by Taylor Hobbs
Fawkes sighed and held out two more silver pieces. “For your assistance and professionalism. And discretion,” he said, as he tossed the coins to the guard.
“Be on your way.” He nodded them past, and soon the city wall stretched high in front of them.
Before they entered through the gate, Fawkes’ angry whisper tickled Charlotte’s ear. “Why did Desmund give you that book? What did he say to you?”
She craned her neck to try to look at him. “He said I must have been drawn to it. I knocked it over when we first got there. Why, is it important?” she asked, confused.
His blue gaze locked on hers with a steely strength, his face inches from her own. Fawkes’ teeth ground together as he clenched his jaw, chewing on his words while he decided what to say. “That was my wife’s book.”
Charlotte’s mouth formed an ‘o’ of understanding. Blushing deeply, she leaned away from him. His wife’s book. “Does she want it back?”
Fawkes let out a harsh laugh. “Desmund failed to tell you the most important part then, did he? My wife is dead. Josephine died years ago. A fire. There was nothing left of her when I got home.”
Horrified for him, Charlotte’s eyes filled with tears. I’ve been jealous of a dead woman. Desmund’s insight to Fawkes echoed in her memory. Of course, he is angry. His life has been stripped from him, and nothing he does will ever get Josephine back. That was why Fawkes wasn’t afraid to die. Josephine’s death had been the catalyst to create the Cloaked Shadow.
Charlotte pictured Fawkes returning to a home ravaged by fire. She saw him digging through the rubble, burning his hands on the still-smoldering remnants, searching in vain for his wife. Screaming her name. I’m sorry didn’t seem enough, so Charlotte settled on, “She must have been brilliant, your wife.”
This seemed to catch Fawkes off guard, because he said, “Why do you think that?”
“The book was hers. All about the art of healing and such. To be able to read and study and help people… I imagine she was very special.”
His eyes softened, and he stared past Charlotte, reliving a memory. “She was extraordinary. People came from far and wide to seek treatment from her. She had many gifts, but her ability to perceive the truth about others was her greatest talent. It allowed her to heal her patients, but also mend their hearts and their minds. You couldn’t hide anything from her—or yourself—in her presence.”
“She possessed a second sight?” Charlotte asked, awed.
Her question snapped Fawkes out of his reverie. “It didn’t save her.”
Charlotte laid her hand on top of his white knuckles that gripped the reins. He didn’t jerk away, so she allowed her fingers to comfort him by moving in languid circles. His skin was brown as leather, chapped and scarred until there was no part left unmarked. They were hands that were forced to keep busy, moving and fighting and never resting, lest their idleness allowed their master to remember things he worked hard to forget. As Charlotte used gentle contact to chase his dark thoughts away, she also remembered how carefully those hands had tended to her injuries, and how strong they felt when they picked her up effortlessly. A gentleness lay in them that contradicted their appearance. His tension eased underneath her touch, and then traveled up his arms, and finally to his body, where Fawkes slumped in his seat with a sigh.
As they crossed the threshold into the city, however, Fawkes straightened up to his watchful state again. Charlotte tried to copy his movements but was quickly overwhelmed by the bustle of her surroundings. Vendors hawked their wares, selling food Charlotte couldn’t identify. Snippets of conversation in a foreign tongue reached her ears, harsh and grating. Women in bright and colorful clothing leaned out of doorways and beckoned to them.
How can I even begin to fit in here? But as Ghost continued his plod deeper into the city, Charlotte began to see a greater blend between Algonian and Croantian cultures. Neighborhoods emerged that were clearly occupied by immigrants, who combined the familiar comforts of home with the vibrant flair of their new country.
“Is it all so wild?” Charlotte asked Fawkes.
“Croantis citizens act with freedom and abandon. Some consider it savage, which is why ‘uncivilized’ Croantians are not welcome in Algonia,” Fawkes said. “Fortunately for the Algonian defectors, this attitude does not prevail in Croantis. They are free to act as they wish, as long as they don’t harm anyone within the borders.”
