Chapter 6 #2
“I put down a monster,” he said. “Promptly. There was no time to observe the niceties and stop by your office for a quick chat.”
“A monster on the prowl is not the same thing as a social visit,” she snapped.
“Your petty charges won’t be worth the paper they’re written on. The military handles its own matters.”
Before her better judgment could stop her, she drew a dagger and stepped in close. The tip of the blade pressed against the location of his alleged heart. “Just like it handled Jollett eleven years ago?” she asked.
“This is tiresome. It was handled.”
“You led me to believe that Jollett was dead. Eleven years I believed that the monster that killed my cousin had met justice. You said he wouldn’t hang because of your gentleman’s agreement but he was too dangerous to live.”
Pearson pushed the blade away, never breaking eye contact with her. “It was beyond my control. My superiors decided he was too valuable to execute.”
“You were a captain then but you’re a major now. You could have done something.”
“Execute a man with no other offenses? Don’t be barbaric.”
Nina wanted to howl in frustration. Pearson always managed to turn her arguments against her and slither away.
The military handled its own infractions.
They dealt with the soldiers causing mayhem in her town.
The most she could ever manage was to lock any troublemakers up overnight and release them in the morning when the military police arrived.
Pearson was a slippery fuck and she was sick of it.
“Ten years,” she said. “You said the contract was for ten years and yet here he is, still indentured and in chains.”
His lips tugged into a near smile and it annoyed her tremendously that this arrogant, lowdown snake, this thorn in her side and pain in her ass, managed to look moderately attractive despite the blood loss and the pain.
“Why, Sheriff, are you advocating for Jollett?”
“I’m saying you and the Nexus Planetary Forces are hypocrites,” she hissed. “I’m saying that a contract that doesn’t end is no better than slavery.”
“He was paid a fair wage.”
“But could he leave?” She didn’t wait for Pearson to respond because she knew the answer. Of course Jollett was unable to leave. “I’m saying that Jollett may have been in the jails, but he signed a contract.”
“He was a prisoner then and he was a prisoner now. I fail to see the hypocrisy in that.”
“The NPF had an obligation to properly contain a newly transformed monster but they failed. There’s hypocrisy. A man died?—”
“That’s rather cool of you, Sheriff. It was your cousin who died.”
The blade was back, this time at his throat. With very little pressure, red droplets beading around the edge.
“Is that his knife?” Pearson asked, his voice cool and calm. “While I appreciate the opportunity to get a closer inspection of such a fine artifact, I must protest. This is too close.”
“Slippery bastard,” Nina muttered, stepping back. She sheathed the blade. The last thing she needed was to impulsively murder the major.
Too much paperwork.
“Lucas’ blood is on your hands,” she said. “From negligence or malice, I don’t know. That beast needed to be destroyed. The military is not above that regulation and you know it—that’s why you hid it for eleven fucking years.”
“What’s done is done.”
Pierre and Hal arrived with the cart, preventing her from continuing the argument.
There was no point in it. No number of words would ever get Pearson to admit to wrongdoing.
Pearson had all the countenance of a thundercloud as the body was removed, as if ready to erupt into fresh protest, but the presence of the large green orc made him hold his tongue.
It gladdened her heart. He was immensely unhappy about losing possession of the body and would likely face disciplinary actions.
Moving stiffly, Pearson fetched his horse which had meandered into a nearby alley.
That also gladdened her heart.
“Does the Nexus Planetary Forces wish for his ashes to be returned?” Nina asked. She felt not a modicum of remorse for sounding petulant as she named the military.
“Dispose of them as you see fit.” Pearson stroked the horse’s neck, as if it were nervous and not, in fact, completely unbothered by the gunfire. With a groan, he heaved himself into the saddle.
He almost sounded human.
“We’re done here,” she said. “Try not to die, Pearson. I’m not in the mood for the paperwork.”
Anthony
Impertinent.
Disrespectful.
Ungrateful.
The sheriff had a certain charm when her spirits were high—he appreciated the color in her cheeks and the gleam in her eyes—but she had the manners of a fishmonger.
Stationed at Sweetwater Point for fifteen years and he still had not grown accustomed to the rough nature of the inhabitants.
Unpolished. They had no pretenses and put on no airs. Typically, he found it refreshing. Today, Sheriff Navarre looked at him as if he were beneath his touch and called him a hypocrite. He singlehandedly took down a monster and it did not signify.
Vexing woman.
Anthony slumped in the saddle. Gripping the pommel to prevent himself from falling was a less than ideal way to realize that he should have let Dr. Bell stitch him up.
The physician’s qualifications were as dubious as a…
well, his mind drew a blank. A fish wearing a sweater, or something.
It didn’t matter. What did matter was the town’s doctor had a well-deserved reputation for being a drunk and Anthony valued his health too much to risk the doctor’s care.
By insisting that the base’s physician stitch him up, the injury would have to be reported.
Reporting Jollett’s escape and subsequent death was unavoidable, but no one needed to know about Anthony’s little scratch.
That could mean mandatory leave while he recuperated—the least horrible option—or increased pressure to retire.
The hints had not been subtle. Anthony appreciated that he was more gray than not.
His hip ached after a day in the saddle and the less said about his knees, the better.
Retirement loomed over him, unavoidable and inescapable.
He wasn’t opposed to the concept—aching hips and his unspeakable knees had that effect—but he simply had no idea what to do with himself once he finally retired.
