Balanced on the Blade's Edge (Dragon Blood, Book 1) (9 page)

“Her name?” he asked of the observers.

“Six-ten.”

“Her
name
?” Ridge
repeated.

“Oh. Uhm.” The women glanced at each
other.

“Big Bretta,” someone said from the back of
the crowd.

“Thank you. Private, what led you, or your
sergeant, to believe this hanging was a result of witchcraft?”

“The sergeant found some things in her bunk…
a collection of people’s hair and some crude dolls carved from
scraps of wood. It looked like she got caught trying to put hexes
on someone.”

“She was on the shift with us in the kitchens
this morning,” someone said in the crowd. “Then she didn’t show up
this afternoon.”

“I’m the one who found her,” another woman
said. “Came in to collect the towels for washing and… ’bout
screamed my head off. Then the soldiers came and took over.”

“First one tried to say it was suicide,” came
an indignant addition. “Big Bretta wasn’t that type. She used to
defend us from the bas— those that thought they could walk in here
and have their way.”

“People don’t usually punch themselves in the
face before committing suicide,” Ridge said. “Assuming nothing’s
been moved, there’s no stool or ladder or anything she could have
used to climb up there and drop either. Private, where’s the
sergeant who sent you to find me? And who usually handles murder
investigations?” Usually on an installation this small, Ridge
wouldn’t expect there to be much crime—certainly not many
murders—but given the background of his workforce, he supposed it
was inevitable.

“It was chow time so the sergeant went to
dinner, sir. He said I could go too after I found you.” The private
shrugged. “Nobody investigates murders of prisoners. Bodies just
get put in the crematorium, same as those who die in mine
accidents.”

“How… efficient.”

“Yes, sir. We would have done that with this
one, but the sergeant said I should ask you on account of her maybe
being a witch and maybe having done some evils before someone got
her. Maybe she was even the one who called out and let that enemy
ship know where the mines are.”

At some point in the conversation, Ridge’s
fingers had curled into a fist. He didn’t want to punch the
private—not exactly—but he felt like punching something. On the one
hand, he understood that these people were just numbers to those in
charge, numbers who had already been assigned a death sentence for
their crimes, but on the other hand, they were here—they had chosen
this miserable life and were helping their country find the
resources it needed to fight a war. Didn’t they deserve some
respect for that? More, without those crystals, he never would have
had a career, never could have flown. He owed them something
surely.

Wind railed at the shutters of the small high
windows on the outside wall, stirring Ridge from his thoughts. “I
want an investigation.”

“Of the witchcraft, sir?”

“I want to know who killed this woman.” Ridge
smiled without humor. “Maybe I’ll let you stuff
him
in the crematorium.”

“Him? How do you know it’s a him?”

“As strong and capable as these ladies are—”
Ridge waved toward the crowd, “—I doubt one of them hefted a
six-foot-tall woman up and hung her from that pipe.”

The private sucked on his cheek as he
considered the dead woman. “All right, but, uhm, what if she was a
witch, sir? It wouldn’t be right to punish someone for getting rid
of one of them.”

Ridge had yet to meet anyone with magical
powers, witchy or otherwise, and had always suspected most of the
people killed for that were innocent, but if this Big Bretta
had
been casting spells on people… He
shrugged. “Maybe not, but that’s the point of an investigation. To
determine the circumstances and to facilitate judging right and
wrong.”

“All right, but who, sir? Nobody here handles
investigations, unless they’re about machines or mining
accidents.”

Ridge was tempted to lead it himself, but
running the fort and mitigating the threats from without had to be
a priority for him. He wasn’t qualified anyway. “We’ve got a doctor
or at least a medic here, right?”

“Yes, sir. Captain Orsom.”

“Start with him. I want an examination and to
know what happened
before
she was strung
up there. He can report his findings to me, and I’ll decide who to
assign from there.”

The private was scratching his head, wearing
an I-don’t-see-the-point expression, but he said, “Yes, sir.” He
trooped out of the building.

