A message. How could he get a message to Aini and the rest? His arm throbbed dully, and he looked out the window into a closed courtyard.
Men and women in suits bustled through the square of dead grass, cobblestones, and past the dry fountain. He could kick the glass and escape through the window. But then what? He’d be caught in a minute. There were guards everywhere and cameras too. But maybe he could be free long enough to get a note to someone who might do as he asked. He crammed his hands into his pockets, looking for money. If he offered a bit of money for the deed, the messenger may just take him up on the offer. If he offered too much, they’d be wary. But he had no money on him at all. What else? A desk sat beside the bed. The drawer slid out easily, showing a pad and pen. That was something.
Thane leaned on the desk to write, racking his brain to remember the codes he could use in case the message was found. It had to be a really strong code. Not that ridiculous food code they’d used on the way. He’d write the message in the number code. Yes. That one hadn’t been put to work in a while. Hopefully, it was still safe. The code used the letters’ number in the alphabet, then subtracted two. Operatives were also required to insert a nonsense number every third time. It wasn’t that tough to figure out. But it was enough, hopefully, to protect this information from prying eyes or Nathair’s men if they intercepted the message.
He worked quickly, his brain fuzzy but functioning. That should’ve been his motto.
The message hopefully stated:
Do not come after the Heir. It is a trap.
Fight Nathair as if the Heir is with you, because he is in spirit.
Infiltrate the city quietly and take the St. Giles first. Nathair is using it as an armory.
He will tempt you into going after the Heir in the library. Do not attempt rescue.
By the time Thane finished the message and tucked it into his boot, the sun was long gone and so were the people in the courtyard. He kicked the window out, using his heel to clear the smaller bits of glass from the frame so he could maneuver his way onto the ledge. One finger-sized length of glass winked. He pocketed the piece, knowing it could serve as both weapon and tool in the future if needed.
Outside, it was dark, but there was plenty of light for anyone to glimpse him. Former Parliament buildings came together to create the courtyard, their windows illuminated squares on the stones below. A tension buzzed through the air, like someone was about to scream. An errant, late worker walked quickly, gaze darting here and there. What did he know that Thane didn’t?
Thane lowered himself into a squat, his stitched arm proclaiming its unhappiness with his activity. Then he made a go for the drain spout. With one hand, he cupped the ledge, lay on his stomach, and gripped the spout with his boots as best he could.
What was it Lewis always said? In for a penny, in for a pound.
He slid over the edge, keeping a hold on the spout as best he could. His boots squealed against the metal as he slipped down, down, down. Each new section of pipe jarred his hand and cut his palm, but he couldn’t let go or he’d drop to the most likely very unforgiving pavement.
One more floor to go and he’d be there.
“What’s that?” a voice called out below him.
“Go!” Another voice rose above that one.
Thane’s thumb caught the last section of drain spout and ripped his hand away. He grasped for the pipe, but couldn’t regain his grip, and fell hard on his back. The wind knocked clean out of him, he sucked a breath, glad at least that he’d had the sense to tuck his chin to protect his head. Those new men Nathair had taken on, all in flat caps and wearing the look of the devil himself, poured out of the courtyard door toward Thane.
He jumped to his feet, head spinning from the earlier blood loss, and took off toward the exit and freedom. He only needed a moment to pass the message on.
Free of the courtyard, he found a side street and a plain-faced vendor selling scarves and mittens. Thane paused to take the message from his boot, then shot toward the vendor.
“Please take this to Gilmerton Cove. South of here. Ask for Vera.”
“I don’t know what that is.” The woman eyed the street and put a hand to her chest. “What do you mean, man?”
“Just ask around. For Gilmerton Cove. Please. You’ll be rewarded. They will give you what you ask as long as it’s—”
Someone jerked Thane backward. He fell against three of Nathair’s men. Thane stretched to see the vendor. She was slipping her hand inside her pocket. Maybe she had kept the message. Maybe she would deliver it. Or maybe she thought he was a madman and had thrown the message to the ground already.
