Captain Tane Bayder. 11 Sextilis, 1582 AAA. Trackford.

“Seeing their captain slain, the treacherous men of Mordred, alongside the Saxons and Jutes he had invited to join him, began to waver. Gwachalmei rallied the forces of Britain to avenge their king, and they shattered many shields, hewed many heads, fed many slaughter birds, and the sea wolves fled, and the traitors were killed. After, though, Arthur was found alive but terribly wounded and weakened, and could not stand. All his surviving warriors gathered round him, to hear his final words”

Bran the Wise, The Conquest of Anwwn.

“So that’s how my company got attacked by a mob, a sharpshooter and a witch, in that order. Any questions?”

Tane leaned back in her chair, watched by a dozen slightly drunk officers in the whirling prop. They were virtually the only people who’d bothered to brave the cold night air and the whispers of a riot about to begin, leaving the normally busy loyalist public house almost completely empty besides them.

Gwar, a Lieutenant of Foot, raised her hand. “The witch. Did your grey witch get that one’s signature before they got taken out?”

“Yeah, Morgan can recognize the witch’s soul”

“Good. My company got hit by a witch about a month ago. One of our guys got mindbroken and tried to attack our ensign with a falchion. A couple of my soldiers got cut up disarming him. Nasty stuff”

Tane remembered the incident; she’d never thought to connect it to today’s attack, though.

“You reckon it’s linked?” she asked.

“Well, witch drives one of my soldiers crazy, witch tries to mindbreak one of your soldiers. The connection writes itself”

“A few of my horses panicked for no reason a while back and nearly stampeded into a crowd. My witch picked up a hostile witch tampering with them. He scrammed before we could do anything, though” said Caradoc, a Captain of Cuirassiers with the King’s Own 3rd Regiment of Horse.

“A few people swore up and down they took sharpshooter fire before the Trackford massacre got underway.” Artorius said.

Tane winced. That bit of magnificent fire control from the Commonwealth Foot cost seventeen lives three years ago. Seven Trackford civilians had been shot during a protest much like what she’d seen today, and the ten soldiers responsible for the shooting hung for murder. Their commander had been cashiered for failure to control his men. The rumours that a musket shot had been heard moments before the infantry opened fire, and that one of the victims had been shot in the back, with a ball of the wrong calibre, had started almost immediately and never quite vanished.

Tane rubbed her head as she realized just how much worse things could have gotten.

“Anyone heard anything about the casualties?” she asked.

There was a lot of shaking of heads. Gwar said she’d heard rumours of dozens killed; Artorius said someone had asked if his marines had a surgeon with them, but he’d had to turn her away. Scaithe, Caradoc’s wife and fellow Captain, said that General Veulnor had intelligencers out looking for information on the exact number of casualties.

Tane sighed. “It didn’t seem like the shots were aimed at anything, and the trample victims still seemed to be breathing”

“The only thing now is to wait and see” Sace said. She was sitting quietly by the table, reading a pamphlet on the Long War in the northern sea. Unlike the other female officers, who mostly wore breeches and coats or doublets even when not in their fighting harness, she had the petticoats and bodice of a civilian woman on, and was armed with a dainty Teresian smallsword rather the long, heavy rapiers and backswords the others favoured.

“Yeah. Damn, I hate waiting”.

“Congratulations, you’ve been enlisted in the 3rd Regiment of Officers Who Hate Waiting. I think we’ve got enough for a full brigade now” Artorius said. The officers all laughed; the fact that the tension of waiting before battle was often worse than the fighting was so often noted that it had become first a cliché and then an in-joke.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder. She snapped around, one hand going to her dagger on reflex.

“Horus, Morgan!”

“Sorry” Morgan said, though her tone suggested she very much wasn’t. “General Veulnor wants to see you, and soon”.

Tane stood up and began to make for the door, grabbing her cloak and hat from where they hung by the door. “Well, it’s been a lovely night explaining how I almost caused a massacre to you fine people. Now I have to go explain it to the Captain-General”

*

Veulnor’s headquarters were easy enough to find-a tall limestone townhouse, with a pair of cuirassiers standing guard outside, pollaxes on their shoulders. She vaulted down from horseback, grunting as the impact hit her knees, then tossed her reins to Boudace, her page, and told her to get the horses stabled.

“I’m here to see General Veulnor”

The guard wordlessly opened the door.

Tane hung up her cloak, coat, hat and sword belt inside the door-the room was warm enough that they were unnecessary, then was led upstairs by a military servant.

He opened the door into Veulnor’s office, and Tane stepped inside.

Captain-General Breuce Veulnor, military governor of Trackford, 17th Baron Hainswick, sat ahead of her. He was tall and what was politely known as “well fed”, with a long, plain face and thinning hair hidden by a black wig. His buff coat had laces for securing armour attached, but Tane hadn’t seen him fully armoured in years. His face was a picture of mild annoyance.

An awkward silence reigned for a few moments.

“I’ve been called here about the taxation office skirmish, I presume?” Tane said.

Veulnor nodded. “Yes. Could you explain what you did and saw, starting from the beginning?”

For the second time that night, Tane explained how she was attacked by a mob, a sharpshooter and a witch, in that order.

Veulnor nodded along thoughtfully.

“Do you know who the third witch was? The one you said took out the mindbreaker?” Veulnor interrupted when she explained the witch attack.

“I know about as much as you do”

Veulnor rubbed his head.

“Which isn’t a lot”

“I figured that”

“I presume you dealt with the troopers who opened fire?”

