Ghost Talkers (31 page)

Ginger winced. It had not occurred to her what it would do to her aunt—or to her circle, for that matter—if she didn't come back. Foolishness. She had seen the effects of death so often that she had become inured to it. “I am sorry I frightened you.”

She tried to push herself up on the bed, and the room spun around her. Ginger dropped back, nauseated as the pitching sensation continued.

Worry clouded her aunt's aura. “You should rest.”

“Can't.” Squeezing her eyes shut, Ginger covered her face with her hands. “Helen is in danger.”

“Why Helen?”

Of course … her aunt didn't know, because she'd specifically asked not to be told any of the details. “Do you know where she is?”

“Oh! That's something nice. Brigadier-General Davies is apparently going to reconsider your suggestion to have her be the liaison. He just sent a man to fetch her, so she is at his house.”

“His house. Really? He's having a meeting with her in his home?”

“Do you think that put her in danger? He only agreed to it today, so I hardly see how the Germans could know yet.”

Opening her eyes, Ginger stared at her aunt. “Do you really see the brigadier-general receiving a woman of colour in his home?”

“I—well … no. I wish I could, but no.”

“Do you know who came for her?”

“Oh … no, but his name was literary.”

“Lt. Thackeray?”

“Yes!” Her aunt tilted her head. “Which I can see by your aura is terribly bad news. My dear … I know I have told you not to keep me informed, but I think I will be more helpful if I know what is going on. Why Helen?”

“Because Helen created the process that imprints the soldiers. And Merrow had Ben's notebook, which mentions that, and he's told the Germans everything he knows.” Ginger reached for Aunt Edie's hand. “Will you help me up, please?”

“Oh, my dear…” Her aunt looked stricken, then furious.

“I know. Honestly, I'm not sure if Davies is involved, or if the message from him was faked. We
thought
they were looking for the Spirit Corps, which would mean that the traitor couldn't be Davies, because he knew where we were. But they were looking for the
process
to imprint the soldiers.” Ginger forced her elbow into the cot and levered herself up. She sat, clutching the edge of the bed with both hands. The swimming sensation continued. She had no idea if it was from the concussion Merrow had given her or because … because she had died. If she was being clear and honest with herself, Ginger had died for a few moments, until Lt. Plumber got her breathing again. “Now, will you please help me stop them?”

“But you should—”

“Rest. I know. But I have a duty, and I mean to perform it.” She looked at the other women, lying prone and nearly lifeless in the other beds. “But we need the rest of my circle. I am, as Helen puts it, rather loose in my skin.”

*   *   *

Lady Penfold's comportment would have made many officers ashamed of their own posture. She marched down the hall, leading Ginger's circle out of Potter's Field. Ginger leaned on Edna as they left the warehouse.

Her joints ached with every movement, although
ached
was perhaps the wrong word. Ginger was acutely
aware
of her physical form and the bunching of muscles, the grinding of cartilage, and the rumble of digestion. Her tongue filled her mouth with the taste of decay.

This constant reminder of the mortality of the body was probably why those other women's souls had not returned. The sense of rot filled her, and just there, just beyond the boundary of her skin, floated the soft currents of the spirit world.

Ginger ground her teeth together, focusing on the deliberate tension in her jaw. She had work to do, and she knew full well that the spirit plane was not all beauty and light. Around them, the souls of soldiers who had died meaningless deaths swirled in unrest. Even with her soul pulled tightly into her body, she could feel their unease prickling her skin.

They wanted to do something useful.

“Stop here a moment, would you?” Ginger squeezed Edna's arm. “I need a circle. Aunt Edie, would you anchor me?”

Lifting her head with a sniff, Lady Penfold pivoted on her heel. “You are not seriously contemplating leaving your body, are you?”

“I am just going to push out a little.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then I will do it anyway, and I am too tired to stay anchored.” Ginger tightened her grip on Edna and reached for Mr. Haden. He stepped forward and placed his hand in her left with a nod.

