Ghost Talkers (6 page)

Helen rippled in his wake and Ginger bore down to keep her anchored. When Helen was settled, the circle balanced for a moment, with each of them supporting the others. And then Ginger took the lead as their attention shifted to her. She lifted out of her body, reveling in the loosening of her bonds. The colours of the auras mixed with a crackle of scents as spirits swirled around them. The bright cinnamon red of attraction lay between Lt. Plumber and Edna, which was a new thing. Perhaps the young woman should ask Mrs. Richardson how to knit.

Ginger steadied herself and had her body take a deep, filling breath. She turned to the soldier in front of her.

It was the officer from last night. His eyes widened in surprise. “You're a—aw, geez. I'm real sorry, ma'am. I thought you were a—”

“That was obvious.” Ginger smoothed her soul. She felt Helen's query through the circle, but it wouldn't be fair to ask her to process two souls in a row. “And it doesn't matter now.”

“So … wait. We're in Le Havre? I thought the Army Corps of Mediums was in London. With Conan Doyle and Houdini and the lot.”

“You were meant to, so I'm glad to hear that you did.”

He hit his head. “Spirit Corps … all you hospitality ladies in the WAC's Spirit Corps. You're mediums—God. I feel like a prize idiot.”

That was not the epithet Ginger would have chosen to call him, but at the moment she had a job to do. “May I have your name, rank, and how you died?”

“Right. Right … Captain Harold Norris, D Company, Heavy Branch, Machine Gun Corps. Pretty sure I was murdered.”

He had been in Le Havre last night. There wasn't time for him to have gone to the front. Lt. Plumber squeezed her left hand, tugging on her awareness. Why was he bothering her? Lt. Plumber shook her hand again and—

Ginger realized that she had stopped breathing. She inhaled, and even in the spirit realm she could feel the burn of air rushing into her lungs. She focused on Capt. Norris. “Did you anger another boyfriend?”

“No. Look—I was drunk. All right? As if it weren't clear. So after your fellow roughed me up, I went to the baths. Which, yes, were closed, but I'm good with locks. So I'm in there soaking and I hear these guys talking, and then one of them drowned me. So. Spies. In Le Havre.”

Given that Capt. Norris had been drunk and that he did not appear to have the steadiest of characters, there was no telling how reliable his testimony was. She should pass control of the circle to Helen and ask her to relive the man's memories, but—but after all Ginger's complaints to Ben about being allowed to do her duty, it would make her the worst sort of hypocrite not to do this herself.

Ginger reached out a tendril of thought and brushed the soldier's soul.

He is soaking in the giant vats they use for bathing the soldiers who are fresh out of the trenches. Big steaming things, kept hot all day round because it would take too long to warm up that much water. Used to be for making wine in, before the war. He can slide all the way down to his neck, and the weightlessness is enough to almost make him forget the past three days. Shell, after shell, after shell, till he was the only one left of his company. He ducks his head under the water, scrubbing at his hair. Keeps thinking he feels bits of stuff stuck to his scalp, but he's bathed enough that it can't still be pieces of brain.

The water stings his split lip. Couldn't really blame the guy who'd slugged him. Not when he was trying to pick a fight.

He lifts his head above the water and just lies there. It'd be so easy to slip under the water and not come back up.

He must've dozed off some, which was a mercy, because someone is talking. A man. Sounds posh.

“The key is the skirts. You understand? The skirts.”

“I have the list right here.”

“Good. Start with an—”

He lifts his head from the water. “Speaking of skirts … you know a place where I can get a quick tumble?”

There are two men, one of them in a British Army uniform, but the only light is from the window behind them, and he doesn't see much more than that before the officer is on him. Has him by the shoulders and pushes him down under the water. He thrashes, trying to get free, but in the big tub there is no leverage, and he is still too drunk to be coordinated. Dammit. He didn't survive the shelling to die like this. His lungs burn and he coughs, sucking in water.