He pushed a man off him and tried to see the street near the vendor’s boots. “Get off me, ape!”
He didn’t want to hope if there was no hope. Above all, he didn’t want to be blind in this situation. But there wasn’t any paper on the roadway. The vendor had kept the coded message, for whatever reason.
Thrusting upward, Thane rammed the back of his head into one of the men’s noses. The man howled in pain, cursing Thane in a creative way Myles would’ve appreciated.
“There’s more where that came from if you want it,” Thane said.
Fingers gripped Thane’s hair. A thumb and a finger pressed acutely into his jaw, sending sparks of fire down his neck. A voice he’d never heard before echoed in his ringing ears.
“I don’t think that’s how you should behave, future king,” the voice whispered in his ear.
The words tilted up and down with a thick Birmingham accent and Thane was struck again with how his father could bend so many people to his will—even those whose backgrounds had nothing to do with the Campbells.
“What did he give you to become his dog?” Thane shook his head and pulled away, heading back through the exit he’d escaped from. There was little use in running right now. He wouldn’t get far. Thane turned to see the man who’d held him with expert, exact force.
The first thought Thane had was: here stood a man about to defy a rebel army and a king, smiling coolly, gallus as anything. He wasn’t taller than the men around him, though it seemed he had a good foot on the rest. His suit was far too fine for this kind of bloody work. Thane had no doubt if he took a keek at the man’s right hand, he’d find blood there under the fingernails. The man’s smile and chilling eyes told Thane he wasn’t even going to respond to the dog insult.
“My name is Jack Shaw.” He made a little bow, flipping his long coat aside to show a red, silk lining. “Your father invited us into his confidence and I, for one, consider it a fine gift.”
Thane felt like he was drowning. Jack was too refined. Too professional. Not the kind of enemy Thane knew how to handle in situations that called for violence. “Shows how little you know of what my father’s gifts look like in the light of truth.”
Jack swept past him, his men surrounding Thane, guns and knives barely hidden. “He does sound like a prophecy come to life, doesn’t he?” Jack whispered, his men laughing.
“That’s right, Jackie,” another man said.
The others joined in the laugh as they corralled Thane to his room. A guard stood outside the door and inside too, by the broken, boarded-up window. They’d worked fast to undo what Thane had done. The men shoved him toward the bed, then left him with Jack.
“You best get some rest.” Jack sniffed and ran a finger over the unbroken side of the window. “Your friends will be here soon. We’ll have an exciting evening, for certain. Then, when we’ve dealt with them, it’ll be time to prep for your appearance on the television. You see, Thane Campbell, we are all on the same side.”
Pretending to nurse his stitched-up shoulder, Thane leaned over far enough to slide the glass from his pocket under the mattress. Then he stretched out on the bed. His shoulder wound pounded in time with his pulse.
“Things may not go exactly as you’d like,” Jack said, “but they will proceed in the same direction. We will usurp the king on your behalf. We will take b
ack your country for you. You will be king of Scotland. You see? We are but your servants in this endeavor.”
Two of Jackie’s men returned, one with a pint of beer and the other a plate of bangers and mash. They set the stuff on Thane’s night table.
Thane wasn’t about to ask Jackie any questions. Anything they told him would be tainted with misinformation and could lead to a misstep. No, better that Thane talk to Nathair again. At least now he knew if Nathair was lying. He could see it all over Nathair’s face and he wondered how he’d never before noticed the shift of features.
“You will be king of this fine land. And I will return home to Birmingham, some of these lads to Glasgow, and we’ll all be happier for it. Embrace our assistance and this will all go rather smoothly, I like to think.”
“The chemist isn’t listening to you, Jackie,” a man from Glasgow said, his accent familiar to Thane. So the two groups Nathair had taken on were blending. Bad news for the good side. Rough men from two of the roughest cities would make for a very difficult gang to beat in a fight. Especially with this sharp leader orchestrating things with that blood-stained hand.
