Deathstalker 02 - Deathstalker Rebellion

them. Halfway down the long tent, a small area was separated off by tall standing screens. Toby thought at first it was a toilet and was somewhat surprised by the Sister's clear respect and reverence as she tapped on one of
    the screens.
    "It's the press people," said the Sister diffidently. "Do you still want to speak to them, or shall I kick them out?" There was a low murmured answer from within, and the Sister scowled as she turned back to Toby and Flynn. "Thirty minutes, and not a second more. And if you tire her, I'll have your balls."
    She pulled back one screen to make a doorway, and Toby and Flynn nodded respectfully to her and eased past her much as one might a growling watchdog.
    They filed through the doorway, and the Sister pulled the screen back into place behind them. The screened-off area turned out to be just big enough to hold a cot, a washbasin on a stand, and a small writing desk. Sitting before the desk was Mother Superior Beatrice, wrapped in a long silk housecoat with frayed hems and elbows worn dull. She looked pale and drawn, and her bright red hair had been cropped brutally short, but her eyes were warm and her welcoming smile seemed genuine enough. Behind her, her black robes and starched wimple hung from a hat stand, looking almost like there was another person in the small space with them. Beatrice didn't get up, but offered Toby her hand. Her handshake was firm but brief. She turned to Flynn, who leaned over her hand and kissed it.
    Beatrice's smile widened.
    "If you knew what I'd been doing with that hand just half an hour ago, you'd rush out of here to gargle with sulfuric acid." She turned her smile back to Toby. "I'm glad to see you both. I wasn't sure you'd come. Everyone else I've asked didn't want to risk rocking the boat."
    "I'm not sure I do, either," said Toby. "It depends on what you have to tell me.
    Is it okay if my cameraman records this conversation?"
    "Of course. That's why I insisted on you both coming here. Sit on the bed. We don't have any more chairs to spare, and you fill too much space standing up."

    She settled back in her chair by the desk, and Toby lowered himself cautiously into the cot. He wasn't sure it would bear his weight. It felt hard and unforgiving. Flynn stayed on his feet, moving quietly back and forth to sort out good angles for his camera. Toby ignored him. Flynn would take care of the technicalities; his province as reporter was the interview and what truth he could squeeze out of it. Mother Beatrice had a reputation for being outspoken, but that had always been in the pampered and protected Court, far away from the blood and dying of the frontline. She was supposed to have changed greatly after her experiences in a field hospital, but most of those stories were at least secondhand.
    And Toby wasn't sure he believed in saints anyway. He decided to start with something simple and clear-cut.
    "You seem very crowded here, Mother Beatrice. Surely, this structure wasn't meant to accommodate so many people at one time?"
    "Hell no. It was meant to serve a third as many patients, but that was worked out by civilized people in civilized places. And call me Bea, since I'm officially off duty. We're packed to the walls here because things have been going particularly badly for the Wolfes in the last few campaigns. The lines move back and forth on the map, but they're drawn in other people's blood. Some of our patients are rebels, of course. The Sisters of Mercy serve all sides impartially. Whatever the pressures."
    Toby raised an eyebrow. "Do the Wolfes know you're treating rebel wounded?"
    "I haven't told them. Not after the way they reacted the first time I raised the matter. I keep meaning to bring them up-to-date, but somehow I never get around to it. I don't see that it's any of their business. They only supply me with the
    bare necessities, even for their own people. We're a long way out from civilization, and transport costs are obscenely high. So I just do my job as I see best. We do what we can here. Patch people up and send them off. It's not unusual to see the same faces come back two or three times, bleeding from a different place each time. Rarely more than three times. Many can't take the shock of so much surgery. Others… just give up. It's a hard war and a harsh world. We don't see many flesh wounds here.
    "Supplies are running low. Blood plasma, anesthetics, most drugs. The Sisterhood sends what it can, but there's a lot of fighting going on