Ginger yanked herself out of his memory, shaking and cold. Skirts … that had to be related to the mediums.

Capt. Norris eyed her, wariness circling him in leaf green and silver grey. “So?”

“You were murdered. Forgive me for doubting you.”

He shrugged. “Under the circumstances, I'd doubt me too. You find those guys, you hear? That one in the uniform … he's a traitor.”

“I will. I'll report this at once.” Her circle steadied her, and Ginger took another breath. “Have you a last message?”

“Yeah. Ask Paddy McIntyre to take a cricket bat to my kid brother's knee. I'd rather him crippled than in this damn war.” He hesitated and then grinned. “And
are
you red all over?”

“Really?
That's
your unfinished business?”

He shrugged. “I was always the nosy type. Would've made me a good spy.”

“And an unsubtle one.”

He held out his hands. “No … no. I'm sorry. My mum raised me better than that. It's just the war … not a real good excuse, is it? We're all in it. So. I'm sorry I asked. It was rude.”

“In that case, you're forgiven.”

He winked. “Thank you. Hey … that's the light. Thought they were foo…” And he was gone.

Without opening her eyes, Ginger said, “Edna. Will you see that this report goes directly to Brigadier-General Davies? He'll want someone to examine the scene in case there are further clues to the men's identities.”

“Yes, madam.”

Helen asked, “Do you need to take a break?”

“No.” Ginger forced a laugh, even though everyone in the circle would be able to feel how shaken she was. Sometimes, external appearances could help shape her internal response. “We've only just begun. But I am happy that it is your turn to lead.”

“Hmm. We'll talk after,” Helen said, and she took the lead on the circle.

Ginger subsumed herself in her physical form and helped the rest of the circle anchor Helen as another soldier stepped forward.

*   *   *

As Ginger crossed the line of salt, she sighed with relief at leaving the cool pressure of death behind. God, but she was tired. Given her druthers, she'd have gone straight back to the dormitory to sleep until her next shift. Duty, however, meant talking to the brigadier-general. Given Capt. Norris's report, it was all too likely that Davies would want to question her as the closest thing he had to an eyewitness to the crime.

“Oh, no you don't.” Helen linked her arm through Ginger's and steered her away from the offices toward the front door. “We both need some sunlight and life before more work. Have lunch with me?”

Ginger cast a glance back over her shoulder toward the offices. “I should really go talk to the brigadier-general.”

“Mm-hmm. About that soldier who was—no, wait. What is it in the manual? The irregular death.” She shook her head. “As if any of them are regular, after what we doing to them.”

“Speaking of which…” Ginger glanced around to see if anyone was listening, but the other people in the hall were either chatting with forced animation to cast off the memories of work, or so turned inward with exhaustion that they likely did not even hear the distant sound of the armaments. Still … it was better to be safe than sorry. Ginger tightened her hand on Helen's. “I think that stepping out sounds very nice.”

Helen pursed her lips and snorted, clearly reading Ginger's aura.

Arm in arm, they walked outside. The sun brushed the chill from Ginger's fingers and wrapped itself around her like an aura. “The temptation to go find a grassy field and wantonly lie down in it is very strong.”

Helen chuckled. “Now you sound like me. Except that I want a proper beach.”

“Rocky cliffs are not satisfying?”

“Cold water is more the problem.” Helen tugged her arm and steered her to an unoccupied bench near the wall. “Come. Sit in the sun for a bit. Then I let you talk business.”

It did feel good. Ginger sank onto the wood slats and leaned against the back. “Oh, my.”

Helen nodded. “I told you. Now—what happened with that Capt. Norris?”

“I thought you said we weren't going to talk business!”

“This is about your soul.” Helen nudged Ginger with her elbow. “You knew him?”

“Not really. He said some unpleasant things last night while I was walking, and then got into a fight with Ben.”

“You don't think—” Helen cut herself off. “Sorry. I shouldn't have even thought that.”

“Thought that … thought that
Ben
killed him? Because of me?”

