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

away and the sun was already speeding toward the horizon, but we had several hours to go to get to our stop for the night—a Shadow-owned inn in Conk, the first real town on our journey.

It was a predictable stop for us, and a huge part of me hated allowing ourselves to be predictable, but we were travelling with prisoners, plus two new members of the team, and having a roof over our heads that we absolutely knew to be safe was priceless.  An hour after sunset, we rode into Conk, all of us cloaked and hooded in the cold winter darkness.

“State your business,” the smaller of the two guards on duty at the town gates demanded.

I knew him, so I pulled back my hood, letting him see my face.

His eyes widened as he recognized me.  Many of the municipal guards throughout Montshire are ex-military, especially, it seems, in the smaller towns.  Young people who entered the military often left it with only the skills of a soldier to earn a living, and the crown actively encouraged its appointed administrators to hire them for law enforcement.  My people actively recruit these people as informants and allies, supplying support, connections, and resources, oftentimes including supplemental income.  The result was that we have friends scattered throughout the kingdom, many of whom occupy leadership roles.  Which means that sometimes we get lucky, as we did this night. Ironic that we get better reception outside of Haven then in, or Porye for that matter.

“Mark nine travelling merchants seeking shelter,” the first guard said to his companion who I didn’t know but who nodded in agreement as he reached for the gate book.  “Correction. Make that six,” he said as he counted the fingers I held up.  Jella should already have entered Cork’s walls and be on overwatch somewhere likely high off the ground.

“Thank you, gentlemen.  May the rest of your shifts be safe,” I said.

“Interesting group of fellows came in about an hour ago.  Claimed to be seeking employment as road guards with a Cork merchant, but I know the merchant in question, and I haven’t heard a single word that he’s hiring.”

“How many?” I asked.

“Thirteen.”

“Thanks for the heads-up,” I said, walking Tipton through the town’s gates. Drew flicked his reins and the wagon rolled smoothly behind me, while Soshi pushed our three bound passengers down flat and covered them with an oilcloth.

Chapter 31

The trip through Cork’s snowy streets was uneventful, the only movement a few citizens hurrying to the warmth of their homes.  I could just about feel Jella somewhere nearby, but I never got so much as a glimpse of her or Yawl, although some of our horses reacted once when the wind briefly shifted.  Tipton only flicked his ears, so I figured the big cat was ghosting about the town along with her Forester partner.

The Stone House appeared after ten minutes of riding, a solid, low-key inn just on the edge of the business district.

The old stablehand who met us recognized me along with my regular team members.  “Thought I might see you soon, Captain,” he said, his voice rough and gravelly.  The scent of tobacco gave good reason for the vocal issue.

I struggled with his name for a moment till it popped into my head. “Why’s that, Alan?” I asked.

“Word has it that someone rearranged the office of the mayor in Porye over the last few days,” he said as he took Tipton’s reins.  Before I could answer, he turned and whistled.  Two sleepy-looking lads stumbled out of the stables and started to collect our horses’ leads.  “Seems like whoever did that sent all the rats running.”

“Any of the rats looking to bite?” I asked.

“Not that I’ve heard, but you gotta watch rats close, Captain,” he said.

“We’ve brought a few back with us for observation,” I said.  “Please keep an eye out if anyone shows interest in them.”

“Yessir,” he said with a nod.  I turned toward the inn and found the proprietor standing in the open doorway, watching us.

“Tubbs, you have any rooms for wayward travelers?” I asked the rotund man who had grown to fit the name his mother had given him.

“Wayward?  No.  Owners of the inn?  You bet,” he said, pausing to spit a stream of brown tobacco juice into pristine white snow.  “Got some grub still warm too.”

“I’ll need accommodations for three special guests,” I said as Soshi pulled the tarp off our prisoners.

“Basement is dry and not too cold, and it’s got a really solid lock on the door.”

“Perfect.”

He turned like a wide rowboat and went back inside, leaving the door open for us.

“Is the grub safe to eat?” Kassa asked me, her eyes on the slimy brown stain in the snow.

“His food is top-notch.  He was the personal cook for General Mitmere ten years ago.  He just didn’t know much about running a business.  We bought him out, rehired him at twice what he made on his own, and brought him into our little group.”

“You seem to do that a lot,” she said with a sideways glance at me.  “Giving ex-soldiers a hand up and buying their loyalty.”

“We don’t buy it.  We give them a solid chance to get ahead.  It’s all that most of them really want. That’s what wins us their loyalty.”

“Touchy,” she said with a smirk.  “Perhaps I used a poor choice of words.”

“Perhaps,” I agreed.

Inside, we found a warm and busy taproom with a couple of small tables to accommodate us.  Tubbs himself served us all big clay mugs of good brown ale, while his serving girls brought out crab-stuffed chicken, garlic smashed potatoes, and buttered squash with maple sugar on top.

Kassa, who opted for wine over ale, gave me a surprised nod after sampling her dinner.  The rest of the team was eating like it was a tournament sport, except Trell, who was studying the crowd with a gleam in his eye.

“Feel free to play if you’ve a mind for it,” I suggested.

“Shouldn’t I check with Tubbs first?”

“If