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Still, a rampant murderer stalking the camp will serve as a worthy distraction.
If only it did.
Still grinning, Rebble said to Rance, ‘Yes, it’s a dangerous thing, that speaking up.’
She grimaced. ‘You’re short on opinions, sir? Camp with the cats.’
‘Is that an invitation?’
‘Even you might not survive the night … sir.’
Wareth said, ‘Rance. We need squad leaders.’
‘No.’
Rebble laughed, clapping her hard on the shoulder, enough to make her stumble. ‘You passed the first test, woman. We don’t want them as are hungry for the rank. You got to say no at least five times, and then you’re in.’
‘Once will do, then.’
‘No good. You already said it twenty times in that pretty round skull of yours. You’d be amazed at what old Rebble can hear.’
‘They won’t follow me.’
‘They won’t follow anyone,’ Wareth said, still eyeing her. ‘That’s what makes it an adventure.’
Her sharp glare found him again. ‘Is it true, sir? Did you run?’
Rebble growled under his breath, but Wareth gestured the man to silence, and then said, ‘I did. Ran like an arse-poked hare, with the sword in my hand screaming its outrage.’
Something settled in her face, and whatever it was, Wareth had not expected it. No disgust. No contempt. Then what is it I’m seeing? Rance shrugged. ‘A sword that screams. Next time, I’ll be right there beside you, sir.’
The weapons and armour of the Hust were yet to be distributed. They remained in heavily guarded wagons, the iron moaning day and night. Every now and then one wailed through its burlap mummery, like a child trapped in the jaws of a wolf.
In her eyes he saw recognition.
Killed your baby, did you? Not knowing what to do with the damned thing, as it screamed and screamed. Not knowing how you could cope – not just that day, but for the rest of your life. So you took the easy way out. End the screams, in a tub of soapy water.
But the screams don’t end, do they? Unless, of course, your mind snaps, and it all vanishes inside. As if you weren’t even there. But for all that not-knowing, there remains a bone-deep terror – the terror of one day remembering.
‘Your killer’s killing men who hurt women,’ Rance said. ‘It’s what they all share, these victims. Isn’t it?’ She hesitated and then said, ‘Could be a woman.’
Yes. We think so, too.
‘I think you just joined the investigation,’ Rebble said.
‘What makes you think I want her caught?’ Rance snapped in reply.
‘That’s fine, too,’ Rebble answered, nodding. ‘We’re not much interested either. But the commander wants it all settled.’
‘When the last woman-killer is dead,’ she replied. ‘Then it will settle.’
‘Could be a few hundred men, maybe more,’ said Wareth, studying her, noting the redness of her hands, as if she had recently scalded them, and the guardedness that clenched her face. ‘Too many to lose.’
Rance shook her head. ‘Then tell him how it is, sir.’ Her eyes found his again, and indeed he thought of a cat. ‘Tell him how it’s the men who are cowards who hurt and kill women. Tell him about their small minds, full of dark knots and darting fears. Tell him how they can’t think past that first rush of blind rage, and how satisfying it is to just give up thinking altogether.’ Colour had risen to her face with her words. ‘Tell the commander, sir, that these dead bastards are worthless in any army. They’ll run. They’ll make trouble with us cats, looking for more women to bully and threaten. Better to see them all dead. Sir.’
Wareth glanced across at Rebble, and saw the man grinning, but it was a cold grin that could go in any direction.
Listar stood silent, a few paces away. Wife slayer.