She shrugged. “Men change during the war.”

“Not that much.” He had changed, that was true. But not so much as to murder a man over a few words. “Besides, neither voice was Ben's. And anyway—the important thing is that I think it was related to the Germans looking for us.”

“‘The skirts'? I wondered that too. Do you think he was going to say the name Anne, or something like ‘an apple'?”

“Could be either. There are half a dozen Annes in our ranks, to say nothing of the regulars.”

Helen shrugged. “I wouldn't know.”

Wincing, Ginger bit her lip. Of course, Helen and the other West Indian mediums were not assigned to work the hospitality tents. “I'll get the list from my aunt.”

“And ask that fellow of yours if he's got any ideas.”

“Next time I write to him.” Ginger looked sideways at Helen. “Speaking of gentlemen. How was your evening out?”

“Better than it had any right to be.”

“The heat?”

Helen hesitated and then shook her head. “My cousin—he was supposed to have come back from the front yesterday, but he didn't.”

“Oh. Oh, my dear, I am so very sorry.”

“It's okay. He's in hospital. And I know this because I met one of his squad mates when you
forced
me to go dancing.”

“I suggested.”

“Forced.”

“Be that as it may, I am glad to hear that he is alive.” Ginger watched Helen with some interest. It had not occurred to her that Helen would have family in the war. “Have you other family here?”

“Two cousins. A brother in Egypt.” Helen drummed her fingers on her knee and leaned back against the bench. Closing her eyes, she turned her face up to the sky. “I think I am going to sit here and ponder the question of how to move our mediums.”

“You look more as if you are going to nap.”

“It is all the same thing.” Helen waved her hand to shoo Ginger away. “You go talk to the brigadier-general.”

*   *   *

Helen had probably been correct that Ginger should have gone for lunch first. But given what had happened to Capt. Norris, she could not put off talking to the brigadier-general any longer. She was the closest they had to an eyewitness to the crime. Marshalling her strength, Ginger leaned against the wall outside Davies's office. The wood scraped against the cloth of her uniform, and she concentrated on the sensation of the fibres sliding across the grain to ground herself in the here and now.

Straightening her shoulders, Ginger put a professional smile on. Thank God Davies couldn't read auras, or it would not have fooled him for a moment. She rapped on the door.

“Enter!”

Turning the cool brass knob, Ginger followed orders and entered the brigadier-general's office. “Sir. I am here to follow up on my report about the death of Captain Harold Norris.”

“What? Who?”

She faltered. Edna was supposed to have the runner take the report straight here. “The officer who was murdered in the baths last night … did you not get the report?”

“Oh…” He pawed through the pile of papers on the desk. “Oh, that. I sent someone round to fish him out of the baths. Devil of a mess, but not murder.”

“He was held under.”

He snorted. “He was drunk, which has been confirmed by multiple witnesses. He fell asleep in the baths. Have to have the bloody thing drained.”

“Sir—I think you must not have received my report. He heard two men talking and then one of them, in a British uniform, held him under. He was quite certain that they were spies.”

“Because that would make him seem less foolish, right?” The general pinched his nose. “I see men who shoot themselves in the foot, quite literally, in order to be sent home from the front.”

“Yes, but—”

“I am not a medium, but I know men. This man had a history, and was going to come to a bad end with or without the war, and he did.”

“Sir. I relived his last moments. I
saw
the men who—”

He waved his hand to cut her off. “You saw what he wanted to think his last moments were. But really … if we had spies in our midst, why would they bother with the murder of a drunk gunnery captain? Now go, sit down and be quiet, and leave the war to the men.”

That was not how it worked. When she relived a memory, it was as if it had actually happened. Shaking with fury, Ginger gave a brief nod and thanked the stars that the British and their goddamned regulations wouldn't allow women in their ranks, so she did not have to salute or listen to this arrogant ass. She would write to Ben, and he would take her seriously.

Capt. Norris was murdered. He might have been a drunk, but his death would not be in vain.