His warm, familiar calluses and the slight scratch of his fingerless gloves were the first things that had felt comfortable since Ginger had awoken. She squeezed his hand, and the wool seemed to carry a whiff of Mrs. Richardson. Edna stayed in Mrs. Richardson's spot on Ginger's right, and Joanne stepped up to take her hand. Lt. Plumber balanced on his crutches, joining hands with Mr. Haden.

There was a gap where Helen should be. With a glare, Lady Penfold stepped into place. “You are as stubborn as your mother was.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

“I meant it as one.” Deftly, her aunt stitched the circle together, and all of them put their weight on Ginger, even before she reached out.

True to her word, Ginger tried to stay just past the surface of her skin, even though the currents tugged at her. It would be so much easier to let go and drift in the lemon gold warmth. Ginger looked about them.

Lost men. The yard was full of lost men, wanting an opportunity to fulfill their duty. Ginger drew strength from the circle and projected her words into the yard, filling the space between the salt barriers. “Gentlemen!”

The swirling slowed, and they turned, the silvery blue-green of curiosity leaping like a spark from soul to soul.

“I need some volunteers to help me stop a traitor. I want to be clear and honest that, even as ghosts, this has the potential to cause you harm.”

“Getting shot at is what we signed up for, innit.” A private solidified in front of her, hat cocked on the back of his head, well out of regulation alignment. “Don't see as how it matters if we're living or dead. Got a duty to do.”

“Right you are.” A captain—the one she had spoken to before, she thought—appeared out of the mass of ghosts. “All right, men. Any who want to come, form up.”

The swirling mass changed, becoming regular squares of souls as orders sparked bright orange across the yard. They had died in their sleep, en masse, and entire battalions haunted the courtyard. The majority of them moved into formation.

“Thank you.” In the distant mortal plane, Ginger had an awareness of someone weeping.

“What are our orders?”

“Do you know what a poltergeist is?”

*   *   *

Ginger is leaning back against Ben's chest, the remnants of a picnic spread at their feet. An ant is crawling at the edge of a puddle of honey that had spilled on one of the porcelain plates. Ben is playing with a strand of hair at the base of her neck.

Ginger wrinkles her nose and stretches against him. “If the servants weren't pretending not to watch, I might just fall asleep here.”

“Would you prefer for them to watch boldly?”

“I'd prefer for them not to be here at all.” She reaches up and lays a hand on his cheek. It is coarse with stubble, which is odd, since she has never seen him less than perfectly groomed. “But that would be wicked indeed.”

“I should not object to a little wickedness.” He nuzzles her neck. “But I am afraid that you need to wake up.”

Ginger sat up. “Oh! Am I lucid dreaming? Are you really here?”

“Dear—I am so very sorry, but I need you to wake up now.”

Her aunt was shaking her. Ginger blinked at her and shook her head. The field spun, tipping with the motion. Ginger closed her eyes and rested her head back against Ben's chest with a
thunk
. “Ow.”

She sat up again, her hair catching on the bark of the tree she had been leaning against. Her aunt knelt at her side, with Brigadier-General Davies standing behind her. Ginger squinted up at them. “Sorry. Are we ready?”

The brigadier-general's aura was green-brown with doubt. He leaned over to Lady Penfold and murmured something. Ginger could not hear him, but the question was clear enough.

“I am perfectly fit—” She stopped at her aunt's glower. “At any rate, I am fit enough for this.”

She drew her feet up so they would not knock over the picnic things, then stopped. That had been a dream. Ben was little more than her own memory of him, embodied in a spot of cold at her shoulder.

She swallowed and looked to her left, where a hand in fingerless gloves rested on her arm. Mr. Haden gave her a little smile. “We've got you. Don't you worry about that.”

“Thank you.” She glanced over to Edna, who sat on her right, also maintaining contact with her. At least two people had kept contact with Ginger since she had returned to her body, keeping her anchored. “Thank you both.”

The young woman merely ducked her head, but her aura was ruddy amber with pride.

The brigadier-general tugged on his mustache. “Well … the men you requested are here. I must say, I did not know when I agreed to this that you were requesting an Indian company. This is highly irregular.”