“The king knows the rebels fled here after the Great War?”
“Yes, but to send in his armies to capture the traitors would mean offending a much more powerful neighbor. King Otan must settle for capturing his targets when they travel back to Algonia instead.”
“Except innocent people are getting caught up in the mess,” Charlotte pointed out. A thought struck her. “Do you think this is where Henry might have fled?” she asked him hopefully.
“Possibly,” Fawkes admitted. “Though you would be searching a very long time in this city to find him.” Charlotte could tell he held back from adding, If he is still alive. “Many change their names and identities when coming here. It is a good place to disappear. A good place for you.”
Charlotte’s heart sank. “Where are we going?” she asked, unable to keep her dark mood out of her question.
“I have to make an appointment first, then we shall find an inn to rest at for the night.” We. He said ‘we’! Relieved beyond measure that Fawkes wasn’t leaving her just yet, Charlotte cracked a smile and tried to enjoy the city. For the first time since leaving home, she didn’t feel Duke Belaq breathing down her neck.
Fawkes directed Ghost down a narrow alley in a neighborhood with a distinctly Algonian flavor. On the side of a decrepit shack, Fawkes used a stray piece of charcoal to draw a symbol. Charlotte tried to get a better look at the finished product, but they were back out on the main street a moment later.
“Why did you do that?”
“I set up a meeting for tonight.”
“For us?”
“For me. These are not the people you want to get involved with.”
His contracts. He is going to meet with rebels tonight. As irrational as it was, Charlotte couldn’t help but hold them partly responsible for the imprisonment of her brother, and, by extension, the death of her mother. Without them, none of it would have happened. But then she would have never met Fawkes, either. Could Charlotte stand by Fawkes if the new contract helped the rebels? Would she be able to separate the emotion from the mission? If she wanted to live as Fawkes did, to truly be his apprentice, she needed to let go of the blame and refuse to take sides.
“I’m coming with you tonight,” she told him.
“This has nothing to do with you.” His voice hardened. “Our time together is nearing its end.”
“You’ll still be here, in the city, for a while longer. You told me you would train me until you had to leave me. Lock me in a room all you want, but I’ll escape and come find you. I can help.”
“Are you threatening me?” Fawkes asked, tone deadly.
“More like promising.”
****
Their rendezvous point was in the cellar of a less-than-respectable pub in the middle of the Algonian district. She repeated Fawkes’ instructions in her head as they navigated the sewer-filled streets— Don’t make a sound, keep your head fully covered, and stay by my side.
Though her shabby cloak was no match for Fawkes’ trademark disguise, it fell to her feet and the bulk hid her feminine body. As long as she kept to the shadows and her hood stayed put, she could probably pass for a teenage boy.
It had been weeks since she had seen the Cloaked Shadow fully emerge and take over Fawkes completely. Their casual sparring and training on the journey hadn’t done enough to remind her just how spectacular he could be as he padded silently through the night. Charlotte felt him slip away from her like liquid, and struggled to keep up, her own movements a poor imitation of her mentor’s skills.
No one spared a glance their way
as they passed the pub’s raucous entrance and headed for the side of the building. Two young men flanked heavy wooden doors inlaid into the ground next to the wall. They stiffened as Fawkes approached, giving him a respectful nod of their heads before pulling the iron handles. The doors opened like a butterfly’s wings, exposing a steep staircase lit by torchlight.
“Sir,” one guard whispered to Fawkes. “They’ve been waiting for you.” Fawkes nodded and started down the stairs. “Sir, not the other one. Only you are allowed.”
“The boy is with me,” Fawkes growled, his voice so deep it was almost unrecognizable to Charlotte’s ears. “He comes, or there is no meeting.”
The guards, exchanging a quick glance, decided it would be prudent to let the dangerous man have his way. Charlotte tailed immediately behind Fawkes as they descended, trying not to slip on the slime covered stones. She risked a peek forward over Fawkes’ shoulder.
