Underbelly (78 page)

“
There were no problems between us. The reason we’re not together now is that she died.”

Reverend Stuart’s reaction to his news made Grey re-evaluate his falling estimation of the man as he showed deep and genuine concern and kindness. He did not ask about Laura anymore, focusing on his loss instead, offering helpful verses from the Bible (which he had to glance at, still unable to remember scripture verbatim). The Reverend kept coming back to see him, determined to help him, and Grey found that talking about Germaine with him did help. He remained restrained in his grief, which bothered him and they talked this through, Reverend Stuart making a point which stuck with him, the sort of unorthodox point which Grey felt he wouldn’t be making in 20 years time when he was more comfortable in his position.

“
Germaine is at rest and how you act now doesn’t matter because she’s gone. What matters is how you behaved towards her when she was here with you.”

The truth in his words made Grey think long and hard as he sat up in the middle of the night. Kneeling endlessly at her grave, at least for a little while, was what was socially expected from the grieving spouse, but there was no need for decorum after bereavement. The time to act respectfully and devotedly was when the person was alive and could appreciate it, and even if he had fallen short of his intentions, he had always tried to be a good husband to her and she knew that he loved her.

Grey studied the unnamed picture that hung in Laura’s hallway, a portrait of her husband, commissioned by her and painted by his labouring assistant. While Laura was vastly older than her husband was, their outward appearances made it seem like he was twice her age. When he had first heard Laura talk of her husband he had resented the man, jealous of a ghost. His feelings had changed and now he was grateful to the long dead stranger, glad that he had made his friend happy for a little while. Grey had felt that Laura had been prematurely cheated out of happiness, 18 years with her soul mate not nearly enough. What would he have given for 18 years with Germaine? Laura and McKinley’s relationship had seemed brief, yet it had lasted longer than Germaine’s life. He asked himself if it would have been better to have 18 years with her and then lost her or if it was easier as it was. He was miserable but he was bearing the pain, and progressively began to hate himself for holding up so well, questioning his level of love and attachment. He knew without question, that he had adored her in life, yet a little voice in the back of his mind, which he wished he could pass off as a spirit but couldn’t, had thought of taking a second wife in time.

Grey had been at Ravensbeck eight days when he felt ready for a trying task, asking Del to wish him luck before he began. He kneeled on the floor, ignoring whoever was knocking on the front door as he tried to contact Germaine. The thought of Germaine existing as a disembodied spirit haunted him, and while none of the spirits deserved it, in her case it would seem especially unjust. He’d apologise for his mediocre grieving and she’d understand and forgive him and he’d send her to her rest. An impostor pretended to be Germaine, not fooling him for an instant. She sounded like the madwoman who had pretended to be a victim of the Alieus, a darting spirit who floated away like quicksilver as he tried to counsel her, feeling pity for her rather than anger. He found other Germaine’s, other Cremonts and even another Germaine Grey. The soul he sought, however, was nowhere to be found, perhaps a sign that she was at peace. Later that day Grey picked some flowers from the garden and walked to John McKinley’s grave, untended since Laura’s forced absence, and after he rubbed the headstone with his coat and uprooted several unsightly weeds, he put the flowers down and began to talk.

“
I don’t know you, but I know someone who did, someone who loved you very much and lost you, and I know how that feels. I hope that she’s at rest like you. I know that I loved her, and that I still do. Anything else that I might think or do doesn’t detract from that.”

Saying it aloud, as incontrovertible fact to a long dead stranger’s remains, proved strangely helpful. He wasn’t wearing sackcloth and ashes, he was thinking of what his future held, but he did miss her terribly and wished that they were still together. Thinking of moving on wasn’t disloyal or a crime; it was the only course of action.

Laura felt refreshed and energised as she approached the small reservation in Northern Idaho to see Chesmu for the second time. On her first visit she had been a little apprehensive, and while her fact-finding mission was still risky, trying to pick up a rattlesnake by its tail, she now knew that the rattlesnake in question was sluggish and well past his peak. He was no fool, but he was no great mind either, Laura feeling that she would have had a lot more to fear from his maker, Garrard. She had a script well thought out which contained enough truth to fool his intuition.

