Soldier of Fortune

Outside the Rand townhouse, Mia watched Elvis chase pigeons over the rooftop as the suns broke free of the clouds just in time to drop below the skyline.

She didn’t think the draco was hungry. It looked more like he was having fun.

For sure he was enjoying himself more than Mia.

Oh, it had been exciting enough earlier when she’d been huddled with Prudawe and Hama at the front door, waiting for the general lady to say it was okay to go in.

And when Elvis had gone stiff and still on her shoulder, then flown straight up to the second floor, she’d gone all tingly with fear and raced out of hiding and onto the street to see the draco hovering outside the same window Gideon had jumped from that morning.

She hadn’t been able to see anything amiss, but if Elvis was keening, Mia knew something bad was happening inside.

She’d raced back to the others, to tell them they needed to get inside, that Gideon was in trouble, but by then the general lady was with them, holding the radio and ordering Gideon to unlock the door.

Her heart didn’t even think about slowing down until Gideon opened the door and handed the fancy lady-murderer-spy over to the police.

After that, it had been a rush of coppers and soldiers pouring in and out of the house.

Gideon had managed to give her a quick grin and a raised fist of triumph before being herded off by DS Hama and the general, leaving Mia and Elvis to their own devices.

She supposed she could just scarp.

It wasn’t as if Gideon owed her anything.

One might have said he owed her his life, but having facilitated the hive out from Ellison’s control, she supposed they were dead even now.

Still she remained, making designs in the gravel with her heels and watching Elvis perform a series of aerial gymnastics until the moment Ellison’s shadow crossed her line of vision.

Gideon collapsed into a leather chair in Jessup Rand’s study, stretched his legs, and closed his eyes.

He opened them again as General Satsuke and DS Hama entered the room, leaving the fresh influx of officers— both military and civilian—to search the rest of the house.

“I don’t know whether to commend you, shoot you, or send you back to Morton,” General Satsuke said to Gideon.

“Due respect,” DS Hama cut in, “but I believe there are a few civil matters for Msr Quinn to answer for first.”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” Gideon said, closing his eyes again.

“Certainly,” Hama replied. “Would you care to hear the charges in chronological, alphabetical, or statute order? By the way, both myself and the Chief of Police are particularly curious as to why you had a ruffian from Lower Cadbury break into Minister Del’s home.”

“Someone broke into Minister Del’s house?” Gideon said to his eyelids. “I’m shocked.”

“If Chief Salla hadn’t been in Del’s house at the time, the minister might have been injured, or worse.”

“And that would have been a real shame,” Gideon replied, thinking of Killian Del threatening to steal a young woman’s child.

Hama made a strangled sound. “Listen—”

“Perhaps this is a matter best dealt with at a higher pay grade,” Satsuke cut in. “In fact, Detective Sergeant, I am certain your chief and I will be able to facilitate the more complicated aspects of Msr Quinn’s—situation.”

“And won’t that be fun?” Gideon asked, opening his eyes and pushing himself from the chair with a surprising amount of verve. “In the meantime, if you don’t mind, I’m going to find my draco. And my coat.”

With this, he strode from the room, intent on his purpose.

Hama looked at Satsuke, who shook her head, and the two turned for the door just as Gideon popped back, a frantic draco on his shoulder. “Has anyone seen Mia?”

It had gone full dark by the time Ellison hauled an overlarge burlap bag liberated from the Rand stables into the boathouse that had, until today, sheltered his hive.

The decrepit building was black as pitch, but for the wavering circle of light provided by the lantern Ellison carried.

The bag had ceased bucking some time back, probably to avoid falling off the stolen motorcycle but also to spare itself Ellison’s heavy-handed wrath.

Once he dropped it onto the warped boards, however, it immediately commenced wriggling again, so he gave the sack a touch of the boot.

He was gratified to see the little shape curl up on itself with a soft whimper.

“There’ll be more o’ that if you don’t mind yerself,” he told it. “You savvy?”

The top of the bag gave a subdued nod.

Satisfied, he set the lamp on a crate, then opened the sack and pulled Mia out by the hair.

“You and me,” he said, kicking the sacking aside, “we’re gonna have us a little talk.”

“About what?” she asked, arms crossed in front of her, defiance trembling in every bone.

“All kinds o’ things,” he said, looming over the dodger. “Like ingratitude.”

“Sorry, didn’t I thank you for the back of your hand last night?”

Which was enough to have him raising his hand again.

“Now, now,” a dry voice reproved from the shadows near the door, “that’s no way to treat your dodgers.”

