Quickly she closed the doors around her so that only a crack remained for her to look out of. She made sure to take shallow, quiet breaths of air as she watched Chief Auberon enter into the bed-chamber. He was carrying a small silver box in his hands. Walking over to a wooden table that had been pushed up against the wall near his bed, he placed the metal box on top of it. He paused and looked down at it, and she could have sworn she saw him give a remorseful shake of his head before striding out of his room.
Norabel waited to hear the sound of his keys locking the door shut before she ventured out from the closet. Glancing briefly at the door, she turned to where the box stood, almost staring her down. She knew that she had done what she needed to do; she found where Auberon slept. But the sight of the box made her shiver, chilling her blood like a piercing attack of hail on a warm summer day. She couldn’t just leave it; she had to look inside.
Moving swiftly, she crouched down by the side of the bed so that she would be hidden from view should anyone come in through the door unexpectedly. Reaching up for the box, she lifted its lid and discovered something dark and grainy inside.
Black Powder.
Norabel felt her whole body stiffen at the sight. Ashlin had said that any FPS that was colored black was lethal. For whatever reason it was here, one thing was clear: Auberon meant to kill someone.
For a moment she held it in her hands, thinking that she should take it with her, but then she realized that it would be a bad idea. Auberon would find out very quickly that someone had stolen it, putting the stronghold on high alert and ruining their chances of doing the Harbinger job. Plus, it would be naïve to think that he wouldn’t be able to get more Black Powder after she took this one.
Setting it back down on the table, she got up and backed away from it. She just had to hope that whatever Auberon was planning, he wouldn’t do it before tomorrow night. If that was the case, they could nick it while everyone was sleeping, and hopefully buy themselves a little more time to figure out why he had it.
Stealing back to the closet, she slipped into the passage and closed the stone slab back in place. Picking up her torch once more, she walked down the way she had come. For a few minutes, she explored the tunnels, opening a few doors that led out into the castle. The doors were usually located across from a coffin, and were covered up by a Pax flag on the other side. Norabel always chose to promptly close each door after taking a quick peek outside, but finally decided to venture out when she found a door that led into the kitchens.
The door opened out into a separate wing in which the food was stored—a kind of hallway that contained shelves and cupboards of pickled vegetables, sacks of flour, dried meats, and barrels of fruit. It seemed to be kept dark and away from the heat of the kitchen fires in order to preserve the food. Taking a few steps out, she listened intently for anyone that might be in the main portion of the kitchen. Luckily everything was silent, and when she peeked out around the corner, she found that the kitchens were, in fact, empty.
Staying low and moving quickly, she ran to the door that had been chained up, and replaced its lock with her broken one. Now if the team came to this door from the outside, all they would need to do would be to give it a hard tug, and the lock would fall, releasing the chain and letting them in.
Slipping through the kitchen the way she had come, she went back to the food hallway and into the hidden passage once more. She re-traced her steps all the way down the tunnels and to the opening that led to the barrack stairwell, but just as she was about to open the stone wall, she heard a voice coming from the other side.
“Drat it! Who stole the torch again!”
Norabel stopped breathing and quickly snuffed out the flame on the torch, not wanting the light to slip through the cracks on the hidden door. She could hear the sound of the stairwell door opening, and the same man shouting out, “Oi! Which one of you tunnel rats stole the torch on this wall?”
There was no response from the barracks. Perhaps none of the guys were in yet. But if that was the case, then the man looking for the missing torch would grow even more suspicious. What if he knew about the secret passage way? What if he opened it right now to look for the culprit?
Norabel took a few steps back at that thought, staring with horror at the dark wall in front of her, begging it to remain closed. A moment later she heard the sound of a door opening, and realized that another officer was coming into the stairwell.
“Oi, Sander,” the officer said, “You know who took this torch?”
The officer Sander seemed annoyed by his question as he said, “I dunno, Deagon, probably one of the guys. What’s the big deal?”
Deagon had to call out his response as Sander was walking away in disinterest. “I’m the one that has to light these wretched things every night! It’s my head on the line!”
Norabel could just hear Sander’s distant voice comment, “It’s a wretched piece of bark! Get over it!”
A few seconds later the barrack door slammed shut, and she could hear Deagon walking down the steps as well. She wondered if both boys were in their rooms now, making it safe for her to come out. Before she could risk it, she heard the stairwell doors open again, and another officer went down to his rooms. Now the chances of her being caught were that much greater.
She looked away from the wall and wondered if she should try to sneak out another way. She might be able to go out through the kitchens. She would just have to be careful about closing the door so that the broken lock stayed in place. Turning around, she was about to blindly walk down the passage, when a thought struck her. If she was able to sneak out and go back home—then what? Fletcher would be there waiting for her. As much as she was in danger here in the stronghold, she would be in more danger if she went back home.
Going back to the stone door, she sat down in front of it, resting her ear against the wall so that she could hear anyone that might pass by. Though it would take a long time, the safest way to get through the night would be to wait there until she was sure Fletcher came back to his rooms. If she left any sooner, she would be sure to run into him.
