Gravedigger 01 - Sea Of Ghosts by Alan Campbell

follow, but the overseer kicked her to the ground. She reached out her arms and wailed. ‘She’s my daughter!’
    Both mother and daughter wore simple Evensraum peasant clothes, as torn and filthy as any of the other captives, and yet the girl’s boots were exceptionally fine, certainly not the sort of footwear one might expect a farm girl to own. Even in rags she was a striking young woman, olive-skinned with full lips, and a slender nose under a riot of black hair. She was terrified, confused, her eyes wild and brimming with tears. She didn’t even appear to see the jailer as he grabbed her wrist and dragged her quickly down the line of tables. Something about her appearance struck a chord in Granger’s heart. She looked strangely familiar .
    ‘Please,’ the woman on the ground begged him. ‘Don’t let them take her away from me. It would kill her.’
    ‘Ma’am . . .’ Granger began.
    ‘My name is Hana,’ she cried. ‘You know me, Thomas. You know me from Weaverbrook.’
    A slow, horrible realization came over Granger as he looked down at the beaten woman, at the face behind the bruises. She hadn’t aged well. Suddenly he found himself staring after the girl in the hands of the other jailer. She had her mother’s hair and skin, but what about the rest? The almond shape of that face, the tiny bump in the bridge of her nose, the strong line of her chin. Anyone could see the girl had some Losotan blood. And her eyes? Not dark like her mother’s, but the same pale shade of blue Granger looked at in his shaving mirror every day. Fifteen years old? God help him. Fifteen years. Not here, not now. Not in this godforsaken place.
    Creedy must have seen Granger’s expression change, because he grabbed his arm and whispered, ‘Fucking hell, Colonel. Don’t even think about it. You’re not Granger no longer. What happens in wartime happens. This has nothing to do with you now.’
    The woman was sobbing. ‘Please help her.’
    The grip on Granger’s arm tightened. ‘Not a good idea, Mr Swinekicker .’
    Granger wrenched away from the other man. He walked up to the administrator’s desk and laid down his tickets. ‘Give me these two,’ he said.
    The administrator didn’t even glance at the tickets. ‘I’m sorry, sir. These prisoners have already been claimed.’
    ‘What difference does it make?’ Granger insisted. ‘They’re randomly allocated.’
    One of the men standing nearby glanced at the sobbing peasant woman, then turned to him and said, ‘She’s supposed to come with me, but I don’t need the trouble, mate.’ He held out his ticket. ‘I’ll trade you.’
    Granger swapped tickets with the man. Then he approached the jailer holding the young girl. ‘What do you say?’
    The other man made a dismissive gesture. ‘Forget it. I ain’t queuing up again.’ He handed his prison ledger to one of the administrators and stood there, studiously avoiding Granger’s eye. The administrator looked at the ledger, then looked at Granger.
    Granger leaned close to the jailer and said, ‘One prisoner is as good as another.’
    The other man shook his head. ‘I told you,’ he replied weakly. ‘I’m not interested.’ He rubbed sweat from his brow and stared intently down at the desk. Still, the official did nothing. The sun beat down on the plaza, on the administrators’ desks, on the assembled crowds. Finally the jailer turned to Granger and whispered, ‘I got another business to run, you know?’ He moistened his lips. ‘I can’t trade her for some old man.’
    ‘You paid extra for her?’
    ‘You know how it is, man.’
    Granger placed his remaining ticket and his ledger on the desk. ‘Sign her over to me,’ he said to the administrator.
    The administrator gazed blankly at the scrap of paper.
    ‘Do it,’ Granger hissed, ‘before I start using words like corruption and prostitution . Those terms are quite clearly defined in the Evensraum Convention.’
    The jailer threw his ticket down.