For all that Ridge had rebelled against the
rules imposed by his own superiors during his life, he had to admit
there were times when it was nice to simply give orders, knowing
they would be obeyed, rather than discussed in a committee.

Ridge headed for the door as well. “We’ll
leave her until the doctor has a look,” he told the women watching
him, “then hold the funeral in the morning, if any of you want to
say something before… ” He trailed off, in part because he didn’t
know a euphemism for a cremation—burials, either at sea or in
cemeteries, were more standard in the country—and in part because
he spotted a new face at the back of the crowd.

Sardelle. She was carrying a half-filled
laundry basket, so she hadn’t been let off shift yet, but she must
have stumbled onto the crowd and taken a look into the washroom.
Her expression… Maybe because she was new here or less jaded than
the others, she appeared stunned. No, horrified. And scared
too.

Ridge thought to say something, offer some
reassurance, but she was already backing away, her knuckles white
where she gripped the laundry basket. She spun and raced out of the
building.

Ridge didn’t race after her—the private and
all these female onlookers would find that odd or wonder if he
suspected her of something—but he had been leaving anyway, so he
strode down the hall at a good pace. He opened the door in time to
get a blast of cold snow in his face, but also to see her dart into
the laundry facility, a few buildings down. He had work to do, but
he also felt this urge to go after her and comfort her somehow. Not
that he had offered any hugs of condolence to the other women,
women who had clearly known the victim. They hadn’t seemed to need
it though. They had been indignant but not scared or horrified.
Most likely, they had seen all too much of this type of situation
before. Sardelle was… different.

“Yeah, and that’s another problem you have,
isn’t it?” Ridge muttered.

The private walked out after him, giving him
another curious look.
Yes, your new commanding
officer talks to himself. Move along, kid. Move along.

The private shuffled off. Maybe Ridge was too
eccentric for this job. At least he didn’t have to answer to anyone
higher than him. As he considered everything that had happened in
the few hours he had been here, everything that was now his
responsibility, he wasn’t sure if that was the boon he might have
once thought it.

Sardelle dumped her load of laundry in the
big steam-powered washing machine—yet another contraption that
hadn’t existed in her time—and grabbed a pile of towels to fold.
Dhasi, the woman in charge of the facility, had told Sardelle she
had to stay late since she had started late. After seeing that poor
woman strung up in the barracks, she was almost relieved. She would
rather be working and have a distraction, rather than lying in her
bunk and struggling to get the image out of her head.

Are you upset by the loss
of the prisoner or the realization that it could be you?

Both, Jaxi.
Sardelle
resented the insinuation that she didn’t care.

Sorry, I just wasn’t sure
which tack I should take with my comforting condolences.

I don’t need
comforting.
Didn’t she? She had been upset by the grisly
death, but also by hearing the colonel say, “Maybe so” when his man
had suggested that someone who killed a witch didn’t deserve
punishment. It hadn’t exactly been a heartfelt judgment, but it was
a reminder that she dare not let him or anyone else know about her
power. And she feared this prison was a microcosm of the world as a
whole these days. Would she find Jaxi and escape, only to learn
that she would be hunted at every turn if she revealed her powers?
Could she hide them forever? Her first training had been as a
healer. How could she encounter sickness and injury and not step
forward to help if she could? And if she did, would the one she
saved then turn around and attack her for using magic?
All right, maybe I need a little comforting.

He’s coming.

What?

But Jaxi didn’t answer.

A cold draft swept into the laundry facility.
Sardelle peered past the vats of soapy water and drying racks
toward the front door. Zirkander had walked in. Complete darkness
had fallen beyond the windows, and there were only two other women
left in the building, both staying warm over near the furnaces.
Zirkander asked a question of one of them and was directed toward
Sardelle’s corner.

Uh oh.
Jaxi, was I… being
suspicious when he saw me? He wouldn’t think I had something to do
with the death, would he? I hadn’t even seen that woman
before.

If anything, your
mouth-hanging-open, caught-in-the-avalanche expression should
suggest innocence.

Thanks. I think.

