Alan Campbell - Sea Of Ghosts

It wasn’t the driver at all. The door opened into a small round cell with a concrete floor and walls. A drain occupied a depression in the centre of the floor. The space was bare but for a metal chair and a coil of hosepipe connected to a tap. Torturer Mara waited beside a large soldier in Guild uniform. The man was loosening his shirt collar. In one hand he clutched a wooden baton. Ianthe heard a click behind her.

Aria had closed the door.

‘What is this?’ Ianthe said.

The other girl just lowered her head.

Torturer Mara cleared his throat. ‘It’s the start of a very long process,’ he said. ‘Please take a seat.’

Dear Margaret,

I can’t imagine that this letter will ever find its way to you, which is, in itself, enough to give me the courage to write it. I’ve been lying to you all this time. I never did escape from my Ethugran cell. I don’t know why I lied – it was a moment of weakness and euphoria when everything seemed possible. Over the years it seems as if I have forgotten who I was. Desperation can do that to a man. It looks as if I’ll die in here, and I didn’t want to leave you with false hope. If the truth is crueller, then I’m sorry. You don’t need to send any more money. Mr Swinekicker has taken charge of another jail, and his replacement has more resources at his disposal.

Love,

Alfred

The covered wagon bumped along the forest trail, rocking the four soldiers in the rear to and fro. One of the two men up front slouched over the reins; the other leaned back and warmed his face in the sunlight filtering through the trees. This was old woodland, a tangled landscape of roots and weary oaks draped with veils of eidermoss. Butterflies fluttered across the green verges on either side of the dirt road. Swarms of midges hung in the air like puffs of smoke. Maskelyne closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. He smelled wood smoke long before they reached the checkpoint.

The Guild soldier standing beside the barrier raised his hand.

The wagon creaked to a halt. ‘Lazy day,’ Maskelyne said.

‘Don’t let the sergeant hear you say that,’ the checkpoint guard replied. ‘He’s determined to scrub a promotion out of all this.’

‘And where’s he now?’

The guard grunted. ‘Sleeping. Where you headed?’

‘Eagle One.’

‘What’s in the back?’

‘Disgruntled men,’ Maskelyne replied. ‘Commander Rast volunteered us to help with the search.’

‘Lucky you.’ The guard wandered to the rear of the wagon, lifted the flap, and peered in. ‘I need to check this trunk,’ he said.

Maskelyne called back, ‘You think our man is trying to sneak back in?’

‘I just work here,’ the guard said.

Maskelyne heard the man unbuckle the trunk in the wagon bed and throw back the lid. Then he heard the guard whistle softly. ‘Looks like you fellows have a long night ahead,’ he said.

‘You’re welcome to join us,’ Maskelyne said.

The guard strolled back to the front of the wagon. ‘I don’t like heights,’ he said. ‘You know the strangest thing about gem lanterns. Moths never circle them. Why do you think that is?’

Maskelyne frowned. ‘You know, I can’t say I’ve ever thought about it before. Maybe they’ve just got better things to do?’

The guard laughed. He lifted the barrier and waved them through. ‘Good hunting.’

The driver snapped the reins, and the horses clopped forward. Once they were out of sight of the checkpoint, he turned to Maskelyne and said, ‘Why don’t they circle gem lanterns?’

‘Truthfully, Mr Mellor,’ Maskelyne replied, ‘I don’t know. But I suspect it’s one of those mysteries where the answer either means nothing at all, or else holds one of the fundamental truths of the universe.’

‘Like the keys of the Drowned?’

‘Exactly, Mr Mellor. Everything warrants investigation.’

They passed through two more checkpoints. Closer to the palace, the army encampments became larger and ringed with palisades and razor-wire. Acres of forest had been burned to scrub to make way for the barracks, bunkers and gun emplacements. Guild soldiers drilled on quadrangles of dirt. Steel warmed in patchy sunlight. Pickets watched the road and the skies from wooden towers.

In places, the trail joined others circling the palace. Towards the end of the afternoon, the wagon reached one such junction, where Maskelyne ordered them to leave the Port Awl road and head north. The road became rougher, gouged by heavy use and then filled with rock. Occasionally through breaks in the forest he spied the palace towers and pinnacles rearing up like some great black crown. A quarter of a league beyond the junction the road came to an end.

Here a flat outcrop of rock overlooked the valley to the north. A wooden palisade ringed the whole area, encircling a group of low earthen buildings and a huge cannon set against the very edge of the precipice. As the wagon drew up before the encampment barrier, a soldier came out of a nearby hut and hailed them.

‘If you want the captain,’ he said, ‘he won’t be back till seven.’

Maskelyne climbed down from the wagon and stretched his arms. ‘Commander Rast sent us to assist with the search. We’ll be tramping the road tonight from here to Eagle Three.’

The soldier came over. He was a middle-aged man with a thin moustache and a nervous demeanour. ‘Nobody told me anything about that,’ he said, eyeing Maskelyne’s uniform with distaste. ‘Kind of old to be a lieutenant, aren’t you?’

‘Reserves,’ Maskelyne said. ‘I shouldn’t even be here.’

‘What do you do in town?’

‘Mostly, I keep to myself.’

The soldier looked between Maskelyne and Mellor. ‘I know a lot of Guild reserve men. You two don’t look familiar.’

Maskelyne yawned. ‘Your captain will vouch for us,’ he said. ‘Let us through so we can unload this gear.’

‘What gear?’

He jabbed a thumb towards the back of the wagon. ‘Lanterns.’

The moustached soldier wandered round to the back of the wagon and checked the cargo in the trunk, before returning to the barrier. ‘Nobody and nothing gets in here without advance notice,’ he said. ‘You’ll need to wait until I can verify this with the palace.’

Maskelyne sighed. ‘Where’s your telepath?’

‘She’s with the captain,’ the man replied.

Maskelyne raised his eyebrows. ‘And where would we find them?’

The soldier said nothing.

‘Maybe we should go and ask Commander Rast if he knows where they are?’

The man folded his arms. ‘You don’t think the commander knows what goes on?’

‘What’s your name, soldier?’

He didn’t reply.

Maskelyne turned to Mellor. ‘Turn us around. The commander can get this man’s name from the Haurstaf. Let them ask why Eagle One’s captain leaves one cannon unattended to attend to another.’ He climbed back into the wagon.

The soldier shook his head. He hesitated a moment, then strode over to the barrier and raised it. ‘I want your attachment verified as soon as the telepath gets back. You can put your gear in the store.’ He pointed at one of the earthen buildings, then turned around and marched back towards his hut.

‘You heard him, Mr Mellor,’ Maskelyne said.

The wagon moved forward into the encampment and into the shadow of the gun.

‘The Haurstaf abandoned you,’ Torturer Mara said. ‘Which, I am sorry to say, means you are now under the protection of the Guild military.’ He inclined his head at the large soldier, who lifted his baton and struck Ianthe across the face.

Ianthe fell off her chair and hit the floor. She couldn’t stop sobbing. The soldier picked her up again and shoved her back into the chair. Perspiration covered his broad forehead and dripped down his heavy jaw. He had taken off his jacket and shirt, and his muscles shone like marble under the harsh cell lights.