Lurching forward to grab the flask, the man belched again and nearly fell.
Bran caught him and winked. “Best get home before I decide I don’t want a witness to my horrible crimes, aye?”
“Aye. Course.” The drunk blinked and grinned like Bran was a fairy here to grant his wish.
Before the man had even left the alley, Bran was back through the window. A chair—or something—rubbed loudly against the floor downstairs. The kingsman was moving about.
The room across the hallway housed a wall of radios, some of which were from the last century. These small towns didn’t get much in the way of financial support. It was better though really because they were simple machines and easy for Bran to work, going on Samantha’s instructions. He flipped the silver switch on the one labeled Southern Route and crackles exploded from the speaker. Bran turned the thing off, his pulse flying. Controlling his breath, he listened for the kingsman. Footsteps knocked along the ground floor. A stair creaked and Bran put a hand on the cool metal of the gun in his pocket.
The kingsman coughed from what sounded like the bottom of the stairs. “Haunted. I’ve told them already…” he mumbled. “…won’t listen to me. Sarah’s right. I shouldn’t take these night jobs…”
Bran had to smile. He was happy to play the ghost. With the radio’s volume dial twisted down, he switched the thing back on. Pressing the button, he spoke quietly into the speaker.
“Please report on latest location of Nathair Campbell. King’s update.”
Samantha had said they did a regular update on important persons from time to time. Midnight would be an irregular moment for such an update unless there was an emergency, but it couldn’t be helped.
The crackling turned into a high-pitched voice. “Kingsman Broch here. Respond.”
The kingsman on the radio wanted Bran’s name to check against his roster. Thinking of Samantha’s list of who used to work in this office, he picked one name at random. Hopefully, the person still worked there. Conversation wouldn’t be an issue. Kingsmen weren’t permitted casual responses.
“Kingsman Alan. Respond.”
The speaker whirred and snapped. Bran turned the volume up a little to make sure he wasn’t missing Broch’s answer. Should he repeat himself? Or wait another minute? He strained to hear the television downstairs or the shuffling of feet.
“Earl Campbell,” the radio kingsman said, “was last seen two hours ago on the M6 nearing Preston and heading south.
Bran let out a huge breath. The farther Nathair was from them, the better, and it seemed he was on his way to London. But what was he going to do there? Was he on his way to meet the king to discuss what happened on the island? Would he plan a huge attack? The king was busy with the French war, but he had plenty of advisors.
“And just who are you?” a voice said suddenly from the door. The light from the hallway illuminated the outline of the kingsman from the first floor. He had a hand on his shiny new gun and was squinting into the dark radio room.
Bran popped up, heart pounding, and kicked the chair out behind him. He lunged, then cracked the kingsman across the chin with a right cross. The man fell to the floor.
Standing over the unconscious man, several things went through Bran’s brain. He had to make this look like a petty crime, committed by bored youth, instead of a break-in carried out to gain high-level intel on the king’s head of security.
Bran hurried down the stairs and into the spot where most kingsmen’s offices kept the petty cash. He grabbed a night stick and smashed the cash box lock. Tucking bills into his pockets, he found a permanent marker in a pen cup by a desk. On the wall in the petty cash room, he wrote an obscene phrase about someone’s mother and a hippo, then topped it off with the drawing of a raised middle finger.
“That should do,” he mumbled, tossing the marker to the ground.
He went back out the upstairs window, making sure to bash the glass right before making his escape off the bin. Young, bored criminals didn’t pick locks. This had to look sloppy and pointless.
A dog began barking at the sound of the glass breaking and Bran wasted no time running back into the shadows that would lead him to Rob’s pick up point and the safe house.
Chapter 8
A Dream Come True
Aini read over the coded message her father and the Dionadair had come up with to send to Lord Darnwell. “I think this word should be capitalized, if I understand the code correctly.”
Father nodded, murmured something to Rob, then made the correction.
