Two Times a Traitor by Karen Bass

Author:Karen Bass
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pajama Press Inc.
Published: 2020-06-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

Laz knew about broken promises first hand.

Last fall, Emeline had wrangled a promise from him that he would take her and her friend to a nearby mall on the Saturday after her ninth birthday. A magician was going to perform and she was crazy about all kinds of magic. Happy that he’d given her a birthday present she had claimed to “absolutely adore.” Laz had promised to take her. That morning, Ryder had called, and Laz had immediately taken off to the skateboard park. He didn’t get back until late afternoon.

Their parents had both been busy, so Emeline had been forced to stay home because the mall was too far for her to go to alone. When Laz returned, he thought he had stepped into the end of the world, the way Emeline was sobbing, and apparently had been sobbing all afternoon. Her face was red and blotchy, smudged, and tear-streaked. But that wasn’t what got to Laz. It had been the look in her eyes. Trust broken.

He was grounded. And Emeline didn’t talk to him for two weeks. Since then, Laz avoided making promises. She could ask him for almost anything, but he ran from promises like a six-year-old boy avoiding kisses at recess.

Yet now Laz stood, on the steps of a wooden house, facing Morpain, who said, “Promise to serve me as best you can, and that you will not leave Louisbourg without my permission.”

Morpain had arranged for Laz’s lodging, and was paying for it out of his wages. Laz didn’t understand why, but Morpain had hired him to be his messenger. It occurred to Laz that this was great cover to go anywhere in the fortress. Morpain, it seemed, was a sucker for a sad story. Although, Laz’s story was partly true: he did want to go home.

When Laz recoiled slightly at the word, promise, Morpain offered his hand and said it again. “Promise me, Lazare.”

Laz wanted to say no. Instead, he shook hands. It felt like shaking Hawkins’ hand. They were both good men, and he liked them.

Morpain kept hold of Laz’s hand and clamped his left hand onto Laz’s right shoulder. “I’m a hard master, but I never ask anyone to do what I cannot. We will be a fine team, Lazare Berenger.”

“Thank you, sir.”

A smile crinkled out from his eyes. “I am not a sir. If you must, you may call me Commander, or onboard ship say, Monseuir Morpain. I most often answer to simply Morpain. But not Pierre. Only my wife calls me that. It is Saturday, so you can report to me on Monday. I have a room and desk in the King’s Bastion barracks where you faced the governor, though I’m often aboard my frigate, the Castor. The guards at the King’s Bastion will know my whereabouts, and if they don’t, my manservant Georges always knows.”

Morpain strode toward the waterfront. Behind Laz, the door creaked open. A boy, maybe nine years old, stepped outside. He smiled up at Laz. “You’re so lucky.

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