14
BENE
THE UNIVERSITY OF GERICH ASSET RECOVERY TEAM
EASTERN RENDEROS
NEAR MUMOLO
Mumolo hadn’t just been hit. No, the town had been smashed and broken, shattered worse than any place Bene had seen so far. And there were hundreds, maybe thousands, of refugees. He watched them struggling past, weighed down by heavy sacks and wicker baskets filled to overflowing. A lucky few had donkeys to carry their gear, or pushed rickety handcarts. Many were empty handed. He’d thought he was made of sterner stuff, but it was hard to look at their dirty, tear-stained faces without his own eyes moistening in sympathy. None of them had a clue what was happening, or why.
They were just a few miles out of town, but with the only way in blocked by the relentless human tide, the Scouts could go no further. A handful of outriders were away looking for an alternate route in, but the formerly frozen ground had thawed and the mud was worryingly deep in places. Tonneson had called a halt, ordering his soldiers to unhitch the wagons and circle them off the road. All their precious supplies, cattle, horses and non-combat personnel were now locked inside that protective ring.
“These wretches may get desperate,” the colonel told his men, eyeing the refugees with suspicion. “Stay close to the wagons. Let them see your weapons.”
Khela didn’t like that, not a bit. “Don’t call them wretches! How horribly callous of you! These poor people deserve our sympathy!”
Tonneson looked at her, but didn’t reply. “If common sense doesn’t prevail and they move in,” he went on to say, “they’re to be given no warning. Just fuck them up. No crossbows, mind you. Under no circumstances are you to waste precious bolts on this rabble.”
“That’s disgusting!” shouted Khela, but no one was listening. She glared sulkily at the soldiers as they took up positions on the wagons.
Bene felt bad about it, but he knew Tonneson was right. Making generalisations about a people wasn’t something he’d thought he’d find himself doing, but unfortunately the Renderosi had proven time and again that they couldn’t be trusted. Mostly they’d turned out to fit the stereotype: dangerous, nasty. Opportunists who took whatever you offered, and then followed up by trying to seize whatever else you had. If the Scouts let their guard down for even a moment, these folk would waste no time in taking advantage. So, as horrible as it sounded, they simply couldn’t be helped. Better to keep them at arm’s length.
Khela didn’t agree. In her mind, all Renderosi were victims. Their behaviour was, as she put it, ‘a natural consequence of Kanosh’s centuries of colonialism and historic injustice.’ They were sometimes wild, she conceded, but didn’t know any better because they had never been treated with compassion. Of course, Khela’s point of view was not only far too simplistic, it was historically inaccurate to the point of ridiculousness. Had it not been a waste of breath, he’d have told her how full of shit she was. That, and he also wanted to keep alive the possibility of fucking her again at some point in the future. He felt a bit slimy for it, but he grinned and gave her a hearty thumbs-up. She replied by walking away.
The morning wore on, and Bene received a summons from Roaoo, who wanted help to interview a hand-picked selection of Mumolo’s most unfortunate. Khela was also invited.
The enterprise was nothing short of a total disaster. Typical Renderosi, the Mumolonians (or whatever their plural form was) insisted that their predicament was the will of the gods. Roaoo, like the vast majority of Kanoshians, was a firm atheist. A man lacking patience at the best of times, he became increasingly unable to deal with their superstitious talk. And so, about a half dozen interviews in, he angrily declared the endeavour a colossal waste of time and refused to continue.
Khela did her best to encourage him not to give up. “They’re just frightened, magister,” she said. “They’ve been through an incredibly traumatic experience.”
“Oh, I quite agree,” said the magister.
“Well then let’s do what we can for them. They desperately need our help.”
“No doubt. But they’re beyond help, Rusen.”
Bene cleared his throat surreptitiously. It was never a good sign when Roaoo started calling people by their last name. Khela, in particular.
“Well,” said Khela, not heeding his warning, “I can’t say I agree with that.”
Roaoo stared. “No? What I asked of these people was a straightforward account of their experiences. When I ask for a straightforward account of something, Rusen, that is what I expect to be given! Not fanciful tales. Not speculation. Not the mindless regurgitation of parables or of so-called prophecy. How does any of that help us?”
Khela became flustered. “But you can’t blame them, sir. They’re poor. They don’t know any better.”
