Soul of the Fire

When they were out of sight of the city and then some, they cut off the road to the right, through the wheat field. They wanted to be off the road in case someone came along. They didn't want to have a coach unexpectedly come upon them. They didn't want to have to drop her and run for it. Dalton Campbell would not like to hear that they messed up.

When they'd gone over a gentle swell in the land, to where they figured they were out of sight and out of earshot, they finally dumped her on the ground. She cried out with muffled screams against the gag. In the moonlight Fitch could see her wide eyes, like a hog at butcher.

Fitch panted, less from exertion than from his dread at what they were doing. His heart pounded in his ears and thumped against his chest. He could feel his knees trembling.

Morley lifted Claudine Winthrop to her feet and held her up from behind.

"I warned you," Fitch said. "Are you stupid? I warned you not to ever again tell anyone your treasonous accusations against our Minister of Culture. It's a lie that the Minister raped you, and you said you'd stop saying it, and now you've broken your word."

She was shaking her head vigorously. That she was trying to deny it only made Fitch more determined.

"I told you not to say those vile lies about our Minister of Culture! You said you wouldn't! You told me you wouldn't. Now you've gone flapping your tongue again with those same hateful lies."

"You tell her, Fitch," one of the other men said.

"That's right. Fitch is right," another said.

"You gave her a chance," still another said.

Several of the men clapped Fitch on the back. It made him feel good that they were proud of him. It made him feel important.

She shook her head. Her brow was bunched to a knot of skin in the middle.

"They're all right," Morley said as he shook her. "I was there. I heard him tell you. You should have done what you was told. Fitch gave you a chance, he did."

She frantically tried to talk against the gag. Fitch yanked it down below her chin.

"No! I never did! I swear, sir! I never said anything after you told me not to! I swear! Please! You have to believe me-I wouldn't tell anyone-not after you told me to keep quiet-I wouldn't-I didn't!"

"You did!" Fitch's fists balled into tight knots. "Master Campbell told us you did. Are you now calling Master Campbell a liar?"

She shook her head. "No! Please, sir, you must believe me!" She started to sob. "Please sir, I did as you said."

Fitch was enraged to hear her deny it. He had warned her. He had given her a chance. Master Campbell had given her a chance, and she had continued with her treason.

Even her calling him «sir» didn't bring him much delight. But the men behind urging him on did.

Fitch didn't want to hear any more of her lies. "I told you to keep your mouth shut! You didn't!"

"I did," she said as she wept, hanging in Morley's arms. "I did. Please, I told no one anything. I never told-"

Hard as he could, Fitch slammed his fist square into her face. Straight in. All his might. He felt bone snap.

The blow stung his fist, but it was only a far-off pain. Great gouts of blood bloomed across her face in lurid gushes.

"Good one, Fitch!" Morley called out, staggered a step by the blow. Other men agreed. "Give it to her again!"

Feeling pride at the praise, Fitch let the rage go wild. He cocked his arm. She was trying to harm Dalton Campbell and the Minister-the future Sovereign. He liberated his anger at this Ander woman.

His second blow to her face tumbled her out of Morley's grip. She crashed to her side on the ground. Fitch could see her jaw was unhinged. He couldn't recognize her face, what with the way her nose was flattened and with all the blood.

It was shocking, in a distant sort of way, like he was watching someone else doing it.

Like a pack of dogs, the rest of the men were on her. Morley was the strongest, and fierce. They lifted her. They all seemed to be punching her at once. Her head snapped one way and then the other. She doubled over from punches in the gut. The men walloped her in the kidneys. Blow after blow rained down, driving her from the arms that were holding her up, pummeling her to the ground.

Once she was down, they all started kicking her. Morley kicked the back of her head. Another man stomped down on the side of it. Others kicked her body so hard it lifted her from the ground, or rolled this way and that. The sounds of the blows, hollow and sharp, almost drowned out the grunts of effort.

Fitch, landing a kick in her ribs, seemed to be in some quiet place, watching the whole thing. It disgusted him, but it excited him at the same time. He was part of something important, with other good men, doing important work for Dalton Campbell and the Minister of Culture-the future Sovereign.

But a part of him was sickened by what was happening. A part of him wanted to run crying from what was happening. A part of him wished they had never found her coming out of that building.