For the next few hours she sat huddled in the tunnel, her side pressed up against Lord Rodion’s coffin, trying to force herself to stay awake in order to keep track of everyone that came by. It wasn’t until around midnight that she heard a drunken set of footsteps stumble down the barrack steps. She couldn’t be sure it was Fletcher, but she could hear the man mumbling about something, and at the end of his sentence, she could make out her own name. A mixture of fear and relief and resentment washed through her as she realized that this was Fletcher, and that he had, in fact, been waiting for her.
Her body was weak, and her mind exhausted by the time she finally crept up to her own bed that night. Collapsing down on her thin mattress, she allowed sleep to take her, filling her dreams with muddled nightmares of the coming day.
Chapter 18
The work-day was well underway as Hunter looked down from his window, high up in the castle. Normally he would be at his checkpoint right now. He could see it all so clearly in his mind. The sun would be shining just behind his head, casting his long shadow over the road and heating up the wood of his shack, causing a warm pine scent to fill his nose. The ink from the quill and ledger would have already stained the fingers on his right hand.
In several hours the work day would be finished, and he would hear that familiar buzz of humanity as it came down the road towards him. And before long he would see that dizzying halo of snow, and those silver, pale blue eyes that seemed to notice everything that he could not. And he would probably make some bumbling remark about the weather and feel like an idiot, but as long as he gave her a smile, she always smiled back.
There was a knock on Hunter’s door, and he sighed in resignation. He ran a rough hand through his hair, trying to knock those memories from his head because they muddled with his thoughts and never let him think straight.
“Come in,” he called out, turning away from hi
s window and resting his back against the cold stone wall.
His Uncle Lorcan walked in and shut the door behind him. Hunter could tell that he had been out in the village, for the tuffs of hair by his neck were sticking together with sweat from the afternoon sun.
“Catching up on your sleep?” Lorcan asked, motioning to his bed.
Since his bed was neatly made up and Hunter was fully dressed, it was a bit of a stupid question, but he still thought it was nice that his uncle made the effort to ask.
“I’m good,” he replied. He folded his arms over his chest, but then lifted his hand to scratch an itch on his head.
“Good, good,” Lorcan nodded. “Well I, uh,” he cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back to regain a sense of authority. “I came to tell you,” he cleared his throat again, “that you did a good job. And, uh, I’m real proud of you. Your father would be real proud of you.”
Hunter looked down at the floor and nodded his head. He didn’t know how to respond to that. He was touched, but he didn’t really feel like they should be proud of him. In fact, he was beginning to feel guilty. He hadn’t told Auberon about the camp of rebels in the woods. He knew he should have, but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to give them away. If he did, that young boy he met might have been killed, and that would have been all on him.
And the more he thought about it, the more he felt that maybe the camp he ran into wasn’t a rebel group at all. The way they kept watch and handled their weapons, it was almost as if they had received training, like they were more than just farmers that ran away from home.
“So,” Lorcan stated, looking uncomfortably around the room.
He had never been one for handing out praise or talking about the past, and Hunter knew he should put his uncle out of his misery and strike up some sort of conversation.
Flicking his head towards his window, he asked, “Do you know who got my old post?”
“Oh,” he said, happy to have something to respond to. “Some officer or other. You don’t have to worry about it.”
“Will I be going back?”
“Oh no,” he answered proudly, thinking that his nephew would be happy about this. “No, I think you’ve moved beyond that.”
Hunter nodded, trying hard not to let his pain show.
“What will I be doing now?” he asked. His head felt heavy, as if he was in a dream and the concrete objects around him kept slipping away.
“Something’s being lined up for you, don’t worry. I can’t tell you too much now, but just give it some time. Your transport job to Liadrel really impressed Auberon.”
Hunter looked back to the floor and leaned his arms against the wall. “Uncle, do you know what’s going on in Liadrel?”
“What do you mean?”
He scuffed his boot on the ground and admitted, “When I was there, I saw signs that something was being developed. A lot of horse and cart traffic. And,” he lowered his voice and motioned to his door, saying, “last night I dropped off a box of Black Powder in Auberon’s hands. Now what would he be wanting with that?”
“It’s not your place to know!” Lorcan snapped, his cheeks growing red in anger. “If you value your position here, your cushy room above ground, then you will do what I taught you. Don’t speak, don’t ask questions. Not now. Especially not now.”
“Uncle, what aren’t you telling me?” he asked, taking a step forward.
“Did I not just say to stop asking questions?” he scolded. His face was pinched with anxiety, but it soon relaxed, and he spoke in a gentler tone. “Don’t question,” he repeated. “If I should come up to you in the future and speak the words Dead Sparrow, you are to get out of here as fast as you can and meet me in the back courtyard. No questions. Now let me hear you say you understand.”
“But,” he started to protest.
“Hunter!”
He sighed and nodded his head. “Yes uncle, I understand.”