Bene rolled his eyes but dared not say anything. Some people had to learn things the hard way.
“I swear to you,” said Roaoo with a scowl, “if I’d had to listen to anyone say it was the gods’ punishment for such-and-such a sin one more time, I don’t know what I’d have done.”
“Well it’s what they believe. Maybe we could just give them some of our supplies? You know, a little bit of food and medicine and maybe also some–”
“I’m not giving them a thing!” Roaoo turned on her, his voice like a razor. “And why do you insist on making excuses for them, Rusen? There are no gods!” He narrowed his eyes. “Or have you suddenly become a believer?”
Khela swallowed. “Well no, but–”
“I should hope not! I mean, honestly? Even if gods existed, why would they give a crap about us? They’re so much more powerful than we are, apparently, and yet they need us for... what, exactly? Not a thing! We’re insects. We’re nothing.” He glanced at the refugees streaming out of Mumolo. “And they’re lower still.”
“That’s not fair, sir.” Was she pouting? “They’re people, just like us. And it’s not really our place to judge them either, is it? I know I wouldn’t want–”
But Roaoo wasn’t in the mood to debate anything. “Yes, Rusen,” he said. “It is our place to judge them. Come on, the Cloud Spirits or whatever it is they believe in? Sending down a plague because you smiled at someone from the wrong village or built your altar out of wood instead of stone? Does that sound rational to you? Pah! It’s indescribably stupid! Comical. Farcical. Superstitious bullshit that I have no patience for, and neither should you.”
“I suppose, but–”
Roaoo gave her a fierce look. “No buts! You know what your problem is, Rusen? I’ll tell you–you possess far too much empathy than is good for you, that’s what.”
Khela jerked her head back. “What? Do I?”
“Yes. You do.”
“All I wanted to do was show solidarity with these people, that’s all.”
“Solidarity? Hah!”
“Yes. What’s wrong with that?”
Roaoo cackled grimly. “Solidarity? Oh dear. We have nothing in common with these animals, girl.”
“That’s unfair!” said Khela. “They’re not animals. They’re people like you and me, and–”
“No,” said Roaoo, holding up a hand. “They’re not like you and me, and I can prove it.”
“All right?”
“You do know they’ve been sacrificing people to these gods of theirs, don’t you?”
That gave Khela pause. “They’re what?”
“They’ve been sacrificing people, Rusen. To their gods. What do you think about that?”
“Human sacrifices?” said Khela, shaking her head. “No. I don’t believe that.”
“You think I’m lying? Why not ask your special friend the colonel to show you, then? Why, just yesterday while his crew were out looking at cracks or tracks or some such thing, one of them stumbled across a rather extraordinary scene. In a clearing, I think he said. Four people nailed to an oak tree. Or was it an ash? I forget.”
“Nailed?” asked Bene. This was his first time hearing about the incident.
Roaoo looked at him. “Indeed. Iron spikes, would you believe, pounded clean through their heads?” He made hammering motions with his hand.
“Yuck.”
“Oh,” said Khela. “Oh, no. That’s... ghastly.”
“Indeed,” said Roaoo, smoothing down the front of his robe. “It was quite a gruesome sight, or so I’m told. Two men, a woman and a small child. Oh, and they were just the latest offerings. There were quite a few old skulls on that tree, apparently.”
Khela made a face. “That’s... awful!”
“It’s the first thing Renderosi do when they find themselves in a real bind. Or didn’t you know?”
“I, uh. No. I thought it was just stories.”
“Of course, they don’t know any better, do they?” The magister smiled. “And they have just been through an incredibly traumatic experience. Most likely, though, it’s a direct product of centuries of Kanoshian colonialism and historic injustice. Don’t you think?”
Bene tried to contain his laughter and failed.
“Augh,” said Khela, clearly distraught. She’d never looked so insulted and embarrassed.
“Anyway,” said Roaoo with a sigh. “I must now run along. Much to do, much to do.”
“Yes, magister,” said Bene. “I’ll tell anyone still waiting to be interviewed that we no longer require their services.”
“Yes. Good. Do that.”
Bene and Khela watched him leave, neither of them saying anything. Bene wondered if she was going to burst into tears. Eventually she did. He fought the urge to put his arms around her, remembering how the last time he’d tried to console her about something similar she had yelled at him for being patronising. Reluctantly, he left.
