Red, White and Blue (Book Two of The Powder Trail)

Chapter Twenty Six: Consequences

Jack liked Sam a lot more now that he'd found out about his past with the suicidal shop-girl. It was as though he'd lost some of his bright, Oxford lustre and acquired an extra shadow – a soothing slab of darkness against the bright lights and bare facts that made up the city of Oxford.

He had liked Sergei a lot more after he'd found out about the ten thousand dead new-breeds too. He wondered if perhaps there had to be scandal and murder in a man's past before he could contemplate being friends with them. It was like it had been standing next to Robin at Pandemonium. Sam and Sergei reconciled him to his own barbarity.

And, about three weeks after he had discovered Lily's last letter, Alice's dark secret revealed itself. But this one did nothing to comfort him, or make him like himself more.

It was a damp evening in October, and Sam was escorting him back to the Faculty after a training session with the new recruits, so his senses were unusually sharp, and he was feeling unusually happy. 

He was even doing his best to train Sam, because it was so frustrating to see a man with every natural advantage of size and strength just standing around, wasting them.

"A big man doesn't have to do anything in a fight except be there," he explained, as they made their way down Holywell Street to the Faculty. "Just stay on top of them. Try to make them carry your weight. Box them into a corner. You do that when you're shouting at people – I don't understand why you can't apply the same principles to a fighting scenario. Oh, and try to get it over with quickly. You're going to tire more easily than your opponent, because – well, because you're carrying a lot more weight."

"Thanks," said Sam sourly.

"You fought in the playground when you were a child, didn't you?"

"Actually, I spent most of my time reading," he said, with great dignity.

Jack groaned. It must have been awful. He must have been the biggest man in the library. His lecturers must have flinched back whenever he raised his hand. His chosen subject was about subtlety, and he was the least subtle-looking man on earth. Jack wished they could have swapped bodies in their youth. All that bulk would have been a distinct advantage in his childhood.

When they got into the hall, they could hear voices snaking up from the operating theatre in the basement. It was so unusual to hear raised voices in an Oxford faculty – especially from Alice, who never needed to raise her voice – that Jack half-started down the staircase, thinking some kind of murderer had got in. 

But Sam laid a warning hand on his arm and motioned for silence. He had heard the words 'trial' and 'consequences', and his professional instincts must have kicked in.

"Alice, it's not about consequences! She might have had a life, and now she doesn't! We can't just leave it at that!"

The voice that had uttered this protest was reluctant and wheedling – the sort of voice which suggested its owner was trying to squirm out of something. And yet it was arguing with Alice Darwin, so there was obviously some backbone in it.

"Let me talk to him, then," said Alice's voice. "Going to the police will do more harm than good – you know that."

"What can you say? You can't get her life back!"

"You think they can?"

"He has to take the consequences-"

"Then all of Oxford will have to take the consequences!" she snapped. "Every new-breed in the country will have to take the consequences! Is that what you want?"