*
Norabel hid in the shadows of her street, stuffing herself between two of her neighbor’s houses as she waited for the night to tick by. Earlier that day, the whole team had met at Mason’s. She had told them about the secret passageway, Auberon’s rooms, and the side kitchen door with the busted lock. Then they had left, agreeing to all meet back up at eleven.
Norabel had hoped to stay at their place, not wanting to be alone, but Logan had gone straight to Aleta’s, and Mason and Ashlin had taken off to the woods. Archer was sullen that Ashlin paid him no attention, and so went storming off home. That left her, once more, all by herself.
When she had gotten home, she had rushed to get ready, changing into a simple dress that wouldn’t hinder her movements, and had scarfed down a meager helping of bread for dinner. She wasn’t much hungry with the thought of committing treason fresh in her head.
Now, as she waited in the darkness of her street, she began to feel silly for having rushed so quickly to get out. It was nearly eleven at night, almost time to leave for Mason’s, and Fletcher had not shown up. She could have been inside her house, comfortably waiting away the hours until their job, instead of crouching in the shadows, tensing for the worst.
She was just about to come away from her hiding spot and start down the road towards the north end of town, when she heard the sound of a trotting horse. A hot flash of fear coursed through her, and she darted back into the shadows. It’s not him, she told herself. It’s not him. But not one part of her brain believed her, and her fears were confirmed as she watched the horse stop in the road in front of her house.
Fletcher slopped out of the saddle and stumbled over to her front door in a strange stupor. Norabel realized that the reason he hadn’t been here earlier was probably because he had been over at the pub, getting himself drunk.
Ramming his shoulder into her door, it gave way, and he charged inside her house. Norabel could hardly breathe as she listened to him raging about inside, knocking everything over, crashing and breaking and stomping. When he had finally satisfied himself that she was not hiding inside her home, he stormed back out. Her terrified eyes followed him across the street as he stopped in front of her neighbor’s house.
“Keaton!” he bellowed out, an angry drunkenness ruling his words. “Keaton! Get out here, Keaton!”
He came up to their door and started pounding on it, making the entire structure shake in frightening tremors. After a moment, the door finally opened, and Keaton took a brave step outside, putting more space between the angry official and his family.
“Fletcher,” he stated, trying to keep a firm tone in his voice.
He was cut off from speaking any further as Fletcher rammed his fist into his jaw. Norabel clamped her hand over her mouth, trying to stifle a scream. Fletcher grabbed Keaton by the shoulders and was about to hit him again, when a scream came from the house.
“Daddy!” Iris cried.
A second later she burst out the front door, wanting to come to her father’s aid.
“Finally!” Fletcher mumbled.
He let go of the father and grabbed ahold of Iris. Keaton tried to grab her from him, but Fletcher took a dagger from his belt and held it up to her throat.
“I’d think twice about that if I were you,” he warned. Then, spinning Iris around, he walked her back into the street. “Norabel!” he cried out. “I know you’re out here!”
Norabel shut her eyes for a brief moment, trying to come to terms with what she knew she must do. I have a protector, I have nothing to fear.
“If you don’t show yourself in the next…”
Fletcher stopped himself as he saw her step out from the shadows.
“Norabel, don’t!” Iris insisted.
Norabel looked to the young girl, admiring how brave she was, and then addressed Fletcher, saying, “I’m here now. You can let her go.”
Fletcher shoved Iris away from him, and she was immediately scooped up by her father and carried back into her house. When Keaton put her down, giving her to her moth
er, he stood in the doorway, debating on whether or not he should try to do something.
Fletcher pointed his dagger at him, saying, “If you try to interfere, I will slice both your wife’s and daughter’s throats.”
Keaton’s wide eyes turned to Norabel, and she gave him a nod, letting him know it was alright for him to leave. When he shut the door, Fletcher put his dagger back in his belt and turned to face her.
“Come closer,” he demanded. When she hesitated, he stamped his foot on the ground, screaming, “Now!”
Norabel gulped and took a few steps down the road, stopping when there were still a few feet between them.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, pointing an accusatory finger at her. “I told you not to do that. I warned you what would happen.” He looked over to where his horse waited, and motioned to him with a flick of his head. “Get on,” he ordered.
She looked to the horse with a sickening sense of dread. She knew she shouldn’t get on. As much as she was afraid right now, she would be in more danger if she allowed herself to be taken away.
“No,” she said, finally standing her ground.
She tried to keep her hands from shaking as Fletcher stepped towards her. His face was oddly calm as he stared down at her. Then, before she knew what hit her, the left side of her face was suddenly splitting in pain as he sent his fist flying into her head. The impact was so great that she ended up falling to her knees.
Grabbing her chin, he forced her to look up at him. “Get on the horse!” he yelled.
It was hard to think straight through the throbbing in her head, but she forced herself to say again, “No.”
This time she saw his fist before it hit her. She closed her eyes and braced herself for the piercing pain. His knuckles made contact with her mouth, and she felt her lip split open and a well of blood come rising up from the back of her throat.
Chasing Shadows (Saving Galerance, Book 1) Page 23