He wandered amongst the wagons until he found Agbo. The poor girl was up on one of the bigger carts, leaning against the side, anxiously watching the human tide as it rolled by. The desperate look on her face suggested she had yet to spot a friend or relative.
He clambered up to join her. “Hello, Agbo,” he said.
“Hello.” Agbo turned briefly to look at him. Her nose and cheeks were still bruised, and her eyes were red and puffy from crying.
“Whoever you’re looking for, they’ll probably see you long before you see them.”
“Why don’t you just hump her and be done with it?” said Khela, her voice coming from right behind him.
Bene nearly jumped out of his skin. “Shit, Khela! I didn’t know you were following me. Also, what the fuck?”
“You heard me.” Her foul mood would probably last for days yet.
When emotion got the better of her, Khela had a tendency to become inarticulate and lash out at people. Unfortunately for her, he wasn’t about to cut her any slack. “Why are you here?” he asked. “I thought you’d be off somewhere, on your back, trying to fill your day’s quota of soldiers.”
Khela showed him her middle finger.
“Right back at you, baby,” he said, returning the gesture.
Forcing a smile, Khela bounced over to Agbo and said, “Hello. How are you doing?”
Agbo gave her a fleeting glance before turning her attention back to the stream of refugees. “Hello.”
Khela put an arm around the girl and squeezed. “Are you all right?”
Agbo nodded weakly. “Yes.”
“Wow,” said Khela, mouth agape at the scene before her. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much mud in my life.”
“It sure turned to mush out there in a hurry, didn’t it?” said Bene. “The lead wagon got bogged, which is why we’re circled up over here now.” He looked at the refugees. “Well, it’s partly the reason. I don’t think we’ll be going anywhere for a while.”
“Huh?” asked Khela. “I thought we stopped to make way for all the people coming out of Mumolo?”
Bene snorted. “Stopped to make way for them? No. Why would we do that?”
“Well, I dunno. To give them a chance to get to safety and whatnot?”
“Erm,” said Bene. Her naiveté could be endearing at times. “Not quite. What happened was one of our guys veered off the way by accident. He couldn’t see the road for all the mud and shit, apparently.”
Khela frowned. “Oh.”
“And we couldn’t sit all strung out on the road, so...” He’d have added something about how they would be vulnerable to attacks by the Mumolonians, but with Agbo there it wouldn’t have been very discreet.
“Oh. But won’t we get bogged as well?”
“Nah.” It was pretty obvious they weren’t, right? “Ground’s firmer here. And slightly higher, too.”
“Ah.”
She still looked confused, though, so Bene put a finger to his forehead. “Strategy. It’s all about the strategy, baby.”
“Oh geez,” said Khela, screwing up her face. “You really can be an infuriating prick when you want to be.” She touched Agbo on the arm. “Have you seen anyone you know, yet?”
“No,” said Agbo. “Not yet.”
“Ah. Well, maybe you will soon.”
“Maybe.”
Silence followed. The refugees continued to stream past, sullen and despairing.
Agbo suddenly rounded on Khela. “How come no one wants to talk about what’s going on here?”
“Huh?” Khela’s eyes darted to Bene, who shook his head almost imperceptibly. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t play coy. I’m getting sick of you people brushing me off all the time.”
Khela showed her palms. “What do you mean? No one’s brushing you off.”
“Bullshit,” said Agbo, shaking her head.
“No, really...”
“Stop it. You’re doing the same thing you always do!”
“I’m not sure what you mean…”
“Look, I have a right to know.” Agbo, it seemed, wasn’t going to let the matter drop. “After everything I’ve been through, I think I’ve earned the right to know.”
Bene caught Khela’s gaze and shook his head a second time. “No,” he mouthed.
She shot him a black look for daring to think she needed the warning. “Well,” she said, “the thing is–”
“The witch,” said Agbo, folding her arms. “The one you’re chasing that you thought was me. She did something to Mumolo with her magic stone, didn’t she?”
“Well,” said Khela. “Um...”
“Well what?”
Khela glanced at Bene again. Her expression seemed to say the cat was out of the bag, but again he mouthed, “No.”
“Well,” said Khela, “the truth is that even we don’t know exactly what’s going on. Not until we can get into Mumolo and have a look for ourselves, at least. So…”
Agbo laughed, but there was no joy in it. “You must think I’m so stupid.”
