The Cursewright's Vow

Chapter 11: Blood on the Old Godsway, Part 4

"SERGEANT CAYLE!"

The Lioness girls never learned how close they came to disaster that night. That angry bellow saved the unfortunate Sergeant, and perhaps some of them as well. Cayle's face whitened and he whirled around, immediately standing straight.

In the doorway stood a tall woman in a long gray coat, bearing a silver badge on one breast and weapons at her hips. Her red hair was pulled back into a severe knot, slightly disheveled from a hard gallop down the Old Godsway. Selene was forever envious of that hair, for the Captain-Commander had been born with it rather than needing to rinse it with tula berries every few months. But at that moment she was happier to see Mielle Thalia than she had ever been. Every Lioness girl knew who she was. The Captain had visited Ammas's temple on several occasions, sometimes for advice, sometimes because he had caused trouble. None of them had ever seen her this furious.

The Captain-Commander stormed in, grabbed the Sergeant by the scruff of the neck, and dragged him out of the Prideful Lioness, past the cheery warmth of the porch and into the street. After a second's stunned silence, most of the room followed, including Carala, the wolf sinking back into its slumber. Drusis plunged through them all, hectoring them to let him pass, trying to get the chattering girls under control. Finally he settled for keeping them from traveling beyond the railing of the Lioness's porch. They seemed satisfied with this, and watched what happened next like the avid audience of a Vilais opera.

The Old Godsway was fuller than it had been only a few minutes ago, with several more horses and guards pacing about the area. Torches and lanterns were aloft. Swords glittered in the firelight. A covered cart was parked by Lena's body, and Carala was grateful to see someone, maybe Ammas, had covered her with a sheet. There were additional figures milling about the portico of the temple next door, but Carala couldn't make out who they were. Every eye was fixed on Captain-Commander Thalia and Sergeant Cayle.

"Sergeant," growled the Captain as she stalked around him in a tight circle, her hands crossed at the small of her back, one clutching the handle of her quirt. "Would you mind showing me the writ of approval signed by a member of the Argent Council that authorized you to use force in the interrogation of a witness?"

Sergeant Cayle was standing at full attention, staring straight ahead, his face red as a beet. "I -- I don't have one."

"I didn't hear you, Sergeant."

"I don't have one, Captain!"

"No, I didn't think you did, since that would contradict my explicit orders. Remind me, Sergeant Cayle, did I give you dispensation to use force in questioning this witness?"

"You did not, Captain!"

"No, I thought not. Tell me, Sergeant Cayle," Captain Thalia was now standing directly across from the Sergeant, who was now drenched with sweat. She did not have to crane her neck to look him in the eye. "Have you ever been struck in anger when you couldn't fight back?"

"I -- I don't think so, Captain."

Captain Thalia moved too fast for Carala's eye to follow. The quirt lashed out and cracked so hard against Sergeant Cayle's face that the snakelike slap echoed across the whole Old Godsway. From the scattered knots of observers not a sound could be heard. Sergeant Cayle gasped, one hand going to the side of his face.

"How does it feel, Sergeant?"

The quirt descended on his face again, the other cheek now, Captain Thalia's lips pressed together in a thin white line. Sergeant Cayle stumbled backward.

"I asked you how does it feel, Sergeant?"

The Captain's arm arced gracefully, and the quirt caught the Sergeant in the throat. He made a strangled cry, blood dripping through the fingers pressed to his cheek.

"How does it feel, Sergeant?"

Crack. Now on his left cheek again. Blood flew in a sprinkle. The Sergeant mewled like a half-dead alleycat and fell to his knees, naked terror in his eyes as he cowered before the enraged Captain.

"Sergeant Cayle, if you don't want me to flay the skin from your body, you will give me an answer. How does it feel?"

"It hurts, it hurts, Captain, please -- "

"That will do." Thalia wiped the bloodied tip of the quirt on Cayle's jerkin and stowed it at her waist. "I hope you've enjoyed your time as a non-commissioned officer. You are demoted to patrol status. Morgue duty until Yearsend. From now on you report to Irgrin unless some unlucky Sergeant needs you in the street and is generous enough to ask for you. I don't want to see your face anywhere near the command offices. Your off-duty pass to the brothels is revoked. I ought to cut off your drink, but I suppose you need something to keep yourself occupied. Is that all understood, Patrolman Cayle?"

"Y -- yes, Captain." His words were slurred and Carala wondered if he had lost some teeth.

"Good. You can start by helping Poul load that girl into the morgue cart. Oh, and Cayle?"

The bloodied guardsman was painfully getting to his feet. The expression on his face as he gave his commanding officer his attention was both ashamed and terrified.

"If Poul tells me you disrespected her remains in any way, you'll personally learn what that feels like, too. Understood, Patrolman?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Hop to it, then." With a final look of disgust at the broken Cayle, Captain Thalia turned toward the Lioness's porch, offering Carala a strangely reassuring smile. Carala didn't shrink back, but gods knew she was tempted. This was the sort of officer her father would have found a high commission for without a second thought. That was not always a complimentary thing. "Young lady, on behalf of the Argent Brand and my own personal command, I apologize for this patrolman's actions."

"That -- that is all right, Captain-Commander."

Thalia studied her, something flickering in her eyes. The corner of her mouth twitched for a moment. When she spoke, though, it was as crisp as ever, albeit with a warmth that had certainly not been directed at Cayle. "May I take a closer look at your face?"

Carala bit her lip and nodded. The fingers that touched her cheek, gloved in supple kid leather, were extraordinarily gentle. Thalia frowned as she inspected the marks Cayle had left on her skin. "I think you may bruise rather colorfully, especially on the left here, but if I know anything from tavern brawls you haven't suffered any permanent injury." Thalia stepped back, regarding Carala with bright, inquisitive eyes. "Miss, how much would you say this injury would affect your wages? Say, if you bruised for a week? I can reimburse you out of Patrolman Cayle's pay."

Carala stammered. "I -- I really couldn't say, Captain-Commander. I do not think it would be necessary to do that."

Thalia nodded. "Well, if you do suffer some loss of income, ask a city guard to take you to me. Or to pass a message to me. I understand if you aren't interested in visiting Titansgrave." Lacing her hands at the small of her back again, Thalia turned away, now surveying the old Temple of the Graces and the men arrayed on its portico. One of them raised a hand in greeting. She did not return it and did not in fact even acknowledge this man until she was standing directly over him, glaring down into unafraid gray eyes, glittering above a smeary black paste.