Passage - Lois McMaster Bujold [37]
Barr hunched.
Remo mumbled, “Tell t’ truth, blighdit. Can’t be worse f’r you th’n f’r me.”
Barr hunched lower. With a voice that seemed to come from somewhere around his knees, he said, “A flatboat girl invited me. To meet her in the woods back of the Landing.”
Amma Osprey broke the chill silence that followed this with “When and where did this invitation take place?”
“Down at the Bend wharf boat. Yesterday afternoon.” He looked up indignantly into the thick disapproval that now blanketed the room.
“She seemed all excited. I didn’t think she was lying. Well, you know how those farmer girls throw themselves at patrollers, sometimes!”
“You’re supposed to throw them back,” said the skirted woman in a grim voice.
“Tol’ yuh it was a setup,” said Remo, with a black stare at his partner.
“He said, no, it was too obvi’us.”
Barr turned redder around his livid bruises. “I didn’t ask you to come.”
“Y’r muh partner. I’m supposed t’ watch y’r back!”
Barr took a long breath, then let half of it out with his protest unvoiced. “Six of the flatties jumped me in the dark. I wasn’t carrying any weapon. Neither was Remo. The flatties just had fists and sticks, at first. Then when Remo piled in to help me, and things started to turn back our way, one of the flatties pulled a knife on us. Remo had to use his knife to defend himself, it was the only thing we had, except for our bare arms!”
“You drew a primed sharing knife in a common brawl.” Amma Osprey’s voice was flatter than winter ice. And colder. And harder.
“Wisht ’d just used muh arms,” mumbled Remo. And lower, more despairing, “Or muh neck…”
It was all becoming clear to Dag, and he almost wished it weren’t. He eyed the pale bone shards laid accusingly on the plank table. His heart ached for these two young fools. He curled his right arm around himself and waited for the rest.
“And now we come to it,” said Amma. “Why were you wearing your sharing knife at all last night, when you knew you weren’t to go out on patrol till today?”
Remo’s face set in an agony that had nothing to do with its bruises. “I…it was new. I’d jus’ been given it. I was trying t’ get used to it!”
The picture was plain. Dag knew exactly how excited and proud a young patroller entrusted with a first primed knife would be. A pride sobered, frequently, with personal grief and the heart-deep determination to be worthy of such mortal trust. Ow. Ow. Behind their stern facades, he thought the three women shared his pang.
“And then those blighted flatties, those blighted farmers, broke it to pieces,” Barr went on, remembered rage flaring in his voice. “And then we both, well, we both went after them full-out. I don’t even remember getting this.” He touched his smashed hand. “And they broke and ran off. Some of them are still running, for all I know.”
Dag could picture that, too, rage and outrage and appalling guilt boiling up to a loss of control as terrifying, perhaps, for its sufferers as their victims. A patroller should never lose control. Especially not around farmers. It was ingrained, if sometimes not deeply enough. Because when such control failed, everyone was subject to the frightened farmer backlash.
“Your great-grandmother Grayjay didn’t share early for this fate,” said the skirted woman. “She might have had months yet, except that she feared passing in her sleep.”
Remo’s face went from red to white, beneath his bruises. “I know.” His ground-veiling was held so tight, his body was shaking as if with physical effort.
“I was going to take the pieces to your parents, but I think you should.”
Remo’s eyes closed. “Yes, ma’am,” he whispered, dead-voiced. Barr was very quiet.
Amma Osprey gestured at Dag. “You, sir. I gather you were at Possum Landing. You have any information to add to all this?”
Issi stared at the newcomer; she must know he hadn’t crossed north over the river by the ferry since last night. Squinting at his arm harness, she asked, “Do I know you, patroller?”
Dag cleared his throat uncomfortably, and rose. “My apologies, Captain Osprey. I actually