“What? No. No, of course not. No one thinks you’re stupid.”
“Do you know what they did to me the other day? Your soldiers, I mean? When they caught me?”
Khela grimaced. “Well, yes, I–”
Agbo’s stare seemed to bore through her skull. “You do know, don’t you?”
“Agbo,” said Khela, giving Bene a sidelong glance and taking the girl’s hands in hers. “Do you really want to talk about this now?”
Bene took the hint. “You know,” he said, “I just thought of some stuff I really need to take care of. I’ll, er, catch up with you later on maybe?”
“Yeah,” said Khela. “Yeah, all right. See you.”
“Bye,” said Bene, clambering down the side of the wagon. Instead of leaving, though, he crouched underneath so he could still hear the conversation. He didn’t think Khela would spill their secrets on purpose, but then again, he wouldn’t exactly bet his life on it not happening anyway.
“I just can’t get it out of my head,” said Agbo. “I spend all my time thinking about what they did. Whenever I close my eyes, I relive it all in my head.”
“I understand,” said Khela.
“I don’t feel like eating anymore. I don’t sleep much, either.” Agbo paused for a long time. “Did you know they put their hands up both, you know... places?”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“It hurt. It still hurts. It burns every time I pee.”
“You should let Ghislaine take another look at you. She has poultices for everything.” Khela paused. “They didn’t, um, well… how can I put this? The soldiers? They, uh, didn’t use more than their hands, did they?”
“No,” said Agbo. “No, I don’t think so.”
“All right.”
“Well, actually I don’t really know for sure. But I don’t think they did. I can’t remember all of it. It hurts, but that isn’t the worst part. It’s hard to explain. I feel… rotten. I feel ashamed, Khela. I feel dirty. I feel like I’ve been violated. I feel…”
“I’m so sorry,” said Khela, and Bene could practically feel the emotion in her voice. “You were violated. And I know it’s no consolation, but the men who captured you… I mean, I know them, and I doubt very much they… well, you know.”
“What?”
“They wouldn’t have used more than their hands, Agbo. I don’t even know why I asked. The sergeant who brought you in? Hassing? I know him, and believe me, he would not let anything like that go on. Not that it makes much difference from your perspective, of course. You still have every right to feel violated, because you were.”
“Why did they do it? Why search me like that?”
Khela took a deep breath. “They have to. They’ve got orders to do it to the person we’re trying to catch. We can’t take chances because… well, reasons. I’m really sorry it happened to you, though, that you had to go through it. I mean, really. I can’t even begin to imagine how horrible it must have been. And though I know it’s no consolation, it was never personal. You weren’t the first and you won’t be the last.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, that’s not to say your experience wasn’t anything less than horrendous. It was, and I don’t mean to belittle it. It could have been a lot worse, though.”
“What?”
“I’m so sorry,” said Khela quickly. “I know how awful that must have sounded to you. What you went through was terrible, Agbo, really. Just horrible. It’s not something I’d wish on my worst enemy. I guess what I was trying to say was that it really could have... I mean, not everyone they’ve caught has, um…” She paused. “Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever had this much difficulty finishing a sentence.”
Bene could hardly blame her. The word she’d almost said was too awful to contemplate: survived. As far as the expedition’s secrets went, it was easily one of their darkest.
“I still can’t believe it even happened,” said Agbo. “I can’t believe any of this is happening. It’s surreal.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Khela, and Bene could tell they were hugging. They didn’t speak again for some time.
“I have a question about this witch of yours, though,” said Agbo, breaking the silence. “Does she really keep the stone... you know? Up there?”
Khela hesitated before answering. “This is going to sound unfair, Agbo, but the less you know about all that, the better.”
“The less I know?” Agbo laughed bitterly. “The less I know? Here’s what I know, Khela. I know you’re chasing a witch who’s stolen something from your university that for some reason she keeps stashed in her private parts. Something very dangerous. Your witch attacked me, and maybe my whole family, too. They’re dead for all I know, by her hand! And then you people came along and attacked me because you thought I was your witch. Oh, and in the meantime the witch wiped out my whole village. So, how am I doing, Khela?”
“Well enough.”
“But you can’t tell me why? What did she take from you that you want so badly? This stone–what is it? What does it do?”
