~ Macel ~

They carried his body in a deathly-slow procession, dressed up in a freshly starched uniform and covered over by a white linen sheet. Speke the horsemaster brought Robert Bartley into town on the back of a wooden spindlewheel cart, pulled by Claine the gelding dray. A dozen soldiers followed in sombre formation. Day had been breaking when they left Plateau Watch. It was near noon when they came down the slope and into the town.

Lieutenant Bennett had sent somebody on ahead as a herald. The dusty streets were empty as they passed, but crowds of people gathered at the sides to watch. As the procession moved through the plaza, shopkeepers gathered on their doorsteps. The goodwife who ran the Tavern dipped her head in solemnity.

Captain Clifford met them at the Lord Constable’s Tower, at the foot of the great carved steps. He was joined there by General Bradshaw, and some others Macel didn’t recognise: a man wearing a puce doublet and a wine-red felt hat, with his eyes painted the same colour as his clothes; a greying soldier with a patch over his left eye; a gaunt woman in Constabulary green-and-yellow. The Governor stood to one side, his face unreadable. Beside him, the Corrack’s face was like thunder.

“He doesn’t look too happy,” Sam whispered.

“I don’t think anybody does,” said Macel. Nobody was smiling. Even the sky had greyed today.

The guard on the gate had scoffed when Macel said he’d found Bartley’s body. Sam had been the first one to believe him. Both Macel and Bess were soaked through by the rain by the time they returned to Plateau Watch. Sam had lit the fire in the grand stone hearth of the dining room, and Macel and Bess dried there in front of it. By the time the chill and the damp had been excised from his clothes, Sam had gathered a couple of others—Tucker and Venneden, Shroot and Scobie. Bess had fallen asleep; she’d not said a word since they’d found Bartley’s body. They left her sleeping. She’d gone before they brought Bartley back, off to her own bed in Speke’s cottage.

Speke himself was one of Sam’s few, owing to his access to the horses, and some perceived fraternity with the soldiers. One of his stablehands back in the valley, Bessily’s friend Inge, had married a soldier from the Constabulary, a man called Yarwood, in a marriage without courtship.

Speke took two of the drays as far as the small valley, and there waited while Macel and Sam and a couple of the others went forth to retrieve Bartley’s body. The storm had begun to subside by then, but there was a tepid drizzle, and dusk was quick arriving.

Strangely, the ground was dry around Bartley’s body. They found it easy enough, pinned in place by pointed branches above a pool of dried blood. The grass there seemed as though it hadn’t seen rain in a week or more, even though the canopy was porous enough to let water through everywhere else in these woods.

Getting the body from its arboreal rest was a chore in itself, and one they’d not really come equipped for. In the end, Sam had shinnied up a nearby trunk and cut loose the branch which had Corporal Bartley in its grip. The poor Corporal fell with a thud to the ground, less a few scrapes of gristle which nobody fancied pulling out of the trees. His eyes were glassy, and his mouth contorted in fear. Macel hoped he’d not lived long with the tree cutting at his innards. Blood was all around the dead man’s mouth, though, and Venneden reckoned that meant he’d suffered.

Lieutenant Bennett had insisted that they go to Captain Clifford at the first breath of morning. Macel had hoped to catch Bess before they left, but there was no sign of her on the yard. He wondered how her nightmares had been last night—or if she even cared a jot for him anymore. There’d have been no cause for complaint if she didn’t. He’d been rude to her, dismissive, and she’d been right after all. He should have known she would be. How many nights had he spent with her, talking for hours? She deserved a bit of trust. Even if she’d been wrong about Corporal Bartley, Bess wouldn’t have mentioned him unless she truly believed he was there. Yet Macel had immediately jumped to berating her.

It was wet, he told himself, over and over again in the half-drowse that had been his night’s sleep—it was wet, and he was tired. As if that excused him. Bess deserved better.

Did she even know where he’d gone? She may well have woken to find him gone, and assumed he was avoiding her.

Lieutenant Bennett, leading the procession, gestured to the group to stop. For once, she’d worn her own uniform according to the standards, boots and all. At the Watch, she liked to walk around barefoot. The wooden floors must have given her many splinters. Talk around the fort was that Sergeant Donnelly would visit her in her office each evening, and pick the splinters out.