Charlotte counted ten men standing directly in front of them, and guessed that even more guarded the perimeter of the cellar. Swollen casks of wine and ale loomed over the dirt floor in the flickering light. Tension thickened the air as the rebels waited for Fawkes to speak first. He was, after all, the one who called the meeting.
“Good evening.” Fawkes’ voice rumbled throughout the cavern. Charlotte noticed with smug satisfaction that some of the men jumped in surprise. So, they aren’t the big, bad rebels they might see themselves as. Besides, anybody with a lick of sense should treat the Cloaked Shadow with caution.
The tallest rebel stepped forward. Bean pole thin and with fiery red hair, he was the last person Charlotte would have expected to be in charge. “Your timing is fortuitous, Cloaked Shadow,” he said. “Though we have gotten word that your latest adventures have attracted quite a bit of unwanted attention.”
Standing behind Fawkes, Charlotte felt him stiffen. However, his voice remained smooth, without a hint of irritation toward the rebel leader. “Duke Belaq pursued me, yes. Your father is well after his imprisonment, I presume?”
Even in the dim light, the redhead could not hide the blush characteristic of his fair skin. “Yes, he is healing. But it appears you have brought the duke back with you.”
“Belaq did not take kindly to his prisoner being taken from him,” Fawkes pointed out.
“But you should not have led him directly to our city.”
“I had no choice,” Fawkes said, but didn’t elaborate further.
“You have forced us more deeply into hiding.” The redhead’s voice raised higher. “Right at the time when our plans are most delicate.”
“You wanted him out, Robin,” Fawkes said. “These are the consequences. The problems of the rebels are not my problems. I care not for your cause, only for your purse. So, as long as I am here, let us do business. Unless you feel you have no more need of my services.” Charlotte could hear the smirk in his voice.
But Robin was not about to gracefully bow out of the argument. “And in trusting you, not only have you led the king’s men to our doorstep but brought a stranger into our circle. We are contracted to deal with you, not with this boy. We will not speak further as long as he remains with you.”
“As I told your men upstairs,” Fawkes said coldly, “the boy is non-negotiable. He is here with me and is in my service. You speak of strangers, and here I see you have brought many more men with you than in the past. I know nothing of them, and yet I stand here in what could very possibly turn into a trap.”
“These are all men of the cause,” Robin said. “Hardened and vetted.”
“You lie. Your numbers have been depleted, and you are desperate for followers.” The Cloaked Shadow held up a finger and pointed it to the far right. “You,” he said. “Come out from the shadows.”
The young man emerged, and Charlotte stifled her gasp. The last person she ever expected to see stood in the middle of the cellar. Henry. It was all she could do to remain rooted in place, to prevent herself from flinging her arms around her brother. He was alive and well. But Fawkes had ordered her not to make a sound, not to reveal herself in front of the rebels. So for his sake, she did as she was told, even though all of her sisterly instincts screamed at her to go to him and make sure Henry was in one piece.
“Do you remember me?” Fawkes asked Henry. Charlotte’s brother swallowed, then nodded. Fawkes turned to stare at Robin, and continued. “You claim to trust this boy implicitly, yet you have only just met him. He is not a believer of your rebel doctrine. He is a boy with nowhere else to go.”
Robin stepped next to Henry to defend him. “His goals align with ours—to bring down the kingdom. He is a part of the brotherhood now. We do not question the loyalty of our brothers.” Henry looked at Robin in a way that was both grateful and guilty at the same time. Charlotte wondered just how Henry had gotten involved so deeply in such a dangerous game so quickly.
“You should be suspicious,” Fawkes warned him. “Others have tried to betray me. The line between the sides is no longer clear, and we cannot know how far Duke Belaq’s reach is.”
“I am far more inclined to trust the boy than you. Should I be suspicious of you?” Robin asked.
Fawkes crossed his arms. “It doesn’t matter if you are or you aren’t. You need me, otherwise your ‘brothers’ will rot in jail and then be executed. Not before being tortured for information, of course.”