Sent directly from Father, this message asked Darnwell and his wife, Elodie, whether or not they approved of Father’s efforts to begin talks with the rebels about joining the French in their fight against King John. It was very risky. If they were loyal to the king, they would report Father.
“You’re sure this is worth the possible trouble? If they show this to King John, the kingsmen will be after you until you’re dead.” She hated saying it like that, but this was no time to dance around the truth.
“As soon as Nathair learns what happened on Bass Rock, he’ll most likely tell the king. I’m already up to my neck in this, and you know it, squirrel. No use pretending otherwise. In for a penny…”
She smiled sadly at the old phrase. “True. Now, hug me because I don’t know when I’ll see you next.”
He held her tightly and kissed her forehead. “I will always be with you in spirit, squirrel.”
Tears ringed Aini’s eyes. She fought to keep them from falling down her wind-chilled face. Her mouth wouldn’t work, so she simply squeezed him once more, then turned toward the road where Dionadair scurried around, readying the two vehicles they’d use for the trip.
Without looking back at Father, she climbed into the truck’s front cab. It was time to go. Bran had discovered that Nathair was far away, in Birmingham at least and most likely nearing London. Now was the time to go. Tilting the rear view mirror, she watched the tear-blurred shapes of Dionadair loading the back with sacks of folded shirts and trousers. The sedan in front of them held four other Dionadair, who would serve as scouts on the road, going a little ahead of the truck.
This was it. The start of the true rebellion. One truck and one car of people who believed wholly in a prophecy made way before they were born. Aini swallowed a sour taste in her mouth. She was leading a group of rebels to tear down a local tyrant and a king. A king!
But she had no choice. Nathair had left. They had to strike now and get this moving or they’d be dead where they stood in a day.
The side mirror briefly showed Bran before he disappeared behind the truck to join the bags of clothing. Thane and Vera found spots to the left and right of Aini, Thane at the wheel with white knuckles. Myles, Neve, and Dodie sat in the back. Along with Bran, Samantha and Rob rode in the truck’s cargo area to keep eyes on the Coronation Stone—in its unassuming burlap sack—and the weapons and Bran’s explosives, which were hidden under a false bottom near the cab.
If someone had asked Aini a year ago how rebellions were born, her answer would’ve included detailed strategies and seasoned soldiers. She traded a tight look with Thane, then glanced at Vera, who nodded like she somehow knew what Aini was thinking. This was what rebellions truly were. A ragtag bunch who shared a belief in something greater than them. A collection of deviants determined to shape their homeland into what it needed to be.
As the small entourage left the tidy town of Greenock, and the group’s last chance at remaining hidden to their enemies, Aini realized rebellions were born of passion and desperation. An amalgam that would either get them killed or create the life of their dreams.
Driving along the River Clyde, the land grew less and less populated. Sheep dotted flat fields, and distant hills gathered up dark, sapphire clouds. Myles began to sing. Thane swore.
“She sipped sweetly soft singing, shouts stirring…”
“…not a bit of sense,” Thane mumbled, “…such a glaikit, bald…”
&nb
sp; Aini shushed him. “At least he’s making us think about something other than what we’re driving into. What are the odds on your uncle supporting you?”
“Burn bright blue blaze befit born bawling…”
Thane swallowed and glanced in the rear view mirror to glare at Myles with his whole heart. “I’d say less than a twenty percent chance of him agreeing with us.”
Aini’s shoulders weighed one hundred ton. “Okay.”
Myles kept on and someone began drumming a beat through the wall of the cab.
Thane’s frown faded and a grin like a memory of a smile flashed over his eyes and mouth, making Aini’s stomach do a little flip. “That’ll be Bran drumming,” he said. Thane’s contacts made his eyes green, but the gray was still there, darkening the hue.
The drumming grew more complicated, and Myles, pretty much shouting at this point, matched the song to the rhythm. Aini tapped her disgusting boots against the floorboard and tried to think positive. After a bit, Bran stopped thumping from the cargo area. Myles laughed and gave him a quick rhythm which Aini supposed was a thanks for joining in.
