A Flight of Ravens by John Conroe (thriller books to read TXT) 📗

time sensitive,” King Helat said.  “Captain, carry out your duties.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I said, saluting and turning to leave.  As I got to the door, I heard the king behind me.

“Now, Rucian, what’s your beef with my handling of the traitorous Lady Dominick?”

“Well, Sire, it’s the manner of her arrest,” I heard my father say, just before I closed the door and cut off all sound.

Outside, I found Brent half asleep in a chair, waiting in case the king needed something.  He struggled awake.

“When are you off duty?” I asked him.

“Six o’clock,” he said.

“Get a few hours’ sleep, then come to the Knife around noon.  We’re going to need your help and it involves your family.”

“Yes sir.”

I left, trying to think of how I was going to tell a boy that his uncle was now the kind of monster he was training to fight.

Chapter 12

Hemppe met me at the door to the Knife and Needle.  “Is our friend safe and comfortable?” I asked.

He looked majorly disturbed, which on Hemppe is a steady frown and slightly tight shoulders.  “Yes,” he said with a nod, his eyes still holding mine.

“Strange, huh?” I said.

“Doesn’t begin to cover it.  It’s really him.  I didn’t believe it… not really, but he knows us.  All of us.”  It was like a full-blown speech.

“Yeah, it’s mashed up.  But he’s ours and we get to keep him—as long as we don’t lose him.  We’re also getting a babysitter from the birds.  Female. Probably high-level.  When she shows, sit on her.  I’m gonna grab a couple of hours, then get back at it.  But when we take her in, we gotta put on the whole show, every detail, every act.”

He nodded, a flash of relief crossing his face when I mentioned our custody of Ash.  “I’ll start the ball rolling.”

“Have you slept?”

“Just got up.  Two hours or so,” he said with a shrug.

“Okay, good.  I’m out,” I said, heading to the stairs.  We had been trained to forego sleep, but we were only human.  For every extra hour we were awake past our natural schedule, our performance would degrade.  Sometimes you had to go with that; sometimes you could squeeze in a few hours; and sometimes you could get a full set of winks.  This moment in time, right now, required me to catch what I could and hope I was sharp enough to meet my challenges.

Every RRS trooper and most regular soldiers learned to sleep at a moment’s notice.  I hit my bed and was out cold.

When I woke again, the sun was very high in the sky but not quite at its peak.  So maybe a bit more than two hours.  I washed my face, changed my shirt, and headed downstairs.

Terry was coming out of the dining room, carrying a tray of pottery mugs and plates. “Far corner.  Usual?” she asked.

“Yes, thanks.”

I stepped into the main room and headed to the bar, careful not to look at the table Terry had mentioned with anything but my peripheral vision.  Single occupant, slender, hair in a bun.  Most likely female.  I pulled a stool between Cort and an older Shadow, Kisen, who did an entirely too realistic a job pretending to be a drunk.  In the opposite corner of the room, Bard Trell was dining with an attractive lady friend, a sight that had become quite common since we adopted him.

The spot between my shoulder blades itched but I focused on the mug of dark stout that Hemppe set in front of me.  Thirsty, I pulled a long draft from it, about a third of it, and turned to Cort, one eyebrow up.

“It’s bad,” he mumbled around his own slug of ale.

Slinch had indicated his chosen agent was female.  We knew his most experienced, reliable agents, and he wouldn’t dare use less than his best for this.  There were only two or three people that fit those criteria, and one of those was worse for us than the others.  Cort’s assessment told me it was her.  Fontina.

Terry came back in and set a plate of hot chicken, mashed chive potatoes, and green beans, all swimming in gravy, in front of me.  I dug in.

Behind me, I heard a chair get pushed back.  Then the soft click of small, leather-soled shoes approach me.

I ignored her, because it was best to begin as I intended to go.

“This delay is unacceptable,” a soft, well-modulated voice enunciated precisely.

“Then don’t accept it,” I said without turning around.

“You concede defeat so fast?”

“Sure.  Run on back to Slinch and make your complaint,” I said, working belt knife and fork at a steady pace.

Raven Fontina was silent, a dark pressure behind me which made every combat instinct I had flare white hot.  I kept eating.  Hemppe set a mug of caffe in front of me and removed the now empty tankard.

“And leave you… unsupervised?” she said softly.  “I think not.”  She sighed.  “Must we?”

I swallowed my last bite, took a drink of the caffe, and then turned slowly around.

Fontina is a small, dark woman, barely one and half spans tall.  Her skin is the color of walnut, her eyes a rich mahogany.  When she smiles, which is very, very rare, her teeth are the white of sun-bleached bone.  She is neither attractive, nor ugly, but rather… nondescript.  When she desires it so, she fades into a crowd, and when she needs to be attended, her forceful personality has a certain quality that gathers the eye.

She’s been a Raven for over fifteen years and before that, she was a citizen of the Republic of Berkette.  We still didn’t know what role she had played in that life, but we knew she was scary smart, extremely perceptive, and as tenacious as a royal war hound.  She was exactly the agent I didn’t want to have looking over our shoulders.

“Ash Newberry is a decorated hero of Montshire and continues to be loyal even now.  King Helot ordered an observer… so you will observe.  You will not address him,