She stood with her arms clasped behind her back as the Governor approached her. “Thank-you for returning him, Lieutenant,” he said. “He’ll rest with the others.”

Others. Macel felt his blood chill. Had they found Warner and Cailie? Were they dead too?

General Bradshaw hopped down the steps. He whispered something terse in the Governor’s ear, then stepped away, a broad and false smile plastered on his face.

“And now the General’s beaming like he’s just been made king,” Sam moaned, loud enough that one of the Constabulary guards at the roadside took notice and glared at him. “Is today supposed to be happy or sad? I can’t keep track anymore.”

“Delie would make a joke about that,” said Macel, and Sam concurred.

“She’ll make a joke about anything, so long as it’s at my expense. Droll bitch.”

“You know she doesn’t like that word,” Macel chided.

Sam shrugged. “There’s a lot of things she doesn’t like. She has to get used to them.”

General Bradshaw took over custody of Bartley’s body, leading a handful of his own soldiers away with it, and the gathering dispersed. Lieutenant Bennett spoke for a short while with the Governor and Captain Clifford, stopping to look at Macel more than once while she did so. Neither man seemed impressed with the conversation.

“They’re not happy with you,” said Sam.

“Don’t be an idiot.” Macel knew what they were talking about, well enough that he fancied he could transcribe their conversation without hearing a word. The Governor would want to know who it was had the misfortune to find poor Bartley, and naturally Lieutenant Bennett would point out Macel.

He knew what they were talking about, but that didn’t stop him from fearing the worst when the three of them suddenly started walking directly towards him. Bennett came first. The grim expression of mourning she’d worn since they laid Bartley at her feet was gone, replaced by the sour irritation which she always displayed.

“Donea,” she barked, “Captain Clifford wants a word with you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I don’t want to be waiting long. See you’re quick back,” she said, “else I’m sure Mistress Rice would appreciate some help with the scrubbing.”

They walked from the Lord Constable’s Tower, down the western road towards the Plaza. Captain Clifford marched briskly with lengthy strides. Macel was moving almost at a jog, and barely keeping pace. Clifford crossed the grassy hexagon at the heart of the plaza, and led Macel into the Tavern.

At this time of day, the Tavern was fairly full. Several tables were taken up by men in fancy suits and extravagant cravats, and women in lace-bodiced dresses with their faces covered in yellow powder. Elsewhere, workmen were eating. The flaxen-haired waitress was scurrying from table to table, setting plates down and removing empty ones.

“The Lieutenant tells me you’re the one who found him.” Captain Clifford set two mugs of steaming coffee down on a table in the corner and sat down across from Macel.

“I am,” Macel nodded.

“Terrible business. Still, it’s always better to have closure. Corporal Bartley was just as dead a week ago, we just didn’t know it.”

Macel said nothing. He wasn’t really sure what he was expected to say to that. He took a sip from his coffee. The taste was bitter, but he didn’t mind it. “I expect Lieutenant Bennett already told you everything I know about it,” he said. “We found him in a tree.”

Captain Clifford nodded. “Yes, she did say. A curious business. Look, Donea, I haven’t brought you here to talk about Corporal Bartley.”

“You haven’t?”

“That was just an excuse to get you away from Lieutenant Bennett. News may not have travelled as far as the Watch yet, but we’ve had a tragedy or two of our own down here in the valley. Captain Mannam is resting with Taléa, may the Gods treat him kindly. I’ve taken over as Lord Constable.”

“So who do we report to now?”

Clifford swallowed a mouthful of coffee. “For the moment, I’m still the expeditionary captain, so I’m still in charge of the forts. For the moment. The General has tasked me with finding a replacement.”

Macel understood. “You’re thinking of promoting Lieutenant Bennett?”

“She’s in consideration,” said Captain Clifford, dropping a cube of sugar into his coffee and stirring it with a little spoon. “Sugar?”

Macel shook his head. “With all due respect, sir, I don’t think Lieutenant Bennett’s ready.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“She’s a joke, Captain. Every night there’s someone on punishment duty because they had a laugh behind her back and she heard. There’s far more as well that she doesn’t hear.” Macel swallowed, wondering how much he should be saying. Captain Clifford was an officer like the Lieutenant, after all.