Chesmu did not come out to meet her, though she could sense his presence, and she wandered around the back of the houses where she saw a spectacle she wasn’t ready for. Chesmu was there, along with all of the adults of his tribe, around 30 in total, and this time he was attired more like she had originally envisioned he would look. There was no head-dress, and he wore hard boots instead of moccasins, but his trousers fitted the ingrained image, buckskin trousers with a breechcloth, and his bare chest was painted symbolically. He was made up as a warrior for her, which in itself gave her cause for concern. Her concern was greatly amplified by the sight of six outsiders in the camp, four white men and two women, dressed like hunters in red jackets, white trousers and caps, their horses visible in the distance, secured and available if they needed them, to hunt her down if she fled she assumed. She knew that there was no chance that they were not there for her as she recognised one of the women as Jemima Harding, the other five probably members of her family along for the show, one of the men looking to be around 90, possibly her proper grandson.

As Laura surveyed the scene in front of her with uncharacteristic trepidation, largely hidden, every pair of eyes focused on her, all viewing her coldly and without pity, as though she were a criminal awaiting execution. Jemima’s eyes feigned kindness as she smiled toothily in Laura’s direction before saying something softly in the old man’s ear which made him nod repeatedly in agreement. All of them sat down, save for Laura and Chesmu, and she deduced quickly that he was to be her opponent and she said, “Do we really want to revive a Roman tradition?”

“
She means gladiators,” Jemima said patronisingly to Chesmu’s family, feeling that her family would understand what Laura meant while the others would not have a clue.

“
I came here to warn you about Octavius,” Laura said to Chesmu, who did not advance on her, feeling she was owed an explanation before battle commenced.

“
We know all about that,” Jemima said before Chesmu had a chance to speak. “I’ve enlightened Chesmu as to your chequered past and your murky future. Laura, dear, you’re painfully transparent. You want to be the huntress to defeat me, and who knows who else, that’s why you’re trying to gain power. I can’t allow you to live if you’re determined to kill me,” Jemima said with a smile.

“
That isn’t why I want power. I want power to protect myself.”

“
You have enough power already for that,” Jemima responded. “With your history of bloodlust I cannot let you exceed my power. You’re prudent, I’m sure you can understand that.” Jemima viewed Laura as the only real threat to her, and as the threat no longer seemed dormant she felt her hand had been forced into drastic action, which she endeavoured to make entertaining for her family’s sake. The titanic struggle that would follow (and even if Laura beat Chesmu she would then have to fight Jemima, a fight Jemima knew would certainly be Laura’s last) would be something they would never have opportunity to see again, the end of an era.

“
When has there ever been a problem between us, Jemima?” Laura said, completely understanding her position while still hating her for it, and making out that she was being unfairly judged.

“
The only reason there hasn’t been is because I’ve always been the head girl while you’ve been the first-former. You have behaved in recent years, but is that only because your behaviour is regulated by having the threat of consequences by a superior? If you top the food chain will you return to your old ways?” Jemima said, convincing the others that Laura was a valid threat. Her tales of Laura’s years and huge death toll as an assassin for hire had already convinced everyone that she deserved to die, disgusting even Chesmu, who had killed in war and executed wrongdoers when necessary as chief, but had never killed so underhandedly.

“
I didn’t. I was dominant after Octavius’ death before you were born and I didn’t raise hell.”

“
Inge was still alive and you considered her a close rival,” Jemima said. “You can keep talking if you want, Laura. We’re all ready for a duel.”

Jemima looked to Chesmu, a man she had spent four days talking round, her extensive character assassination eventually doing the trick, and she said politely, “Please make her be quiet.”

