Balanced on the Blade's Edge (Dragon Blood, Book 1) (6 page)

“Captain.”

“Yes, sir?” The wariness in the young man’s
voice wasn’t heartening, but Ridge pressed on anyway.

“My job is to get this fort running smoothly
this winter and increase output.” Actually his orders said very
little about his “job,” but as a pilot, he knew how crucial the
crystals buried in this mountain were. He wouldn’t sit on his butt
here for the next year and drink himself into a stupor while
lackadaisical work went on—or didn’t—in the tunnels below. “Can you
guess what your job is going to be this winter?”

“Sir?” More wariness.

Ridge smiled and thumped the man on the back
to try and take some of the sting out of his next words.
“Organizing this room. Alphabetically. With the people who are
still here in those cabinets and the deceased or departed there.”
Did any of them ever “depart,” he wondered? From what he had heard,
this was an assignment of life without possibility of parole.

The captain’s narrow shoulders slumped. “Yes,
sir.”

“You can recruit helpers.”

Those shoulders slumped further. “No, I
can’t, sir. All the men are needed to guard the prisoners. That’s
why this building is so lightly staffed. Most of those offices
upstairs are empty. There are only a few of us running operations,
and that’s why there’s never time for… projects.” He glanced at
Ridge, then straightened. “But I’ll find time, sir.”

“Good. I’ll be looking into the mines and
figuring out if something can be done to ease the burden there as
well. Am I right in that most of the problem is the miners trying
to kill our people and escape?”

“Yes, sir. Mostly in the spring and summer,
since there’s no place to go in the winter, but some of them just
lose their brains and go crazy and attack.”

“I’ll see what can be done,” Ridge
repeated.

The captain gave him a curious, almost
hopeful look, and saluted.

Maybe Ridge shouldn’t have promised anything.
Who did he think he was that he could change such a system for the
better? Well, surely he couldn’t do any
worse
than Bockenhaimer had done.

“Yes, sir,” the captain said. “I’ll get
started on this today.”

“Send that woman to my office first. I’ll
fill out a temporary report for her until you find the one that
came in.”

“Oh, I can do that, sir. There’s no need for
you to waste your time on a prisoner.”

“
You
are going to be
busy in
here
.” Ridge smiled and spread a
hand toward the basement.

“Er, yes, sir.” To his credit, the captain’s
shoulders didn’t slump this time.

Ridge headed up the stairs, glad the captain
hadn’t protested further, telling him that interviewing prisoners
was too menial a task for the fort commander. It
was
, he admitted, the sort of thing some young
lieutenant could and should do. So why was
he
volunteering for it?

“Just want to make sure I get my parka back,”
he muttered.

Sardelle walked up the stairs in the
administration building, Corporal Rolff clomping behind her, his
boots ringing on the wooden floors. She felt less uncomfortable
walking in front of him now that she was wearing a heavy
ankle-length wool dress, boots, cap, and scruffier version of the
colonel’s parka—it seemed to be the official women’s uniform here.
Even without the shield of less revealing clothing, Rolff hadn’t
made any more mentions of his room number, not since the colonel’s
appearance.

“That’s the general’s, er, colonel’s door.”
Rolff pointed past her to the end of the hall.

Sardelle had already rehearsed her story, so
all she could do was keep walking and take a deep breath, trying to
calm her nerves. Strange that reporting to some military commander
could make her nervous after so many years of being outside of and,
in a way, above such organizations.

Not here.

I know, Jaxi. I
understand the situation thoroughly.

I’m just reminding you so
you remember to act properly contrite and subdued in your meeting.
Also, don’t give him a rash.

Sardelle kept her snort inward, not wanting
Rolff to think her odd—or wonder if she was having conversations
with herself in her head. That was probably considered an indicator
of witchy ways here.

The Itchy Brothers are
seeing the medic right now in another building
, Jaxi informed
her.
I hope your name doesn’t come up.

It shouldn’t since they
don’t know my name.

You’ve made enough of an
impression that Woman in the Green Dress is all they’ll have to
say.