Captain Clifford didn’t seem to have taken offence from Macel’s words. He smiled. “That’s interesting. Lieutenant Bennett was very proud of her punitive system. She told me it had made her feared.”

“We don’t fear her,” Macel said, wondering whether it would be appropriate to laugh or not. “Only her punishments. I was always taught that a good captain had the respect of the soldiers under him. Nobody respects Lieutenant Bennett.”

“I see.” Captain Clifford’s face said that Macel hadn’t given him the answer he was hoping for. “Truth be told, I wasn’t holding out too much hope for her. There’s a certain decorum she doesn’t seem to have.” Clifford picked at some dirt trapped in his fingernails. “Donea, tell me a bit about yourself.”

“Myself, sir?” That gave Macel cause to hesitate. What interest did Captain Clifford have in him?

Clifford nodded. “Yours is an old name, I believe. The Doneas are old Belaboran blood. A good family with a good history. Your ancestors served as the reeves of Tallaske for a time, if I’m not mistaken.”

Macel shrugged. “I wouldn’t know, Captain. I’ve never looked into it.”

“Then let’s just say they were. It might well be that you’re what the Governor’s after.” Captain Clifford leaned across the table, so close Macel could smell his breath. He tried not to recoil. “Tell me, is there some special lady or gentleman?”

A surprisingly tough question. His first instinct was to say no, a reflex from a lifetime as a bachelor. But Bessily came to his mind. Did she count? He supposed it depended on what Clifford meant by ‘special lady’—and, of course, what Bess thought of him. He’d felt empty since the last time he’d seen her, and felt empty whenever he wasn’t around her, but what difference did that make if she didn’t feel the same way? Love was a two way street. Bess had to agree, and he didn’t imagine she saw anything ‘special’ about their relationship right now. Even the kiss had been a mistake.

The kiss. Things had spiralled since then, and his mind had not had time to take it all in. It really had happened. He was sure of that. Even here in the eatery, the scent of pine needles and sweet geranium musk seemed to waft through, and it smelled of Bess. He smiled at the memory, and his loins began to stir. Think ugly thoughts, and make it go away.

What could he think to take away the memory of the kiss? He’d not wanted it to stop. If only the day had ended there...

They hadn’t even had an argument, not a proper one. Corporal Bartley had impinged on that. Their row had been extinguished just as it reached its peak.

She was right. That was the worst thing. He hadn’t just blown his shot with Bess. He’d blown it by accusing her of lying, when she was telling the truth.

“There is a girl,” he said, his mouth apparently deciding that his brain was taking too long to formulate an answer. “Her name’s Bessily.”

“Bessily.” Captain Clifford sounded out the name. “Uncommon. Something from the stories, if I’m not mistaken. And are the two of you..?”

“She hates me,” said Macel. “Or if she doesn’t, she’s stupid.”

Clifford laughed knowingly. “A lover’s tiff. A pity. The Governor’s on the lookout for young lovers.”

“Would it be out of place for me to ask why, sir?”

Captain Clifford shook his head. “We need to populate the seeding parties. The valley’s beginning to thrive, and a colony is more than just one valley. We’ll be sending groups out to settle elsewhere. Young, capable men and women. You’d get to live life on the frontier, be the founding father of your own home town. Wouldn’t that be something to tell the kids?”

Macel nodded. “And the Governor wants young lovers because he hopes they’ll breed?”

“You’re a smart man, Donea. And if you have marriage papers, I can probably guarantee you leadership of one of these parties. If you and your Bessily patch things up, come and find me.” He leaned back and poured the rest of his coffee down. “Now, hadn’t you best be running along? Lieutenant Bennett’s waiting, after all.”

They walked back to Plateau Watch without the cart to follow. Speke had taken that back as soon as Bartley’s body had been unloaded, despite Lieutenant Bennett’s remonstrations.

She gave up on enforcing formation before they’d got out of the valley. The group became ragtag, clusters of two and three wandering at their own paces while they had conversations. Sam was keen to know what Captain Clifford had had to say.