“I wish I could say, Agbo. Really. And hey, for all we know, your family is fine.”
“Gods willing.”
“Everything will be all right.”
“I hope you kill that witch,” said Agbo. “I hope you catch her and kill her!”
“Yeah,” said Khela with a sigh. “I used to think that killing her would be too much. That it would be taking things too far, you know? But lately I’ve actually changed my mind about it. I hope we catch her and kill her, too.”
Her frank admission surprised Bene, and he was still thinking about it when he heard Tonneson shouting. A few moments later, a series of ear-splitting shrieks tore through the air.
“What was that?” asked Agbo.
If Khela replied, Bene didn’t hear. Something had panicked the Mumolonians. He managed to get back atop the wagon right before the mass of refugees practically exploded. “Get down!” he screamed.
The townsfolk crashed into each other, wailing, confused. Dozens made for the wagons and tried to climb to safety. The soldiers were having none of it. Swords cleared scabbards and the killing began.
“Get down!” Bene roared at Khela. “Get your fucking head down!” But she just stood there, not understanding what was happening, not until she caught a glimpse of some poor soul spinning away with half his head missing. At which point she screamed.
Bene dove on top of both girls, trying to pull them down amongst the wagon’s sacks and crates. A severed arm bounced off Khela’s head and she squealed for all she was worth. She tried to flee, and Agbo with her, but he grabbed them by their belts and dragged them back. Khela landed on top of him and wouldn’t stop trying to wriggle away. He tried to switch places with her, a task made impossible with his head pressed against the wagon’s floor by her weight and Agbo’s knee repeatedly pummelling his crotch. “Stop fucking moving!” he yelled, clutching the pair with all his strength. He was really starting to regret having never worked out. “Get your heads down!”
The noise was horrendous. Tonneson’s men bellowed in fury, their voices merging with the cries of the folk they were butchering. Khela jammed her hands over her ears and screamed.
“Stay. Down!” yelled Bene, worried that a whirling blade would strike her.
But Khela, damn her, kept trying to rise. “No!” Her eyes reflected her fear and confusion. “No, no, noooooo!”
“Down! Stay down!” He was starting to get really annoyed. Couldn’t she see the danger they were in? The tips of the soldiers’ swords were barely clearing the tops of their heads!
“Nooooo!”
To Bene’s enormous frustration, she just would not keep still. He panicked when she almost broke free of his grip, so he let go of Agbo and put both arms around her. It was a harsh choice, he supposed, but in that moment he knew which life mattered more to him. “Get the fuck down!”
“Bene!” screamed Khela. “Bene!”
“Stay down! Stay with me!”
Khela burrowed into his chest. He held her so tightly he was worried about cracking her ribs, but he had to keep her away from the swinging blades. He managed to roll her on her side so she was facing him, and they lay together in the bottom of the cart, closer than he thought possible. It felt more intimate, somehow, than fucking.
The battle grew in intensity, the wagon rising and dipping so wildly it felt like it might come apart.
“Fuckers!” The voice came from one of the soldiers above. “Fuckers! Fight harder!”
“Bene!” Khela bawled, clutching at him as a spray of red hit the back of her head.
He’d have reminded her again to keep her head down if not for the gout of blood suddenly spattering across his cheek. “Aaugh!” he cried, flinching as some got into his eyes. As he tried to wipe it out, Khela’s head flicked up.
“Oh no, Bene!” she wailed into his ear. She probably thought the blood was his.
“No!” he shouted as she tried to twist away. She almost succeeded, but at last he managed to get both arms back around her. There was blood coming at them from literally everywhere, splashing into the wagon bed and all over the supplies. Khela even had some spongy pieces of someone’s innards clinging to her hair. The tang of blood and spilled bowels hung in the air; every breath carried the stink right up their nostrils.
“I’m going to be sick,” said Khela. And she was, all over his neck and the front of his shirt.
The noise gradually abated, and Bene was dimly aware that the wagon hadn’t moved in an age. The soldiers were still perched atop the wagon with their dripping swords, but they weren’t moving either.
He carefully disentangled himself from Khela, who let him go without complaint. Then he got up on his hands and knees to take a peek over the side of wagon.
And gasped.
Bodies. Renderosi lay in piles around the wheels of the cart. Most were dead, but not all. Plenty of wounded were jammed i