You’re welcome. Don’t
forget to ask him to unbury me from this rubble.

As soon as I figure out
how to do that without incriminating myself, I will.

Sardelle kept folding towels as Zirkander
headed toward her, weaving past the vats and ducking rows of
laundry drying before a fan. She didn’t know whether she should
pretend she hadn’t noticed him or smile and invite him to take a
seat on the wicker laundry hamper next to her. She ended up meeting
his eyes and giving him a solemn nod.

“Good evening.” He waved toward the towels.
“Need a hand?”

“I don’t know,” Sardelle said, surprised by
the offer. “Are you experienced?”

“Not at all. Back home, there’s a place where
I can drop off my entire duffle full of dirty drawers, and they’ll
have them ready the next day for a mere two nucros. By morning if I
promise to bring Ms. Mortenstock mango turnovers from the Palm
Flats run.” Nothing in Zirkander’s smile or tone said he found her
suspicious, at least any more so than usual. That was one relief
anyway. “I do think I could manage the geometric complexities of
making those towel squares though.”

Sardelle knew he had more important things to
do—for that matter,
she
had more important
things to do—but she stepped aside, so there would be room for him
beside her at the table. “If you’re up to the challenge. Just know
I’ll be judging you.”

His eyebrows rose. “
Really?
”

She blushed. She shouldn’t be so familiar
with him. It was his fault, she decided, for setting that tone.

“Not harshly. It’s my first day, too, after
all.” Naturally she couldn’t mention the magical contraption she
had once delivered her own dirty drawers to, one that had washed,
dried, and folded, without requiring turnovers or any other kind of
compensation.

“You’re kind,” he murmured, then removed his
cap and parka, draping them over a rack, and picked up a towel.

Zirkander, with his friendly tone and smile,
had to be there to comfort her, though she couldn’t guess why he
would bother.

He’s attracted to you,
genius.

I doubt that. If
anything, I’m a puzzle he’s trying to solve, which is not a good
thing for either of us. I shouldn’t be encouraging him.

Right, and that’s why you
just shifted over to stand closer to him.

I was reaching for that
towel, and have I mentioned how amazing it is that you can spy so
effectively from under a mile of solid rock?

No, you don’t mention how
amazing I am nearly often enough. Listen, just because he’s couth
enough to look into your eyes instead of at your boobs doesn’t mean
he doesn’t find you attractive. I’d use that if I were you. Make
him like you so that if he
does
discover
your little secret…

He’ll feel particularly
bad about shooting me?

“You seemed distraught about Bretta’s death,”
Zirkander said. “Understandably so. I wanted to make sure you were
all right.”

“I was just surprised by the scene.” He knew
the woman’s name? Sardelle hadn’t. She felt like a fraud. “And
thought of the pain she must have suffered before that ignoble end.
There was a time when I trained to be a healer—a doctor—” she
glanced at him when she made the correction, not sure if the word
“healer” would still have a magical association in this time.

He gazed thoughtfully at her, but she didn’t
read any suspicion. “I think that might be one of the first true
things you’ve told me.”

She blushed again and grew quite focused on
the towels. “I’m certain your captain will find my report and
verify that I… ”

“Belong here?”

Did she want to fight for that? To belong
with all these cutthroats and rapists? “That there’s nothing
unusual about me or the circumstances that led me to come
here.”

Well, that was vague. No
wonder he finds you an enigma.

Hush.

His eyebrows twitched. “I… see.” After a
moment of silent folding, he spoke again. “I was thinking… This
stack is getting high. Where do these go next?”

Sardelle pointed. “In that cart.”

Huh. He was actually folding, not simply
poking around while he spoke to her.

“I was thinking that since you’re also
concerned about the welfare of these people,” Zirkander said, “that
maybe you could keep your ears open and help with the investigation
of Bretta’s death. Nothing risky, but you could let me know if you
hear anything that might not otherwise be said when I’m around.
I’ve never considered myself overly gruff and intimidating, but
soldiers tend to make like clams when officers wander past. I’m
suspecting miners are the same way.”