“Nothing,” Macel assured him. “He just wanted to know about me and Bessily.”

“You and Bessily? Why would Captain Clifford care about something like that?”

Macel shook his head. “If you manage to work that one out, I’ll give you five bushels.”

“You can’t afford five bushels.”

Atop the cliffs, where Speke’s cart had gouged deep ruts in the soft ground beside the lake, they spied a bird. It was a majestic thing, with sleek white plumage and a bill of the brightest crimson. It was perched on a log, pecking at its feathers. Macel had seen other birds on Essegena—not many, but they were definitely there. None were as splendid as this specimen.

Dana Shroot and Craig Armitage had stopped to watch the bird. Shroot was crouched down, sleeves rolled all the way up, tiptoeing towards the bird, which was carrying on with its ablutions wholly oblivious to her. Armitage was hanging back.

“I hate birds,” he moaned, as Macel and Sam reached them. “I’ve been working on Dana for months, and just when I’m finally getting somewhere, she sees this thing.”

“Hold up,” said Sam, “what do you mean by ‘working on Dana’? She’s twice your age.”

“Not to mention she’s popped out three kids already,” Macel added.

Armitage shrugged. “I don’t want kids. It’s risk free.”

“She’s married,” Sam said. “It won’t be risk free when her husband finds out.”

“And even if she wasn’t married, it isn’t exactly a solid foundation for a relationship when you can’t stand the thing she loves the most,” said Macel. Dana Shroot was well known as the birder of the Watch. According to Issy Cutler, her bunkroom was filled with pencil sketches of every bird imaginable. She spent her free time alone, watching the forests with a pair of binoculars.

They were disturbed by a sudden cawing. The aftermath of the scene revealed the full story. The white-feathered bird was flying away, raising hell at Shroot as she sat sprawled on her arse, feathers all over her. She saw them laughing and scowled. When she’d got to her feet, cheeks flushing, Armitage was practically bent double. Shroot strode towards him with her hands on her hips.

“Do I amuse you?” she asked, a feather dangling from the end of her nose.

Armitage nodded.

“Well, at least that’s something I’m good for,” she said. “When you find something you’re good for, come and find me.” And off she went, after Lieutenant Bennett and the others. Armitage ran after her. The two disappeared over the horizon and all was suddenly still. Across the water, a great white structure stood looming over the western shoreline. A pointed tower pierced the skies and scraped the floors of the heavens.

“That’s got to be a church or something,” said Sam. “Have you seen it there before?”

Macel thought back. He couldn’t remember seeing anything, but then it wasn’t often he came this way, and when he did it was normally with a hundred other preoccupations than that specific spot on the other side of the lake. “I can’t say it rings a bell,” he said, “but it must have been there. You couldn’t put a building like that up in a day.”

“I dunno,” Sam shrugged. “There are some damned quick builders here. I swear they put up those first tenements in a week.”

“A week’s longer than a day,” Macel said.

“It’s really something, don’t you think? Almost makes me want to walk across to it.”

Macel glanced sidelong at Sam. “Across the water? You’d drown.”

“Okay, swim then.”

“Can you swim?”

Sam fell silent for a little while, as they turned back to follow Speke’s trail. Macel tried to keep up a respectable pace. If they dawdled for too long, Lieutenant Bennett would definitely come up with some chore for them to do.

Eventually, as the lake passed them by and they moved into the wooded patches around the Watch, Sam spoke again. “I can trust you, can’t I, Macel?”

Macel nodded. “Course.”

“And you won’t say a thing to Delie?”

“Not unless you want me to.”

Sam sighed. “I’m thinking of moving on. I’ve put in a request for one of the seeding parties. Hortense reckons they’ve found a coastline a way to the south. They’re gonna build a fort there and everything. She wants to go, and I think I’m ready to settle down.”

That raised an eyebrow from Macel. “You? Ready to settle down? You’re a reformed man, Sam.”

“It had to happen one day,” said Sam.

“What happened to completing the set?”