Enjoy himself before the military completely destroyed his body, he supposed.
But where? He would not return to Saltwick, ancestry seat or not. He joined the military at eighteen to escape that dreadful house and he certainly would not be returning in his advancing years.
Stay in Sweetwater Point? Set up a house in Founding? Perhaps a village in the east. After decades of living in the wild, untamed West Lands, the neat and orderly terraformed eastern region seemed dull.
Retirement was not the worst thing that could happen. He could transform and be forced to serve out his days in the regiment as a monster.
It didn’t warrant contemplating. He’d bribe the doctor on duty with a very nice bottle of whiskey to keep it off the books and the matter would be brought to a satisfactory conclusion.
Sheriff Navarre was beyond reproach, of course. She would never entertain the notion of bribery, much less have a stockpile of liquor expressly.
He snorted with bitterness.
She was a beacon of order in a chaotic world. She was morally upright and ethical in all things. A lie never so much as passed her lips.
At least, that’s how she acted.
Nina had no idea what he’d done for her over the years. After the initial incident with Jollett, he updated the protocols for new conscripts. The quality of the chains was increased. Cages were reinforced. No newly turned monster had escaped since his improvements.
Did she thank him for the years of peace? No. She was focused on a lie of omission, which was hardly a lie. He said the situation would be handled. It had been handled. Not in the manner she wanted, but he had warned her of that probability.
He had not wanted to keep Jollett in his company. The man, whether in monstrous form or masquerading as a man, was unpredictable. Anthony had warned his Colonel Ashcroft and General Harper that Jollett could not be relied upon and only followed orders that were convenient for him.
If anyone else behaved in such a manner, they’d have been drummed out after the first infraction. Yet the powers that be were more concerned with having monstrous weapons than quality soldiers. Specifically, General Harper.
It was all about the Aerie. The fortress had been built at the time of initial colonialization, before the first change and before technology failed.
The vampire Draven promptly seized the mountain fortress and had held it for two hundred years.
General Harper had been so focused on taking the Aerie back that nothing but an army of monsters would do.
The Aerie had fallen two years ago. The pressure to keep the monsters in the military’s rank had not eased.
Rather than finding a treasure trove of old -world technology, they found broken junk from Earth.
Records, books, and journals from the time of colonization were of interest to academia, but Harper did not care for history.
Draven had been captured, then escaped, which was classified. The military had a terrible habit of losing their captives. The general population was under the impression that Draven was dead and the NPF wanted to keep it that way.
Excuses. Sheriff Navarre’s accusations were correct about that. She was correct about many things.
The medallion burned against his chest. Anthony had worn it his entire life and not once had it burned.
With a gloved hand, he fumbled through the layers of clothing to reach the silver medallion and yanked. The chain snapped.
Useless thing.
His parents gave him that medal as a child. It bore the gruesome face of a finfolk, the half-man, half-fish creatures that bewitched people with music. Family tradition, they said, to guard against the monsters.
It was nothing more than an old Earth superstition. He couldn’t explain why he had worn it for so long other than habit. Most days he didn’t even feel the medal.
Until today.
Until the bite.
He had lied to the sheriff. Jollett ambushed him, latching onto his forearm. He had used the stock end of the shotgun to hit Jollett on the snout, forcing the beast to release his arm. The bite wasn’t deep but it had pierced through his greatcoat and clothing to the skin underneath.
Burning meant nothing. It was too soon after exposure to possibly speculate that Anthony had been cursed. The normal timeframe was an entire season’s cycle, not minutes.
It could be the family curse.
No. There was no such thing. As a child, no one spoke of the curse yet it lingered in every room and was present at every family gathering.
Family relations had to go away for their nerves and were never seen again.
There were whispers about a hedonistic uncle who had to be stopped before he hurt someone of consequence.
His cousin Madeline became unexpectedly ill.
A physician visited the house before she vanished altogether.
No one mentioned Madeline again, not even her twin, Roderick.
Year after year, the gatherings at Saltwick had grown smaller as family members disappeared. It was the family curse, his mother warned. Pearsons were doomed. Too greedy, too arrogant, and too full of vice.
As a child, he believed it. The family crypt radiated malice. The shadows seemed hungry, ready to devour the youngest generation.
The specifics of the curse? Impossible to say. Where this curse came from or why it had been afflicted upon an entire bloodline, no one knew.
That was the thing with superstition. It never held up under a proper examination.
And yet, despite his doubts and skepticism, he still wore the saint’s medal.
With a growl, he stuffed the medallion into the greatcoat’s inner pocket. He refused to believe in family curses or superstitions.
Nina
Nina wrapped a scarf around her face to block out the smoke. The wind inconsiderately shifted direction, sending smoke her way. No part of her wanted to breathe that in.
Aunt Prudy clutched a handkerchief to her lips and sobbed.
Ben Jollett’s body burned. Finally, eleven years later. It wasn’t a pleasant scene, but it was necessary.
This should be the end of it, but it just reopened all the hurt and guilt over Lucas’ death.
She wasn’t the same twenty-three-year-old fresh recruit.
Her job became her sole focus. She was good at it.
Better than good. Excellent. She mastered several weapons.
She was proficient in hand-to-hand fighting.
No one—and certainly no monster—would ever catch her short again.
Despite all this, she still felt like that twenty-three-year-old girl again, vulnerable and blaming herself because she wasn’t good enough or fast enough.
Damn him for making her feel this way.
She’d never forgive Pearson.