“Oh for pity's sake, George. I can overlook this in London, but not at the front. We need men who we are certain aren't compromised.” Lady Penfold sniffed at him. “I suspect that the Germans will have overlooked them for the same reasons that you find their deployment ‘irregular.'”

“It's not that they are Indians—it's just that it's a group of drivers. We need combat veterans for this.”

“And I am that, sir. I am very much a veteran.” Beyond the brigadier-general, Corporal Patel ground his rifle on the earth. “I fought at Gallipoli. I am only driving a truck because no one will send me to the front here.”

“Well, it's not the front, but I need a medium among the men we are sending forward.” Ginger shifted, but her legs were still strange and unfamiliar. “Forgive me for not rising. Aunt Edie, did you get the discs I asked for?”

“Yes … but I don't see why it matters; don't they have ID tags already?” She fished a bundle of blue tags from her handbag. “And none of these have the names on them.”

“We'll take care of that.” Ginger waited until Patel had them in hand. “Have each of your men write their full names on a tag, spit on it, and then put the disc on the chain with their others.”

“Spit?”

“Technically, any bodily fluid will work, but there has been enough blood shed in the world already.” Ginger let her spirit drift a little out of her body. “Now, allow me to introduce you to Capt. Wentworth. He's in charge of our ghost army. They will serve as your scouts.”

 

Chapter Twenty-Six

Ginger sat with the full circle anchoring her. They had changed their usual positions so that Edna sat next to Lt. Plumber now, and Aunt Edie sat in Helen's spot. The ghosts had found Helen just outside of Le Havre, in a home in the middle of a field pockmarked by artillery fire. The German mediums held her in the middle of a full circle.

Ginger waited as Patel's men crept through the field surrounding a simple farmhouse. Germans dressed in French and British uniforms mustered in a wobbly circle around the perimeter. Four machine guns punctuated the line, each covering a quadrant of the surrounding field. They had not had time to dig proper trenches, or bring up significant supplies. But the Germans did not need to hold their ground forever: just long enough for Schmitt to get answers out of Helen.

A streak of burnt-orange haste zipped across the field and stopped in the centre of the circle. A young private, with a spatter of freckles across his nose, formed from the haste. He saluted Ginger. “Pvt. Tucker reporting, ma'am. Everyone is in position.”

“Thank you, Private.” Ginger briefly turned her attention to the corporeal world. The Indian company had spread thin all around the farmhouse, just out of range of the German guns. The ghosts were distributed likewise, but more heavily on the far side. “Brigadier-General? They are ready, at your command.”

His aura was a seething ball of tension that roiled around the outside of the circle. “Tell them to proceed.”

Private Tucker saluted. “I heard, ma'am. I'm learning to push into the mortal world.”

“Save your energy. And remember—only one act of poltergeisting per ghost. It's too dangerous for your souls to do more.”

“We'll do our duty, ma'am.” And then he whizzed away, staying low to the ground as he sped off to find Patel, who would relay the order to attack to the living and the dead.

She had no doubt that they would do their duty. It was the concern that they might do too much that worried her.

Machine gun fire chattered from the far side of the farmhouse as the attack began. If the men of the Indian company returned fire, Ginger could not hear it from her position. She felt much of the stress of command in that moment just after the orders had been given. They could not be called back or halted now without endangering not only the rescue effort, but the men already committed to the attack. And yet the attack crawled along, drawing fire from the Germans but otherwise seeming to have little effect.

“My God.” The brigadier-general paused in his tense pacing, facing the farmhouse and looking off toward the attack on the far side. Whole companies had sprung out of the crater-pocked field, visible from this distance only as a seething mass of troops. They advanced on the farmhouse, closing ranks, moving no faster than a steady marching pace.

German fire intensified from the direction of the farmhouse, and shouts of alarm punctuated the rapid-fire shooting. Despite the intensifying firing, the line did not waver. Hardly a surprise, given that it was composed entirely of uniforms stuffed with straw, propelled by ghost soldiers.