“That dream died the day you fell for Bessily,” said Sam. “In any case, it doesn’t seem fun anymore. I had a row with Delie the other day. It got ugly. She doesn’t like that I’ve got my eye on someone else, that’s all it is. Jealousy, plain and simple. But it got me thinking, what do I want? You’re with Bessily more than you’re not, and half the other lads are complete dicks. If I’m not careful, I could get left behind by everyone. Hortense is a nice girl. I could be happy with her.”

“You’ll still visit from time to time?” Macel had stopped walking now. “I’d hate to think I couldn’t have a cider with a good mate every now and then.”

“Of course I will,” said Sam. “And anyway, it won’t be for a few weeks. Longer, perhaps. That’s if we even get approved, and there’s no guarantee there. Just... I know it’ll upset Delie, even if she pretends it doesn’t. I’ll tell her when the time’s right. But not before.”

Macel slapped Sam’s shoulder. “Your secret’s safe with me. One condition.”

“What?”

“Cider in the kindling shed, you and me, the last night before you leave.”

Sam nodded. “As if I’d miss a thing like that.”

A cold breeze was beginning to kick in as they crossed the threshold of Plateau Watch. Wilding was stood at the perimeter line to wave them through, shivering in his boots. “Bennett’s locked herself in her office,” he said, “so you’ll have an easy evening. I wouldn’t mind a scarf or something if you get a moment.”

By the time Macel had visited his bunkroom, Wilding would need more than just a scarf. The cold had turned bitter. A drizzle had started, which threatened to turn into something heavier, and which brought with it a light fog. The Easterwood was completely invisible from the rear door of the Watch.

The yards were empty, both the Watch side and Speke’s part. Macel could see a couple of the stablehands through the stables, trying to herd some wayward horses indoors without much success. None of them looked like Bess. He bore left towards the farriers’ cottage.

It was Catherine Holyoke, Speke’s resident maid-in-training, who came to the door to let Macel in. She had tired, bloodshot eyes, which she hid behind black-framed spectacles. “Bessily is in her bedchamber,” she said, in a bored monotone. “Speke isn’t about, so you needn’t creep around.” Macel thanked her and went on through. It might have a unique exterior, but the cottage’s inside was designed to the same specifications as most of the Unity’s pop-up housing. Once you knew your way around one, you knew around them all, and Macel had lived in Unity housing for a year and a half on Belaboras.

He made his way to the back of the cottage, to the door he knew belonged to Bess, and found it ajar. He could see her inside, gazing out of the window as she fiddled with her hair. A candle on her bedside wafted cloying honeysuckle through the room.

Macel entered unnoticed. Bess was singing softly to herself, and the voice that came out was pure saccharine. “See the maid with hair of gold, by the fire to warm the cold.” It was an old children’s song. Macel hadn’t heard it in a long, long time.

“I love it when you sing,” he said.

Bess jumped. “Macel. I didn’t hear you come in.” Her face was red. “I’m terrible,” she said. “Can’t hold a tune.”

She was wrong on that count. “Your voice is tune enough,” he said. She tittered. Her face had been set hard since she turned around, but he saw it began to soften.

“The song always makes me sad.” Bess turned her back to him, looked out of the window again. Outside, Speke’s stone yard had become a pool. A cross-looking bloke waded through it, shin deep in water. “My mother used to sing it for me, when I was very small. I think she actually cared about me once upon a time. When Elly was born, I had to join in.” Bess chuckled at the memory. “Elly wouldn’t nod off at naptime unless I sang the last verse for her. I was sick of the last verse.”

“See the sun shine on the keep, see the dark old dungeons deep, wave goodbye but please don’t weep, see the castle while you sleep. I know it well.”

Bess span around to look at him again, a grimace on her face. “Mother made me sing it at Elly’s funeral. I hated it. It was such a silly song, and I had to get up there in front of hundreds of relatives and sing it like it wasn’t just for little babies. And for why? Elly wasn’t dead. I told mother, I told her over and over, ‘we can’t bury Elly, she’s still alive,’ until one day she hit me. She called me a liar. Father called me a murderer. They said it was my fault she was dead, and the least I could do was show some contrition.”

Macel said nothing. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say. Silent, he let her words hang in the air. She stifled tears. For a while there was no sound but the heavy sound of rain. Bess pulled shut the curtains, which served only to muffle the noise. And eventually, interminably later, she spoke. It was barely more than a squeak. Her voice was smaller than he’d ever heard it. “It wasn’t me.”