“He thinks we’re not being truthful with him.” Jackie lit a cigarette right over Thane’s head and sucked it. The tobacco crackled lightly. There it was—the dark brown lodged under Jackie’s fingernails, just as Thane had guessed. “He’ll just wait and talk to daddy about all this and see what the old man gives him.”
Thane’s stomach flipped. Jackie had just about read his mind.
Jackie leaned closer and pressed a thumb into Thane’s bandage. Heat leaked from the wound and down Thane’s arm, dragging a bitter pain alongside.
“Maybe you’ll have a nice Dream about what’s to happen tonight, hm?” Jackie raised both eyebrows. “That would be a good thing for you, because I don’t think you’ve guessed what your father has up his sleeve.” He grinned and turned on his heel to go, his gang trailing after him like long, dirty coattails.
The guard at the window cocked his revolver and set it on his forearm.
Message received. There would be no easy escapes from now on. Thane shut his eyes and prayed that vendor had delivered the message. Aini could not come here. These people would rip them limb from limb and Jackie would add her blood to the dregs under his manicured nails.
Chapter 3
A Blessing
The plan was complicated, to say the least, and Bran was about sixty percent sure it would go wrong. The problem with it was that the rebels—Campbells, Campbell kin, Dionadair, Aini, Neve, and Myles—believed Nathair wouldn’t see it coming. He definitely would. Rodric and Seanie would’ve agreed with Bran. Thane would have. But Bran had been outvoted on spending time coming up with a new plan. So here they were, trucking it to Edinburgh, straight toward Nathair who was always five moves ahead of the rest of the world.
“Can you tell me one more time?” Myles scratched his head, then pulled his black beanie over his scalp again. “I just want to be sure I know exactly where I’m supposed to be and what I can maybe do if I don’t end up in the right spot.”
“Of course.” The steering wheel squeaked a little as Aini pulled the lorry into a car park near the Edinburgh train station.
Street lamps glowed under a cloudy, starless night. The radio played a quiet song about an owl who had morphed into a girl at midsummer. Could’ve been a lovely night if they weren’t about to make it explode. Bran silently chastised himself for being so bitter. Even if they were about to ruin everything, it didn’t have to spoil the fine moment. What was life other than fine moments mixed into the bad?
“First, we’ll set up three diversions within Edinburgh. One here at the train station. A second near Edinburgh Castle. And a third on Forth Bridge. You are part of the castle team.”
Two more rebel vehicles pulled in behind Aini’s parking spot—a blue car and a plain white lorry similar to the one they were in.
“With Vera, Hawes, Bran and his explosives team, you’ll walk to the castle and set up your explosive device beside the ticket booth. The inner booth, beyond the open entrance.”
“Got it.”
Myles tapped his head while Bran opened his bag and rummaged around for something to eat. Bran was trying very hard not to think of it as a last meal.
Aini opened the lorry’s door and climbed out. The chilly wind picked up her hair and tossed it over her shoulder. Her face was straight lines and sheer will. The lass was ready for war, that was obvious. “While the bulk of our forces infiltrate the cathedral that is serving as Nathair’s secret armory and the Signet Library, all explosives teams will put off their detonations at the same time. We hope Nathair won’t have the time to realize—and pass on the fact—that this is organized and is only a ploy to spread out his forces here. I will be with the group here. We will set off the explosions, then all head to our posts around the Signet Library and the old Parliament buildings where we know, from Bran here, Nathair holds his prisoners, both those he treats well and those he does not.”
“And we’re just hoping Nathair thinks we’re a bunch of quitters who won’t go after their Heir?” Myles gave Neve a quick kiss and a firm hug.
“Yes,” Aini said. “He believes I promised Thane to stay out of it for my own health. I do know that I endanger Thane’s life in coming for him. But I don’t see any other way to free him. We have to do the job. There’s no one else who will do it for us. I’m certainly not sacrificing Thane to save my own skin.”
“Agreed,” Neve said, handing Aini a walkie talkie.