It’ll be fine. Someone
will diagnose it as a sexually transmitted disease. I’m surprised
they even went to the medic. You’d think that would be embarrassing
for them.

Sardelle supposed it would be immature of her
to wish she were standing outside the door of that medic’s office,
so she could listen to the two explaining how they had both come to
have the same rash on their genitals.

Oh, I’m already listening
in. Want the details?

That’s all right. I
better focus on this meeting.
Sardelle stopped before the
door, actually a couple of paces before the door. A waste bin and
crate full of empty alcohol bottles made it difficult to draw
closer. She shifted the colonel’s parka, draping it over her left
arm, so she could knock with her right, but she paused when a long
scrape, followed by a thud and a thump came from inside.

A cream.

Sardelle blinked at Jaxi’s comment, at first
believing it had something to do with the noises in the office.
What?

They’re being prescribed
a cream. And a suggestion that they stay out of each other’s
pants.

Sardelle laughed before she could catch
herself, though she turned it into a cough.

“He won’t want to wait all day,” Rolff
said.

“I just wasn’t sure about those noises.” Two
more heavy thumps sounded, and Sardelle pointed at the door. “Are
you sure he’s not… doing battle with someone in there?” Or beating
the tar out of some wayward private?

“Nobody here would pick a fight with him.”
Rolff leaned past her and knocked three times.

The noises inside stopped, and a “Yeah?”
floated out the door.

Sardelle didn’t know whether to take that as
an invitation or not, but she
had
been
instructed to report promptly. She turned the knob, stepped past
the bottles, and poked her head around the door.

Colonel Zirkander was balanced in the air,
one boot on the desk and one boot halfway up floor-to-ceiling
bookcases built into a sidewall. He held a feather duster in one
hand while he prodded at fat tomes that looked like they had been
resting undisturbed on that top shelf for decades. He had shed some
of his winter clothing, and the sleeves of his gray shirt were
rolled up, revealing the ropy muscles of his forearms and… a lot of
fresh dirt smudges. Dust—and was that a cobweb?—smeared his short
brown hair, as if he had been sticking his head under beds that
hadn’t seen a maid in years. Or maybe a big faded brown couch,
Sardelle amended, considering the office’s furnishings. Whatever
state they had been in before, they weren’t dusty now. The floor
gleamed, courtesy of a damp mop, bucket, and broom and dustpan
leaning against the wall next to the door. A stack of folded rags
and a jug of floor polish suggested the next task on the list.

“Uhm, sir?” Rolff asked, though he seemed
stunned at finding his commanding officer cleaning, and the words
came out quietly.

“Hah.” The colonel, who hadn’t stopped
dusting and organizing books at their arrival, pulled a thick tome
off the shelf. “Found you.”

Rolff stepped inside, came to attention, and
saluted. “Sir, I’ve brought the prisoner as requested, sir.”

The colonel waved at him with the feather
duster instead of returning the salute, which would have been hard
given the fullness of his hands. “Good, thanks.”

Sardelle bit back a smile at the corporal’s
puzzled face. He clearly didn’t know how to react to a commanding
officer that didn’t seem to care about military decorum and
pomp.

“Shall I… stand guard outside, sir?” Rolff
asked.

“Do you have a job you’re supposed to be
doing right now?” The colonel hopped down, grabbed a dust cloth,
and wiped off the book.

“I was on guard shift in Level Thirteen when
this all started, sir.”

“Better get back to that then. I’ll hope my
roguish smile and charismatic ways are enough to keep—” he glanced
at a folder on the desk, “—Sardelle from pummeling me into
submission.”

Colonel Zirkander smiled—roguishly—at both of
them, but Sardelle imagined herself the lone recipient and found
herself gazing back, admiring his lively face, dust smudges and
all. His dark brown eyes had been so serious in the courtyard, but
she sensed that this warm twinkle was more typical of him.

“Er, yes, sir,” Rolff said, clearly more
flustered than beguiled by the colonel’s roguish smile.

Sardelle tore her gaze away from Zirkander’s
face, lest he notice her long stare. She eyed the folder instead.
It had her name—first name real and last name made up—on the front
above several blank lines. The information to be filled in during
this interview? Was he going to trust her to tell him the truth?
And had the missing folder simply been dismissed as some clerk’s
error? She hoped so.