“That’s the River Teith.” Neve pointed at the waterway they were approaching. “And there?” She nodded to the right. “Castle Doune rules the bend of the river. If you visit the courtyard, you can clearly see the rich tastes of the man who had it constructed.”
Aini couldn’t help but grin. Neve hadn’t run a tour with Caledonia—the company she worked with—since all this madness began, so the urge to detail history to an audience was probably nigh to unbearable.
Under the castle’s shadow, water undulated like a blue and silver snake. White teeth of light pierced the shimmering surface like a beast fought desperately to break through. The wind kicked up, and the truck swayed along with the tops of the dark pines reaching over the road.
“Fine Scottish weather, huh?” Myles grimaced as he looked out the back passenger window.
The scout car sped up and was soon out of sight.
Thane turned the steering wheel and leaned forward to look up at the pewter sky, his Adam’s apple moving above the dip in his throat. “Aye. We might get a bit of snow before the day’s out.”
“It’s so early in the year.” Neve buttoned the top of her sweater with awkward fingers, her tongue sticking out of one side of her mouth.
“Trying not to rip anything?” Aini figured it must feel odd to be suddenly stronger than you’d ever been.
“That’s right. I don’t think Blaine McGruffin has any holes in her sweater.” Neve tossed her newly blond hair over her shoulder and pursed her lips.
“Oh Tav Laney does.” Aini rolled her eyes at her own fake ID name. She lifted one of the scuffed up boots she’d been given to wear. “Good old Tav could’ve at least replaced the ridiculously short shoelace, don’t you think?” She wiggled the frayed end of the string on her right boot at Thane.
Neve peeked over the seat at Aini’s less than fabulous footwear. “Blaine is probably going to take her shopping later for better shoes.”
“I should hope so. It isn’t even safe walking around with one boot half unlaced.”
“Not safe at all.”
The window beside Vera didn’t quite wind up the whole way. Air zipped through the opening and bit Aini’s ears and nose. She moved closer to Thane, enjoying the heat of his body through the canvas trousers and lumpy, knit sweater he’d been assigned to wear. His false identity was heavier than him and the Dionadair had done their best to make Thane look thick around the middle. Aini knew better. She could picture the flat stomach hiding under there and she had a pretty good idea of how warm and strong it would feel under her hands. Despite the fact that she had to keep checking the mirrors to be sure death wasn’t coming at them in the form of Nathair or the king, her heart tripped around in her chest at the thought of having him to herself again sometime soon.
Tiny spheres of ice began to crack against the windscreen.
“Sleet.” Thane made a Scottish sound in the back of his throat.
The clouds closed in around the sloping hills and the long, winding stretch of road as the wind whipped against the truck. Soon, the green and copper growth along the roadside disappeared behind plumes of mist and the lines of ice shooting from the heavens.
Vera’s phone—rigged to block any hacks—buzzed. “Aye. What? You…” Then she held the phone out and stared at it. “We lost contact. I think they ran into some trouble.”
“What kind? What did they say?” Aini’s stomach knotted.
“Something about the road conditions, then the call broke off.”
“Will we find them if we stay on this road?” Neve’s large front teeth worried her bottom lip.
“Aye.” Vera tapped the phone against her palm.
The wind blew hard, ice flying across the windscreen, and their truck surged left. A wheel caught the edge of the paving and Thane swore. He jerked the wheel and righted them. “We’ve got to stop somewhere. I can’t see a thing.”
“This is what your dream showed, isn’t it?” Aini remembered what he’d said in the lab about seeing ice and the headache he had after he woke up.
“Most likely.” His frown said the storm was only going to get worse.
Vera put her ear to the phone again. “Are you making a pot of stew, Shelby?” she said tersely. Then she clicked the phone off. “There’s another safe house coming up. About fifteen minutes off. Just past a hard left turn. Beyond the river’s bend. We can stay there until this passes.”
Thunder rumbled, and Aini tucked her freezing fingers under her legs. “And there’ll be stew?”
Vera snorted. “That would be nice. But the question was a code.”
