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

hand taller than me, with a powerful build that was now running to fat, as evidenced by his protruding gut.  Despite his secretary’s sudden deferential treatment, the mayor stayed behind his desk in front of a row of windows when I entered the office, his body language and facial expression dismissive.  Two large men stood on either side of the room, both with the look of ass kickers. The one on my left was huge, bigger and heavier than the mayor and most of it pure muscle.  The one on my right was tall, slim, and wiry with the whipcord musculature of a bladesman.

“Captain,” he said.  “You demanded to see me?”

“Yes, Mayor. I need to procure a specific site in the market square, and the city’s economic director indicated that he was unwilling to help me without your order.”

“A prime selling site in the market?  Why? What do you plan to sell?” he asked, his tone patronizing.

“Nothing.  We’re setting up an exchange.”

“We?”

“My team,” I replied.

“Exchanging what, exactly?” he asked, head tilted in mild disbelief.  “And what team?”

I sat back and studied him for a moment, crossing my legs at the knee.  “You have a problem in Porye, Mayor Macklin, and I’m here to solve it.”

“A problem?  Listen up, Captain DelaCrotia, this is my city and I’ll decide if there’s a problem or not, not some retired veteran with delusions of grandeur. And what is the meaning of this?” he asked, holding up my sealed Royal vial.

I frowned.  “First, Porye is His Majesty’s city—not yours.  Second, that is a sealed, secured royal message for transport by fast raptor immediately.  The fact that you’ve pulled it from the royal courier service bin is technically a crime against the crown.”

The big man to my left shifted slightly while the thinner one to my right just kept a death stare locked on me.

“Captain, I’ve been mayor here since you were suckling at your mother’s teat.  If you think I’m intimidated by you, you’re sadly mistaken.  I decide what’s important here and I decide what’s a crime.”

I felt my head tilt slightly, almost on its own as my senses expanded and my body came alive at the prospect of imminent action. I uncrossed my legs and leaned forward as if to make a point.  The real reason I moved was to shift my weight over my feet, which were now closer to the legs of my chair.

“King Warcan decides what is important everywhere in this kingdom,” I said, reaching into my jacket pocket, which immediately made both bodyguards tense.  I slowly pulled out a folded and sealed writ and tossed it on the mayor’s desk. “The king sent me to settle the civil unrest here by any means I deem necessary.  You will render me all aid or you will be arrested for obstruction of royal order.”

His face went red and his eyes locked on mine in a contest of wills.  I waited, my attention really on the men to either side of me.

Mayor Macklin held his death gaze on me for a handful of seconds, then reached for the writ, his eyes never leaving mine until the packet was in his hands.  He studied the wax seal before taking a knife-bladed letter opener from a drawer and slicing through red paraffin.  His eyes roved over the contents and then he dropped it on his desk.

“What did you put in this?” he asked, picking up the royal courier vial.

“That’s between me and the king.”

He held the bottom of the vial in one hand and his other reached for the top.

“Open that and I will execute you for treason on the spot,” I said evenly, smiling just a little.

He paused, parsing my words and tone.  I hadn’t told him not to open it, just indicated the consequences of his actions.  Nothing in my demeanor indicated that I would be unhappy with that result.

He paused and looked to each of his men then back at me, his eyes flicking down to my elbows resting on my knees, my hands folded right over left.  I saw the moment he made his decision.  My right hand slid into my left sleeve as his fingers tightened and began to twist. A royal courier vial is sealed with a glue that is impervious to solvents.  Opening one of these secure containers takes real effort and destroys the vial in the process.  Mayor Macklin’s big shoulders bunched as he started to exert force.

The single-shot bolter in my wrist sheath came free as I turned and triggered a steel bolt into the knife fighter’s forehead, rising from the chair even as I was shooting.  He dropped like an empty sack as I stepped one pace in his direction before turning and facing the big man.  For someone his size, he moved way too fast in my opinion, but I was still a smidge quicker.

My left foot kicked the chair I had occupied into the guard’s path, which threw him off-balance. My right hand shoved the empty bolter into his bare throat while my left blocked his cudgel swing at my head.  He pulled his head and shoulders back, raising his left hand to block my strike, which only partially landed.  I stepped forward and kicked his left thigh, which combined with his own reflexive jerk and sent him stumbling backward. I followed, pressuring him even more.

My left arm was pressed against his right forearm, and now I slipped it up, over, and then around, locking the cudgel in my armpit, then lifting my arm to lock and hyperextend his elbow.

He was reasonably well trained because he crossed his other fist over and smashed it against the inside of his right elbow in an attempt to break my lock. But not that well trained, because his move was to my benefit.  Instead of fighting that move, I simply stepped my left foot back, twisting at the hips, while my right hand, still holding the steel, brass, and wooden bolter, smashed into the elbow of