stupid not to work that out for themselves.
‘Sir,’ says Franc. ‘When you’re ready.’
‘Right,’ I say. ‘Steady yourself.’
Reaching out, I grip one bare hip and drag my knife from one side of her abdomen to the other. Franc gasps, swallows the pain and stands straighter. I am impressed. Not least that she keeps her hands to her sides to leave herself open for the next slash.
Instinct is a bitch to fight.
My second cut is slightly higher than the first, and my third higher still. There’s a fourth and a fifth. Until blood trickles down Franc’s inner thigh like piss.
‘Don’t move,’ I tell her.
Kneeling to scoop up grit, I rub it into the cuts. Dirt will raise the edges of the wounds, make sure they never fade. She has her scars back, and with them will come her edge. Or so she believes.
Stepping back, she salutes. ‘Thank you, sir.’
‘My pleasure.’
A few months back someone offered to remove the whip marks from my shoulders. I refused, because some lessons need remembering. Scars make us what we are, people like Franc and me. She nods when I say this, pleased that I understand.
Now’s the moment to ask my question.
‘Franc,’ I say. Must be something in my voice because she goes still.
‘Sir?’
‘You were trained. Weren’t you?’
‘Yes, sir.’ She nods. ‘We all were. We were Uplift militia, before . . .’ Before they were captured, told to change sides and became cannon fodder for the glorious Octovian army instead.
‘No,’ I say. ‘Before that.’
She looks at me. ‘From birth,’ she says finally. ‘That’s the way it works.’
‘To be Haze’s bodyguard?’
‘His lover, his bodyguard, his servant, his possession, until death . . .’ Her mouth twists. Her eyes are bleak. ‘He rejected me.’
‘Franc.’
In short bitter sentences she describes Haze running away from home. She follows, because her training drives her to. Only when she catches up, Haze tells her she is free. Her life is her own.