Soul of the Fire

Fitch nodded after looking where his friend pointed. Morley moved off to the black maw of the open service doors while Fitch squatted down behind some barrels stacked to the side of the loading dock. Fitch recalled earlier in the day seeing Brownie standing with the butcher's cart across the way. Fitch wiped the palms of his hands on his trousers. It had been a day of important events.

They'd talked about it on the way over, and Morley felt the same way; as much as the idea of it had Fitch's heart hammering against his ribs, there was no way he was going to let Dalton Campbell's faith in him be spoiled. Morley thought the same.

The music coming from the open windows across the lawn-strings and horns and a harp-was filling his head with purpose, swelling his chest with pride to be chosen by Dalton Campbell.

The Minister-the future Sovereign-had to be protected.

Quietly, with light steps, she climbed the four steps up onto the dock. In the dim light, she looked around at the deep shadows, stretching her neck to peer about. Fitch swallowed at how good-looking she was. She was older, but she was a looker. He'd never looked so long and hard at an Ander lady as he did at her.

Morley made his voice come out deep in order to sound older.

"Claudine Winthrop?"

She wheeled expectantly toward Fitch's friend, standing in the dark doorway. "I'm Claudine Winthrop," she whispered. "You received my message, then?"

"Yes," Morley said.

"Thank the Creator. Director Linscott, it's important I speak with you about Minister Chanboor. He pretends to uphold Anderith culture, but he is the worst example we could have in his post, or any other. Before you consider his name for a future Sovereign, you must hear of his corruption. The pig forced himself on me-raped me. But that is only the beginning of it. It gets worse. For the sake of our people, you must hear my words."

Fitch watched as she stood with the soft yellow light from the windows falling across her pretty face. Dalton Campbell hadn't said she was going to be so pretty. She was older, of course, and so not someone he ordinarily thought of as pretty. It surprised him to realize he was thinking of someone so old-she looked almost thirty-as attractive. He took a slow, silent breath, trying to tighten his resolve. But he couldn't help staring at what she wore, or more accurately, at where she wasn't wearing anything.

Fitch recalled the two women in the stairwell talking about such dresses as the one Claudine Winthrop wore now. Fitch had never seen so much of a woman's breasts. The way they heaved as she wrung her hands had his eyes popping.

"Won't you come out?" she asked in a whisper toward the darkness where Morley waited. "Please? I'm frightened."

Fitch suddenly realized he was supposed to be doing his part. He sneaked out from behind the barrels, taking careful steps so she wouldn't hear him coming.

His stomach felt like it was in a knot. He had to wipe the sweat out of his eyes in order to see. He tried to breathe calmly, but his heart seemed to have a mind of its own. He had to do this. But, dear spirits, he was more than afraid.

"Director Linscott?" she whispered toward Morley.

Fitch snatched her elbows and wrenched her arms behind her back. She gasped. He was surprised at how easy it was for him to keep her arms pinned behind her as she struggled with all her might. She was confused and startled. Morley shot out from the dark, once he saw that Fitch had her.

Before she could get much of a scream out, Morley slugged her in the gut as hard as he could. The powerful blow nearly knocked both her and Fitch from their feet.

Claudine Winthrop doubled over, vomit spewing all over the dock. Fitch let go of her arms. She crossed them over her middle as she went to her knees, heaving violently. Both he and Morley stepped back as it splashed the dock and her dress, but they weren't about to get more than an arm's length away from her.

After a few long convulsions, she straightened, seeming to have finished, and tried to get to her feet as she struggled and gasped for breath. Morley lifted her and spun her around. With his powerful grip, he locked her arms behind her back.

Fitch knew this was his chance to prove himself. This was his chance to protect the Minister. This was his chance to make Dalton Campbell proud.

Fitch punched her in the stomach as hard as he dared.

He'd never punched anyone before, except his friends, and that was only in fun. Never like this, not for real, not deliberately to hurt someone. Her middle was small, and soft. He could see how much his fist had hurt her.

It made him feel sick. Made him feel like throwing up, too. This was the violent way his Haken ancestors behaved. This was what was so terrible about them. About him.

Her eyes were wide with terror as she tried over and over to suck in a breath, but couldn't seem to. She fought desperately to get her wind as her eyes fixed on him, like a hog watching the butcher. Like her Ander ancestors used to watch his.