Ellison and Mia both froze.

“Who’s there?” Ellison turned toward the voice, drawing a blade as he shifted his grip on Mia.

“Let’s just say I’m a man who has had a spectacularly bad day.”

Ellison angled to follow the voice. “Quinn,” he guessed, just before Mia thrust an elbow into his gut. “Ease off, girl,” he snapped, knocking her up against the crate.

A heartbeat later, he was ducking as something screeched and dove at his head, then sped past to knock the lantern to the floor, where it gave a last, valiant sputter before fading to black.

Ellison silently cursed the moment he’d ever set eyes on that draco.

“I hear you met Elvis already,” Quinn said. “Which means you should have figured out he doesn’t like people messing with kids.”

A screech from the pitch dark above confirmed this.

“I don’t like when people mess with kids either,” Quinn continued.

Except now he was behind Ellison.

Ellison spun again, lifting Mia up as a shield and pressing the blade against her throat. “Back off, mister, if you don’t wanna see how much blood’s inside this little girl.”

“What did I just say about messing with kids?”

“Not a kid,” Ellison corrected. “A dodger. My dodger.”

“Not anymore,” Quinn told him. “Tell you what, you put her down right now, and I’ll let you walk out that door.”

“Or,” Ellison said, “you walk out that door right now, or I give the poppet a Midasian necktie.”

There was a pause, just long enough to be gratifying to the fagin.

“Huh,” Gideon said at last, “it seems you have me at a disadvantage.”

“Damn right, I do. So unless you want to see this bit o’ gutter filth bleedin’ out onna floor, you’ll be handing over that draco of yours and backing outta here.”

“And then you’ll let Mia go?”

“Sure,” Ellison lied, just as a light flashed, no more than a brief prick of brightness in the black, but enough to fill his eyes with a confusing dance of white blobs so he never saw the knife flying his way.

But he felt it.

With a gurgle of pain, Ellison dropped the girl and slumped to his knees.

His own small blade slid from numb fingers to clatter on the floor as his left hand rose to find the wedge of a knife buried in his shoulder.

He tried to speak as a deeper shade of dark filled the air in front of him but could only emit a guttural denial.

This had to be the worst pain he’d ever known.

No, he realized a moment later, as a tall shadow yanked the blade out, this was the worst pain he’d ever known.

He let out a whimper while Quinn reactivated the pocket torch he’d used to blind Ellison.

He gave Ellison a look, then handed the torch to Mia.

She took the light but stared at Quinn. “You came after me.”

“Of course I came after you. Well, technically, Elvis came after you and I followed him. You okay?” he asked.

She gave her head a testing shake. “I dunno.” She pushed herself to her feet. “Does right pissed count as okay?”

“Under the circumstances, yes.”

Ellison, through the film of pain, saw the other man’s smile, a brief flash of teeth in the torch’s light.

Then he saw Mia look down at him. “You gonna kill him, then?”

Ellison felt himself shrinking under that unforgiving regard.

“That,” Quinn said, “is up to him.”

“To him?” Mia glared up at Quinn.

“T-To me?” Ellison asked at the same time.

“It may be,” Quinn said, glancing down, “that Fagin Ellison has an urge to relocate.”

“M-M-Maybe?” Ellison stuttered, grasping at any possible future that had him in it.

“Far away from Nike.”

“I hear Macintosh is nice this time of year,” Ellison suggested.

“Farther,” Gideon prompted.

“I’ve—always wanted to see Kopernik in winter?”

“In which case,” Gideon said with a nod of approval, “I don’t see the need for another death today.”

“Another?” Ellison’s brain appeared to sputter over the thought of any deaths that day. “No. No need. None at all,” he agreed.

For her part, Mia looked as if she had another view, but then the draco swooped down from the rafters, buzzing the cringing Ellison before coming to land on her shoulder.

Mia looked at the draco, who seemed to meet her gaze and, to the fagin’s desperate relief, the cold fury in her eyes abated under the draco’s calm regard.

“I suppose not,” she said, finally deigning to spare a glance for her newly former fagin.

“So it’s all settled,” Ellison said. “Soon as I liberate my hive from them keepers.”

“Your hive is forfeit,” Gideon said shortly, pressing on the blade just enough to bite at the tender flesh of Ellison’s neck. “Not a one of those kids is going with you. Consider it an early retirement,” he suggested with a lightness that belied the weight of the knife in his hand.

“But I’ll have nothing!”

“You’ll have a pulse,” Gideon reminded him.

Which, as far as arguments went, Ellison had to admit was a good one.