Blood going cold, Bran slid out behind Myles and adjusted the sling of grenades under his coat. He wasn’t sure which way Nathair would treat Thane. Would Thane be in a cell under the building? Or in a nicely appointed room upstairs, guarded and tied to his fate? Bran watched Aini give some orders over her talkie.
“Has there been any word on whether or not the king knows about Nathair asking Campbells to swear to him? I’m only assuming what we’ve done thus far hasn’t been pitched around yet.”
Aini strapped the device onto her belt. “Our intel says there isn’t any chatter about our infiltration of Inveraray or the gathering. There was one mention of the king planning a visit to the North though. We don’t know if he wants to check on Nathair’s doings or what.”
“There’s so little we know going into this.” Bran moved his fingers in and out, trying to get the feeling back into them.
Aini was suddenly right in front of him, fierce eyes blazing. The wind whistled past as she lifted his chin gently, her other hand propping her jacket to the side. Macbeth’s dirk poised, dark and ancient, from her waist and the Bethune brooch glittered beside it, promising Aini’s role here, Seer, Ghost Talker, Protector of the Heir.
Aini smiled, and Bran saw a beautiful, female incarnation of Merlin, magic swirling around her in blue flames and reflecting off her shining hair. He shook his head, not sure if he’d actually seen that or imagined it. “You are my soldier,” she said, “and I will succeed in this. Don’t let fear break your quick mind, Bran. We need you. I need you.”
The urge to bow broke over Bran, but he felt silly, so he settled on lowering his gaze respectfully. “Thank you, Aini. I will do my very best for you and for Thane.”
She set a hand on his shoulder. “I know you will. I would never doubt you. This won’t go like we plan, I’m sure. I’m not an idiot. But we must push on and think on our feet. There will never be a day when we are fully prepared for this.”
“True.”
She spun and took her magic with her, leaving Bran feeling oddly baptized. A sensation like power lingered over the spot she’d touched.
“That was mint.” Myles blinked. Awe had pulled his eyes wider.
“Come on, then,” Bran said to his team as the other groups disappeared into the night, heading toward the Forth Bridge and the train station.
“I’m ready.” Vera slicked on some bright red lipstick and joined him, not a trace of her earlier antagonism in sight. S
he only wore that I-love-to-flirt-with-Death look she’d most likely been born with.
Hawes strode over, hands gripping the straps of her satchel. Her dark eyes watched the night. She’d seen some rough times during a fight between the clans during her childhood. Bran remembered the story Thane had told him about her and two much larger girls. Hawes was a born fighter, Thane had said. She used her surroundings to give her an edge.
Bran started toward the wooded area beyond the street, his lads at his heels. They could move along quickly there without being seen quite as easily. “You’re pretty comfortable toting a sack of things that explode,” he said to Hawes.
Hawes jerked to a stop, face going pale. “I thought they weren’t live.”
Okay. She was tough, but not a macho idiot. Good. “They aren’t. But they’re also not made of candy, you know.”
Vera snorted. “Candy isn’t the safest thing in this group.”
Myles nodded along with the rest of the lads.
Bran laughed quietly. “Just please be sure to keep your footing, aye?”
“Course.” Hawes swallowed and watched her feet as they crossed the road, nearing a turn off.
Heading down a side road toward Edinburgh Castle, the team saw several kingsmen. One in a Campbell kilt, the rest in black. All stood straight and armed with guns on their belts. None so far had noticed them creeping along the streets. The nighttime crowd, though sparse at this hour, poured laughs and music from pub doors and into the streets. The noise did a fine job covering their own footsteps through the shadowed spots on their route.
Vera led the team up a set of narrow, stone steps. Cold water dropped from the rooftops, some falling onto Bran’s neck and slithering down his back. He kept close to Vera and Myles. Hawes stayed right behind him.
“Keep an eye on our tail, lads.” Bran came up beside Vera to look down the street.
A kingsman stood guard in front of a tall, wooden newspaper stand that was closed up for the night.
“He just glanced over here,” Vera said.
The Edinburgh Seer Complete Trilogy Page 46