Robin began to pace, agitated. The meeting was obviously not going as he had planned it, and he needed the upper hand. He started to close the gap between them, but Fawkes halted him. “That is close enough.”
“We will pay you double!” the redhead blurted out.
This seemed to intrigue the Cloaked Shadow. “Double? For what special favor?”
Robin wrung his hands and glanced around the room. He lowered his voice and said, “Assassinations that would further our cause. Only a few. Key figures who stand in the way of our war.”
A contract killer? Charlotte’s eyebrows shot up. Rescuing people from dungeons was one thing, but to purposefully sneak into a home and kill someone in cold blood? It made Charlotte’s own blood freeze, and she held her breath while she waited for Fawkes’ response.
“No,” Fawkes said. “Let us discuss the usual contract details right now, or I will leave and find work elsewhere.”
Charlotte let out a sigh of relief. Whatever arbitrary rules Fawkes set for himself when it came to his morals, assassinations did not fit within them. She did not delude herself of his capabilities, however. She had witnessed Fawkes slit a highwayman’s throat, and then use the same knife unflinchingly for supper later that day. But since breaking into the dungeon to free Henry, her own moral code had been corrupted. It was getting harder for her to determine what she would and wouldn’t do in terms of absolutes, thanks largely in part to her growing connection with the Cloaked Shadow.
She liked how he made her feel—powerful, capable, and important. She could feel herself changing when she was with him, and it made her feel alive. Learning, training, fighting, struggling—how could she give that up and return to the mundane? Life had placed an extraordinary opportunity in front of her to affect change upon the world, to take action that would have ripple effects across kingdoms. It was an intoxicating pull.
It was like she was being ripped in half in the struggle between wanting to stand by her brother and continuing as an apprentice. Seeing Henry reminded her that she had a duty to fulfill. It brought her back to her old self and reminded her what was important. Her brother needed her help to find his own identity, away from the rebel cause. But however selfish it was, Charlotte craved more for herself.
The seriousness of Fawkes’ tone brought her back to the moment. “My prices have gone up regardless. The risk is greater than ever. Now, who am I rescuing and where are they being held? This will also determine how much he is worth to you.”
A sheen of sweat glistened on Robin’s red face. He appeared to choke back a few key phrases before he finally said, “His name is Stefan. He
is being held at Numencaster.”
“The king’s castle?” Fawkes asked, incredulous. “How long has he been imprisoned?”
“A month.”
“A month? And you expect him to still be alive by the time I arrive?”
“We’ve had no word of his execution yet. We hope he has information that is imperative for our operation. We need him back.”
“King’s castle, rebel spy, Duke Belaq on my arse,” Fawkes mused. “Fine. One hundred.”
“Impossible,” Robin retorted.
“Either you pay me one hundred gold pieces or our business here is done.”
One hundred gold pieces? Charlotte thought. That was a fortune, and the risks that Fawkes outlined were enough to make her heart skip. He was being sent into the belly of the beast with the entire Kingdom of Algonia on the hunt for him. It needed to be worth it. With that kind of money, she expected that Fawkes could retire permanently. Not that he ever would, though.
Robin turned back to consult with the other rebels. After they exchanged a few terse whispers, Robin addressed Fawkes again. “Half now, the second half when Stefan is released. There will be an extraction team from our brothers in the north waiting for you in the forest outside the castle. They will also send word directly to us when Stefan is free.”
Fawkes bowed his cloaked head in acquiescence. Robin tossed a purse toward them, and it landed in the dirt. Charlotte darted forward to pick it up, and then handed it to her mentor. His quick fingers worked the knot and he glanced at the contents inside. Apparently satisfied, he motioned for Charlotte to follow him as they ascended the steps without a word, leaving the unhappy group inside.
****
Charlotte and Fawkes didn’t speak until they were once again in the safe sanctuary of their rented room. She expected him to talk with her about the contract, but one look into his eyes showed her that his barriers were back up. Charlotte searched his face, disappointed.