The door shut, though the clank of glass
floated through along with an
oof
.

The colonel shrugged, his expression a little
sheepish. “I was going to toss those bottles out the window, but
couldn’t be sure anyone would clean up the mess before someone cut
their foot. Not on this installation anyway.”

With the corporal gone, Sardelle could only
assume the words were for her, though he was blowing dust off the
cover of the book instead of looking at her.

“Is that why you’re cleaning your own
office?” she asked, figuring she should chat with him if he was
interested in it. Anything she could do to establish a rapport.
“All the officers I’ve ever met had minions to handle such
things.”

“Apparently all the minions here are busy
guarding prisoners. I realized the only way I was going to find
what I was looking for was going to be to clean up around here.
Also… the green-fuzz-covered vomit stains on the floor were
disturbing me. I’m sure it was my imagination, but I thought I
could see them moving out of the corner of my eye every time I
looked away.” Seemingly satisfied with his handiwork, he laid the
book on the desk next to her folder.
Magroth
Crystal Mines: Regulations and Standard Operation
Procedures
.

You read that one,
Jaxi?

Oddly, the title didn’t
entice me to delve in.

“Have you met many officers?” The colonel
cocked his head, giving her a curious look.

Er, right. Her cover story didn’t mention any
time spent with the military and certainly not how she had, as
sherastu
—mage advisor—sat at tables with
clan leaders and generals. She was going to have to be careful with
what she said. “I’ve been… questioned by a few.” Speaking of
roguish smiles… she tried to give him one.

He stared at her. So much for roguish. She
had been told more often that her smiles were enigmatic or
distracted rather than playful or mischievous.

Don’t try to change your
personality, or you’re sure to get caught in the lies. Pirates come
with all manner of… mannerisms.

Sardelle acknowledged this advice with a
mental wave.

“Right.” Colonel Zirkander recovered and
tapped the folder. “I just need you for a few minutes, if you don’t
mind. I want to get a temporary file made for you until my captain
finds your real one.”

Sardelle had been thinking that he was oddly
polite for a commander talking to a prisoner, but her mind lurched
at his last words. “Did he already look?”

“Yes, but… let’s just say I’ve seen the
archives room, and I’m not surprised files are missing. I’ve tasked
him with cleaning and organizing it though, so we’ll find your
record. We’ll find everyone’s record and make sure all the
names—numbers—match up with faces. The way things are now, I don’t
know how they even order supplies with any accuracy here.”

Sardelle caught herself breathing more
rapidly and forced the airflow to slow down. It was too early to
panic. Even if they never found her record, that wouldn’t
necessarily condemn her. It could have been left behind a seat on
the airship that had supposedly brought her in, right? Surely these
things happened.

Why don’t you just make a
fake record?

Jaxi’s thought surprised her, but then she
wondered why she hadn’t thought of it herself already.

Because you’re an honest
and forthright person who doesn’t think in deceitful scheming ways.
Better get over that.

Thanks for the
tip.

Creating a false record wouldn’t be a stretch
of her powers, so long as she knew where the blank records were
stored and where to float it off to when she was done. Maybe…

Sardelle realized the colonel was watching
her. Waiting for a response? He hadn’t asked a question, had he?
She reviewed what he had said. “I haven’t been here long, but it
does seem a touch… chaotic. And in regard to the supplies, I did
notice that some of the miners are well-fed and others look
malnourished and scrawny.” Like those disillusioned sods who had
attacked the guards.

Zirkander’s eyes sharpened. “Do they?” He
took out a pen and a tiny spiral notebook and scribbled something
on a page already filled with a list. “It’s probably survival of
the strongest and meanest down there, right now. All right. Have a
seat, will you?” He tossed the notebook aside and, mid-gesture,
noticed there wasn’t a chair in front of the desk. In fact, aside
from the couch and the colonel’s chair, there weren’t any other
seats in the room. “Er, guess the general didn’t invite people in
for meetings often.”