Chesmu walked closer to Laura, who stood her ground, ready to run when he got too close. He stopped and said, looking her squarely in the eye, “Fate cast the two of you as enemies and the same is true of Octavius and me. We were on different sides but we were very similar. He fought and killed to protect his people, exactly what I did for all those years before I gave up. My people became diluted, not just of my tribe anymore, not just of my people, but mixed with the hated white and the black. I couldn’t even fight the Nazis because there was every chance that some of them were descendants of mine. One thing I can do is protect my children from the likes of you.”

“
I have not committed any heinous acts in centuries!” Laura said indignantly, very wary of the situation, looking for an escape route.

“
And I intend to ensure that you never do again. Your soul is even blacker than my own.”

As Chesmu stepped slowly towards her Laura began to retreat backwards and Jemima said, “Don’t even think it. I’m Mr Chesmu’s second and if you flee then I’ll catch you and you’ll have to face me instead. We want to be entertained.”

“
I never did like the aristocracy,” Laura said bitterly, seeing no reason to hide her contempt for her now, though she kept her eyes on Chesmu as he tried to circle around her.

“
Wonderful! That’s the first honest thing we’ve heard from you,” Jemima said pithily.

“
It was her kind who were the officers who came here and slaugh…” Laura said to Chesmu, interrupted by him suddenly lunging in her direction with a speed that belied his large size. She stopped talking – he wouldn’t be talked around and she had to focus on the fight. The form book was open. She had beaten Inge, whose abilities were similar to Chesmu’s, while he had beaten Octavius, whose abilities were analogous to hers. She knew that she had to keep distance between them, his strength and near invulnerability giving him the advantage in close quarters, but he was far quicker than she was, determined to put on a good show for his family. He had vast experience in combat while she did not, and as he gave her no space and threw punches and kicks her direction she found his shots difficult to block, feeling her bones crumble even as she blocked the brunt of them. She rolled away from him and tried to quickly heal herself, her elementary spell failing, to her amazement. She realised why and she tried to summon fire as Chesmu picked her up by the throat, ready to dispatch her after only a few minutes of fighting, an anti-climax for Jemima and her clan, but a great glory and relief for Chesmu’s concerned relatives.

Chesmu looked her in the eyes as he tightened his grip around her throat, her body putting up no resistance as she concentrated all her efforts from her mind. He knew she was powerful, too powerful to beat this easily, and he threw her down to the floor and looked at Jemima furiously as he said, “I’ll win or fall on my own.”

“
All I’m doing is making this contest fair by blocking her black magic. I’m not stopping her from being able to fight,” Jemima said.

“
Don’t,” he said firmly and Jemima stopped blocking Laura’s abilities. Chesmu gave her a few minutes respite to recover, after which he warned, “This time I will not stop until you are removed from this world.”

“
It’s a new fight now, with new rules,” Laura said confidently, feeling better as she summoned fire, which only made him smirk. Winds would not hold him back, as he strode through them unaffected to pummel her anew. This time she was able to block his blows without her bones breaking, though her skin quickly bruised black and purple. He was very hard to block against, his speed and his misleading tendency to feint blows requiring speed of thought and body on her part, though he left openings for her. As soon as she took one she realised it was a trap as he grabbed her arm, getting her in his grasp where he could inflict maximum damage. Laura tried to force her free hand through his chest, through ethereal action rather than brute force, but she couldn’t penetrate his flesh either way. Chesmu forced her to the ground and sat on her abdomen, fixing her in place before letting go of her arm, and he went to copy her, trying to bring his left fist through her chest. She used a spell to block most of the damage, but she felt so weakened by the blow that she doubted she could survive many more. She tried to poke him in the eye, Chesmu taking her right hand in his mouth and biting her thumb off and spitting it out. He punched her again in exactly the same spot, by her failing heart, and she knew she had no choice but to try a risky venture. She remembered that one of Octavius spells didn’t need ingredients, one that she hadn’t tried after the other two both proved to be detrimental and hazardous to her health. She had nothing to lose and she tried the spell that Octavius promised would summon a river, casting a protective spell on herself first just as the third blow struck her and broke her rib cage spectacularly, penetrating through her flesh. Before Chesmu had a chance to explore within her the river came.