“Right. Of course.” Seemed like half of their conversations lately were code. “Why do all of your code words have to do with food?”
“Easy to visualize and remember.”
Aini raised her eyebrows. “Solid point.”
Thane squinted to see through the storm. “There. They’re in the ditch.”
The lead car sat, bum up, in the long grass beside a low, stone wall, hazards flashing and a hand waving out the passenger window.
With Bran keeping a watch on the road, everyone gathered around the wreck. The windscreen was cracked in three places. It looked like a limb from the maple above them had fallen against the hood. The driver door was smashed in badly. The Dionadair behind the wheel moaned and held his arm against his side.
Sleet bit into Aini’s cheeks. “We’ll get you out of there.”
The others in the scout car blinked. They probably all had concussions. The man in the front passenger seat was bleeding pretty badly. Blood covered his right eye and ran over his cheek. He wiped it with the back of his hand.
Vera threw up her hands. “Well this is fine. They’ll all have to stay at the safe house. We can’t have scouts with brain injuries. And the car…it’s done in.”
Thane wrenched the passenger side door open and soon they had everyone out. Everyone’s noses were red with cold and the weather only seemed to be growing worse. Aini put an arm around the man with the broken arm and helped him into the back of the truck. She and Bran propped him up with bags of cotton clothing. When the rest were tucked away, Thane started their journey again.
Vera leaned over the seat and pointed. “The safe house is just there.”
Thane growled. “This hard left might put us in the loch.”
The wipers squeaked and lashed along the glass, but they did little to clear the view. He swore again and made the turn. A small house with limed, white walls and a thatched roof peeked out of the sleet in a field beyond the road. It looked like it hadn’t been updated since the 17th century. The icy rain paused for a minute and a barn materialized behind the house, a low, gray rock wall surrounding it.
The rain, starting up again in earnest, cut Aini’s cheeks as she led the group to the door, Vera at her side. Vera knocked on the chipped paint, and a woman with very short, light hair answered holding
a cup of something steaming. That little cup looked like the cure for every ailment in the universe.
“Please tell me that’s tea.” Aini wiped her boots thoroughly on the beaten down doormat.
“Come in then. Come in,” the woman said. A silver chain ending in a copper star hung from one ear. “I’m Shelby. I don’t have much, but the Dionadair are welcome to it all.” She began to fuss over the injured, pulling bandages and alcohol swabs from cabinets and drawers.
Bran shut the door as everyone twisted and huddled, trying to find somewhere to stand or lie down between the round kitchen table and two sad lumps that had probably been chairs once upon a time. A fire snapped from the hearth and brightened the room.
Thane put his backside to the fire, eyes closed. “Ah. I can feel my arse again. You all right, man?” he asked the one who probably had a broken arm.
“Of course he’s not okay,” Aini snapped.
Shelby looked up from her work. She was wrapping a length of flat wood against the arm. “He’ll be fine. It’s a clean break.”
“How do you know?” Neve asked gently.
“I used to be a nurse. Worked with the coast reserves until that sleekit king of ours cut my wage, raised my tax, and gave my poor sister a heart attack.” She glanced at a picture hanging above the fireplace. Two blondes stood side by side, smiling and holding fishing rods heavy with a salmon each. Shelby muttered something in Scots Gaelic.
Bran found a spot next to Thane and slicked ice from his thick, brown hair. Some hit the fire and it sizzled.
Shelby seemed to know not to ask questions, but Vera gave her a minimal explanation that would keep the woman enough in the dark as not to be in danger if someone came asking questions. Shelby nodded as she brewed up two full pots of tea.
Neve took a steaming cup from Shelby and handed it to Bran. He smiled and handed it on to Vera who downed it in one go. Shelby and Neve doled out more tea around the room. The scene reminded Aini of the family gathered after a funeral. She coiled her fingers around the tea Shelby gave her and inhaled the bittersweet scent. The hot drink eased down her throat and dispelled her shivers.
The Edinburgh Seer Complete Trilogy Page 31