Shadows son (s-1) by Jon Sprunk

Author:Jon Sprunk [Sprunk, Jon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: sf_fantasy

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

aim rubbed his hands together in the dark alleyway and tried to 'ignore the cold. A frigid southerly had blown in from the bay, sending the inhabitants of the city's better neighborhoods home early for the evening. The windows of High Town's homes glowed cherry red around the edges of their lowered shades as families gathered indoors. Caim cursed them one and all for their comfort and wished he'd thought to bring a flask of something warm.

"It's freezing out here." Josey huddled next to him in a long wool coat, another loan from Madam Sanya. Underneath, her pretty dress had been replaced with a boy's tunic and breeches that didn't quite fit. A linen scarf hid her nose and mouth. Caim fought the urge to grin at her, the very image of a dainty little bandit.

Hubert breathed into his folded hands and nodded. He wore a mask, blue of course, smelling of whiskey.

"Nice and brisk. A good night for some fun."

Caim grunted. This wasn't his idea of fun. It was business, down and dirty. He meant to have some answers tonight, even if it meant exposing Josey to the rougher side of his trade. He didn't have time for civility. One way or the other, Ozmond Parmian would give him what he needed.

As Caim peeked out from the mouth of the alley, he wished for the hundredth time that he'd been more diplomatic with Kit. She would return, of course, in a day or a month, whenever she got bored of wandering the byways of the world. She always came back. Once he had remarked that she was too much in love with him to stay away for long. Now, he wasn't so sure. Recent events had put a strain on their relationship, and Josey's presence didn't help. Caim didn't understand why it should matter. It was like she was jealous, but Kit was immaterial, a ghost without the cares and troubles of the physical world. Yet sometimes she confused him every bit as much as a flesh-and-blood woman.

The streets below Sabine Hill were quiet, with only occasional revelers out to enjoy the evening air, but he couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that had settled between his shoulder blades. Like he was being watched.

Hubert had brought along a few of his "friends." One skulked in a doorway on the other side of the boulevard. From time to time a ruddy glow illuminated the man's hiding spot, probably from a tinderbox brought to warm his hands. Caim exhaled a jet of white steam into the night air.

Amateurs.

"How dependable are these men?"

Hubert's answering shrug raised and lowered the stiff collar of his twill jacket. "They're all good men, handy with a cudgel or a knife in a scrap, but they won't stand up to armed soldiers."

"I don't think it will come to that."

"I thought you said we were just going to talk to this man," Josey said.

A sharp whistle saved Caim from the need to respond.

"That's the signal," Hubert said. "He's coming.

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