South Carolina
October 1784
Morning, on what promised to be a brilliant day in mid-October. Not a cloud marred the sapphire sky as the sun crested the horizon far out to sea. A fresh breeze, cool and salt-tinged, drifted in sweeping away the scent of swamp and city both. Winter might be coming, but it wasn't here yet and the men, women and children of Charleston planned to make the most of what God saw fit to favor them with. Some shops opened, to be sure, but many saw fit to take the day for themselves and their kin, walk the streets and fields, and enjoy the day.
Colonel John Preston was not one of these people, nor was he in a particularly salubrious mood. His wife had been practically worthless, only saying "I'm sorry" over and over again, as if apologies could possibly make up for this. Who was she protecting? Why was she hiding? What was she afraid of?
Fear. John understood fear. He'd run from battle once, and been in more than enough fights to recognize that unpleasant surge of adrenalin, that intense desire to be elsewhere and do anything else but go into combat. He'd also learned there was only one thing you could do with fear: Face it and do your job anyway.
Cassie's duty was clear. Tell him who the $&#*(@ was who'd raped her, so he could rip the man's balls off and feed them to a dog while he watched. No, however. Her fear was conquering her, and Preston found that somewhat disappointing.
Yes, John thought.
I'm not angry, just....
Crossing Queen Street a man jostled his shoulder hard. Preston snarled, spun and grabbed his neck cloth.
"What the devil!" the stranger cried before being thrown to the cobblestone. Preston knelt on his chest, still snarling, and raised his fist to strike. "Mercy!"
The crowd parted and stilled at the scene: A Carolina Guardsman on the verge of striking a prone, older man. John grit his teeth, mastering himself before slowly rising. He stormed away, fists clenched as the crowd closed behind him to help the stranger to his feet.
*******
"Thank you, James. That was very helpful." Black sat straight in his chair, staring at the young private. "It is a wonder you escaped. General Heyward is a very dangerous man."
James Therrit nodded briskly, still out of breath just from the memory. His eyes darted wildly as if expecting a demon in army uniform to come from behind the curtains of Moultrie's balcony. "Yes, sir! I would not have run, but Colonel Preston was specific. I...did my best, sir." He swallowed.
"You did fine," Black assured him. "And you were correct to report to me. I wish everyone thought as you...
Colonel!" He said the last loudly, beckoning. "Come in, John! John, you remember James Therrit?"
"The house slave said I was expected." Preston's determined glare softened into something almost friendly. He strode across the study and offered his hand. "Private. Thank God you're safe."
"And you, Colonel!" Therrit flushed and rose, returning the handshake. "I thought... I feared the worst, sir! How did you get away!?"
"Yes, John," Black purred. "How did you get away? And why did you not see me last night? The sentries at the fort said you passed through around sunset."
"I wanted to see my family," John said. "I thought you'd be asleep."
"You thought wrong, sir. I waited for hours to hear you report on Greenville, but no doubt you were seeking respite in your wife's arms. How is she, the creature?"
"Respite...no. That's what I want to talk to you about, see. There's a problem at home, and..."
"And here I thought you were to tell me of your encounter with General Heyward. You believe your familial problems outweigh the needs of the state?"
"I believe...!" John retorted, then stopped. "I will be happy to tell you what happened, but I need your help."
Black held his gaze for several moments. "Thank you for coming, James," he said without turning. "Would you wait in the sitting room? I may have further orders for you."
"Yes, sir." Therrit rose, bowed and walked out.
Black continued to hold Preston's gaze. "Very well, John. What do you need help with?"
Preston looked back and forth. "I...I don't know how to begin." He swallowed. Black leaned back, hands clasped on the desk. "My wife...she was....was...."
"Yes?"
"Attacked."
Black nodded. "A woman shouldn't be alone in these troubled times. Do you have any thoughts on who is responsible?"
"Not yet. Cassie's not talking much right now."
"Good."
"Eh!?"
"Oh! What I mean is, it's good you came to me. Of course I will help. What can I do?"
Preston nodded briskly. "If you could make some inquiries, try to find out who might have been by my house. People aren't always keen on speaking with me. Cassie doesn't get out much, but I'll ask around as well."
Black lifted his head. "Of course, John. Though do you think it wise to investigate this yourself? There is a...well, a conflict."
"I'm not asking you as the head of the Carolina Guard. I'm asking as a...well, a husband. Or a friend. What's so funny!?"
Black smiled. "Nothing. I think it's been many years since anyone called me a friend. As I said, I will certainly make inquiries. And if you'd like, I would be happy to visit. Perhaps I can reason with Mrs. Preston."
"That..." Preston shook his head and sighed, suddenly very tired. "No. Maybe later. She doesn't seem up for company."
"Very well. Now will you do me a service?"
John looked up. "Anything."
"What happened with General Heyward?"
Preston told him of the destruction of Greenville, the subsequent battle with the wolf-like Indian, and his run in with Thomas, avoiding the parts of their encounter that were, frankly, impossible.
"And General Heyward expressed no unusual...abilities?"
"Like?" John's eyes narrowed.
"Oh, I wouldn't know," Black replied calmly. "Precognition?"
"Precog... I don't understand."
"No, I'm sure you don't. How about telekinesis?" Another blank stare. "Nothing at all?"
"Well...you'll think I'm mad."
"I doubt that," Black assured him.
"I think he was choking me."
"That's hardly what..."
"...from twenty feet away."
Black lifted his brow. "Continue."
Grateful for the chance to tell
anyone the full story, John recounted the actual battle. Choked, thrown, pinned. Hope surged in his heart when Black didn't laugh, but simply looked thoughtful. "Do you...do you know what it means?"
"No, John. I have no idea."
*******
Black watched Preston leave and smiled.
Well done, he congratulated himself. As long as the boy looked for his wife's rapist, and he seemed willing to help...well, he could count on the Colonel to do anything asked. Even if it went against his better judgement. After all, what was morality worth when put against finding the man who'd desecrated his wife?
And John would find him, eventually. When Black wanted someone eliminated, he would find his wife's knife in their possession. Then he'd simply let nature take its course. Naturally John would face repercussions for taking the law into his own hand, but there he'd be offering succor and protection. For a price.
Black smiled, opened his desk drawer and looked in.
Where did her knife go??
*******
Instinct alone saved John Preston as he walked the hall leading to the stairs. The creak of a floorboard behind him, the impression of something being thrown, and he swerved to one side just as a small object hurtled past his neck. It slammed into a hanging Federation banner, driving into wood by sheer force, and hung there quivering.
Cherry handle, silver pommel and crosspiece. Cassie's knife! But how??
"RRRRRR!!!!!!"