“I’ve put them on docked pay and they’re confined to quarters. If there turns out to have been any deaths, I’ll order more serious punishments”

Veulnor nodded. “There were five injuries. Three trampling, and two gunshots. No deaths”

“Good”

“Yes. If you’d killed anyone out there, this would have been a repeat of the Trackford massacre. And we all know how that went”

Tane ran a hand through her hair. She had no desire to get cashiered. The amount of time and money she’d invested in getting her commission as a Captain of Horse Grenadiers in the 3rd Horse Guards had been considerable.

“Of course, a few injuries is better than getting the entire taxation office tarred and feathered…” she said.

Doing that to the cities governor during a riot had been the final straw, that had led to the imposition of martial law on Trackford.

“This city is under martial law. We cannot maintain order amongst the civilians if we cannot maintain order amongst ourselves.”

“With all due respect, we cannot maintain martial law if we let them have the monopoly on violence and not us.” Tane snapped.

“They have bricks and sticks and swords. We have pike and shot and cannons and airships and grey witches and bound demons. We still hold the monopoly on violence. But we cannot use that to go about gunning them down on the street. That would only inflame the situation further.”

“What is inflaming the situation is us occupying their city, but never retaliating when they attack us-even when it’s with guns and mindbreakers, not just bricks and sticks. They hate us, but they don’t fear us.”

“And what are our other options? A war, or losing Carfane as a source of revenue, since we can’t protect tax collectors here otherwise. The Lord-Protector General or the High Queen won’t accept either of those.” Veulnor said.

So the blame goes downhill, but the real problem goes uphill. Figures.

Tane shrugged. “Take out the leaders of the Patriot’s Brigade and other insurrectionists, but do it quietly. I’m sure they’re all up to their ears in smuggling. Use that. If we’re going to enforce martial law, we should use the law against them. Gunning people down on the streets isn’t the answer, but neither is sitting still while they take potshots at us”

“That could escalate the conflict…” Veulnor said.

“And? They’re attacking us with sharpshooters and witches now. If they want to escalate, let it escalate and see how much they like it”

“It still poses a risk. We’re sitting on a powder keg here, and you want to play with fire. I can’t allow that.”

Tane briefly considered going on a rant about how it was whoever that sharpshooter was that was loading with a lit match, but decided against it. It was too late for a serious argument.

“Fair enough, General. Do you want me to further discipline for the shooters?”

Veulnor shook his head. “If the victims try to press charges, we’ll let them go to court, but other than that, I think we’re fine”

Tane nodded. “Am I dismissed, Sir?”

“I think you are”

Tane saluted as she left, then grabbed her cloak and hat and weapons at the door.

She stepped outside, and the cold washed over her like musket smoke. She moved quickly for the stables, fumbling her leather gloves on, swearing under her breath as they caught on numb fingers. There were only a few people on the streets, but the signs of nightlife were everywhere, from the hubbub of talking and singing drifting from the public houses, inns and dance halls of oldtown to the sight of moving silhouettes in lantern-lit windows. The stables were easy to find, considering the convenient sign hanging out into the street, and the strong smell of horse drifting from within.

Not that I don’t smell like that, of course. With leather and oil added.

Boudace Haynes, her page, was playing cards with a group of other pages and grooms. She scrambled up, an embarrassed look on her plain face.

“Sorry, Ma’am…” Boudace said.

“Don’t be. I’d be doing the same if I was stuck watching a bunch of horses out here”

Boudace laughed nervously.

Her horse, an even tempered grey mare 14 hands high, was still saddled. They mounted up quickly and rode out, heading for her lodgings, only a few streets away.

“What happened, exactly?” Boudace asked once they were underway. Alongside the second half of Tane’s company, and the assortment of camp followers and noncombatants who kept them all functioning, she’d stayed back at quarters, while Tane and the company officers had led a half-company against the Trackford mob.

“I was told that a mob was surrounding a couple billmen, and received orders to saddle up a half-company to break them out…”

“I know that part, ma’am”

“Fair enough”

For the third and hopefully last time that night, Tane explained how she’d gotten attacked by a mob, a sharpshooter, and a witch, in that order.

They rounded the corner up into her lodgings, a local gentry families townhouse. They’d ranted and raved about the overbearing Commonwealth soldiers when she’d first moved in, but they’d warmed up to her when they realized she had no intention of seducing any of their sons, stealing their silverware, or billeting an entire company in their house. She checked the door. Locked.

“Servants entrance, Ma’am?” Boudace suggested.

“Good idea” Tane said.

She checked the back door. Unlocked. That wouldn’t have been a problem; she’d once had an old hand show the Horse Grenadiers a dozen ways to get through locked doors. For the purposes of outflanking the enemy in street fighting, of course. She’d never consider letting her company engage in a spot of looting, if the people in question had it coming.

She stumbled through the dark halls, swearing as her rapier scabbard scraped against the furniture. The guest room that she was quartered in was at the top of the stairs. She only narrowly avoided tripping as she felt her way through the house.

I can evade someone’s point and put my own through their chest with a single movement, but I can’t climb bloody stairs in the dark. Wonderful.

She finally stumbled into her room and got the candle lit. The room was chaos. Her weapons-pistols, her heavy military backsword, her buckler and armour, her training foils and singlesticks-were stacked against one wall, while a chest of clothes was thrown against the other. A dozen books were stacked against the wall, drill and fencing manuals, a history of the war of the Cessosi succession,

Papers littered her desk-company muster rolls, half written letters to her family and friends in Genia proper, scribbled notes on a fencing drill she was writing. Her bed was unmade, with a letter dumped on the bed. She picked it up. It had the sloppy handwriting of someone self-taught, but it was the words that got her attention.

If you want to know who attacked your company, come to the warehouse off the Kraken’s Corpse Quay, midday tomorrow. Signed, the reason you aren’t dealing with a second Trackford massacre.

“Oh, fuck me” Tane muttered.