“Well, of course it wasn’t.” Macel moved closer to Bess, still not sure quite where he stood. “You’re not a liar.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and she blinked them away. “I thought you’d given up on me,” she said. “I said things I shouldn’t have done, when I was upset. And when I woke up, you weren’t around. Delie said you weren’t about at breakfast this morning.”

“I had to take Corporal Bartley down to the valley,” said Macel.

“You’re here now.” She sat on the edge of her bed. There was a space beside her, and she beckoned Macel to join her. “I should have been honest with you from the start. How are you supposed to believe what I say when I won’t tell you the truth?”

He sat with her. “Yesterday, before it all went pear-shaped, I wanted to ask you something,” he said. “I was going to ask you to be my girlfriend.”

Bess looked to him. “I wish you had,” she said. “I would have said yes.”

“We don’t have to start from the beginning again, do we?” Something had shifted between them, he could tell. Bess wasn’t sitting as easily in the quiet as she had. How far had that tiff set them back?

She shook her head. “How could we? I can’t even go a day without talking to you. I need you in my life, Macel.”

“You don’t want me to leave and never come back?”

Bess squeezed his hand. “I don’t want to dwell on yesterday. Let’s pretend it never happened.”

“I need to apologise—”

“No.” She cut him off. “I accept your apology. Any apology. Whatever you want to say sorry for, it doesn’t matter. Macel, I’ve been in this room since the morning, and you’re the only person who’s come to see if I’m okay. If I hold a grudge against you, I hold a grudge against the only friend I’ve got. I’d die all alone. That’s not going to happen.”

She leaned against him. Her hair brushed against his arm, settled in his lap. She was lucky it was him she’d met. Others wouldn’t have come to see her now, or ever again. Fentiman would have killed her, if she’d told him she was a Foresleeper.

“Would you follow me?” Bess asked. “If I went away, would you come with me?”

“Went away where?”

“Anywhere. Just me and you, in our own corner of the universe.”

Macel shook his head. “That would make us deserters. It’s a nice idea, but somebody would catch us eventually. And then we’d be for it.”

Bess shook her head. “You would be for it. Speke would never raise a hand to me, I’m like the daughter he never had. I’m not bound to this place, any more than I’m bound to the valley. My spirit hasn’t settled yet.”

“You’d be on your own. I’ve worked my arse off to get a posting like this. I’m not giving it up to be a deserter and run away with a girl who won’t even admit she’s in love with me.”

“I’m not in love with you.”

“See. There you go again, refusing to admit it.”

She batted him away with the back of her hand. “Stop it.”

“There is an option. A seeding party.”

Bess lifted her head. “That sounds dirty.”

“It’s just your mind. In a seeding party, we could go where we like. Settle where we choose. I spoke to Captain Clifford, and he can make the arrangements. The thing is, we’d have to be married. Nothing fancy, we just need the paper.”

Bess looked at Macel, and she smiled at him, a tiny smile confined to the corners of her mouth, and her eyes didn’t give a thing away. Why was the woman so damnably unreadable? Then she spoke. “I don’t want to marry for the sake of a piece of paper. It’ll be when I’m ready, and to a man who loves me. Neither of these things are true.”

“One of them is.” He wasn’t sure what had prompted him to speak. Bessily had been the girl in the bar who reminded him of Flossie Mayborn, that was the only thing to it. And yet... “Bess, when I’m not with you I want to be with you. When I am with you, I don’t want to leave. I don’t really know what love is, but that’s got to be something close.”

She peered at him with eyes shining like beacons. “We didn’t do that kiss properly yesterday, did we?”

He shook his head.

“Let’s fix that,” she grinned. Their lips met for the kiss, and this time she didn’t pull away. Stars were born and died, empires rose and fell, the breadth of space lived its whole life in their shared kiss, and when at last they broke apart Macel was warmed to the bone. “This doesn’t mean I’ll marry you,” said Bess. “I’m not ready for anything like that. But I will be your girlfriend, if you’ll still take me.”

Macel reached for her hand, beaming. “I could never have it any other way.”