Soldier of Fortune: A Gideon Quinn Adventure (Fortune Chronicles Book 1) (14 page)

Rey had smiled at that, but not the laughing kind of smile, before asking if the Ohmdahls would be willing to show the twins where they’d last seen the soldier named Gideon.

Which was when they stepped outside and Ulf saw Gideon heading down the street with Mia and first Rey, then Ronan, and then all three Ohmdahls started after him.

And that, as the storytellers say, is when things got interesting.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-T
HREE

GIDEON KNEW THEY
were being followed.

He knew they were being followed because if they weren’t, all the shouts of protest, grunts of pain and crashes of glass breaking behind them were the beginnings of Nike’s most specifically transient bar fight, ever.

He hoped that just this once his instincts were off and the noise really was the result of a pub-brawl-crawl but a quick glance over his shoulder showed him five figures — two slim and dark and three broad and fair — plowing through the street.

“That’s just adorable,” he commented, “in a sick kind of way.”

“What is?”

“The triplets are coming,” he turned and gave Mia a
do let’s hurry
hand on her shoulder, “with their friends the mercenary twins.”

“What twins?” she asked, but hurriedly, in deference to the hand. “And how is that adorable?”

“Adorable in a sick kind of way. I
did
qualify the statement,” he pointed out. “And the twins — remember the woman from the alley?”

“The one with the slithery voice,” Mia pulled him left, off of Marlboro and onto a still smaller street, one of those formed when more buildings were erected than the original city plan allowed for.

“That one, yes. Her name is Rey.”

“She was pissed—“

“
Angry.
”

“That you bashed her brother. You never mentioned they was twins.”

“
Were
, and it didn’t seem relevant at the time. Except for them being buddies with a set of triplets, which is—“

“
Not
adorable,” she cut in quickly.

“In a sick kind of way,” he qualified, again.

She, no surprise, rolled her eyes and shrugged. Then she took a sharp right into a narrow, connecting walkway. Gideon squeezed her shoulder to stop and, with his back to the rightmost building, leaned carefully out to see what was happening behind them. At first he thought perhaps they’d lost the full hive of siblings but a flurry of motion at the corner of Marlboro told him they were still coming.

“Let’s scarp,” he said, and followed Mia deeper into the passage, which was so narrow at some points his shoulders brushed the walls on both sides. The buildings were also of the ramshackle oeuvre, and he was sure several only remained upright because they were leaning on each other. Even better, their entrances weren’t at street level, but below, so that one had to descend a staircase to get to the front door.

It was not, in other words, a strong tactical position, should their pursuers catch up with them.

A cracked window they passed was emitting a stream of smoke — tobacco laced with Ease — giving Gideon the impression the entire row of dilapidated townhouses had been converted to hukka dens.

He was about to ask Mia if she was certain of her route, when she turned left to one of the sub-level doors, taking the steps down in two quick jumps.

Gideon followed, less enthusiastically. “Tell me this isn’t your someplace quiet.”

“Nah, this is just a shortcut,” she assured, opening the door and waving him in before her.

As much as Gideon didn’t want a run-in out on the streets, he was certain he didn’t want to go into this building, from which the vapor of Ease and Trip and who knew what else threatened to rob him of his focus.

“You comin’ or what?” Mia asked.

He glanced back into the narrow lane. “So far, so good. Maybe we’ve—“ and then an Ohmdahl-like shout was followed by a Ronan-like shadow and he knew they were out of time.

Gideon ducked into the house, Mia followed, closing the door behind them.

He reached back to lock the door but Mia shook her head. “If they’re trying’ the doors, and one’s locked—“

“It’ll look like someone’s hiding something,” he nodded, then coughed.

The place was, unsurprisingly, filled with the smoke that had only teased its way past the door. It stung their eyes, rasped in their throats, clouded their minds, and infuriated Elvis, who set his wings to flapping the pernicious substance away.

“Thanks,” Gideon told him. Through the haze, he could just made out a long central hall with an ascending stairway facing the entrance and rooms opening on either side. All, he assumed, occupied.

Mia didn’t hesitate, but headed straight in, past the stairs and the rooms, into what, had this been a functioning house, would have been a kitchen, and then to another door.

“Now where?” Gideon rasped.

Mia, holding one sleeve-covered hand over her nose and mouth, opened the door with the other. They were, it seemed, to go downstairs.

Bad idea
, Gideon thought.

Then he heard the front door beginning to creak open behind them.

They went downstairs.  

The lower area was one large space, but divided by a series of free-standing screens rather than walls, and while there was enough smoke to calm an acre of bees, it was of the lighter, less narcotic variety.

Gideon had never thought of tobacco as particularly refreshing but in comparison to what was being inhaled upstairs, the basement was like a walk through a spring shower.  

“This way,” Mia said, leading him around the leftmost screen, and then another.

As they moved the air became still less fuggy. Gideon was even able to blink away some of the tears to see an open window— in the basement.

He looked at Mia.

“Wollstonecraft Street,” she said softly and pointed to where the window was set next to a crookedly hung door, “it’s a full story lower than Byron.”

He nodded his understanding, not particularly surprised by the girl’s intimate knowledge of the place. As she’d said earlier, this was prime dipping territory for a working dodger, but even the best pickpocket needed to know the lay of the land in case a dip went wrong or, as now, she happened to be traveling with an unfortunately popular individual.

He did, however, wonder if the reason she was so small for her age was because of excessive exposure to secondhand smoke. That he was about to ask her this told him he’d inhaled a bit too much of something in passing.

From upstairs, the sound of heavy footsteps shook the ceiling and Mia, still filtering the air through her sleeve, tugged him along, weaving her way through the low pillows, upon which were strewn in various positions of recline a significant number of citizens who preferred to take their intoxicants through their lungs.

Soon, though not soon enough from the racket up above, the staircase was no longer visible, being hidden by the staggered screens, and Gideon watched Mia reach for the basement door.

“Wait,” he said quickly, grabbing her hand and pulling her back. A feeling was growing in the pit of his stomach, the same sort he’d feel when a mission was about to go swarm.

He studied the door, top to bottom, then with a speed that belied the fug in his brains, slammed the door’s rusty lock home.

“
What?
” she hissed as he continued to move, dragging her along behind as he scanned the area. “What’re you doing? We were almost home free.”

Boots were clumping down the stairs, but Gideon didn’t even try to see who was coming.

“Crack under the door,” he said shortly. “Big enough to see two pairs of boots waiting on the other side. Here,” he stopped before a curtained off section of wall.

The odor emanating from behind that curtain was about as far from Ease as he could imagine.

“Here, what?”

“Here is where you’re going to hide,” he said, pulling the curtain aside and immediately wishing he hadn’t.

The curtain really did cut down on the privy’s smell.

“Are you swarm?” she asked, almost choking on the odor. “We can’t all fit in here — and those who do are like to suffocate.”

“It’s not that bad,” he said. Actually, it was pretty bad. But behind him, whomever had come downstairs was rousting the torpid smokers from their respective stupors.

And now someone was banging on the back door.

Gideon looked at Mia. “There’s room for the two of you.”

“Wait,” her eyes went wide, making her, for once, seem as young as she actually was.

“Can’t,” he said, then straightened his arm and clicked his tongue to Elvis, who flowed from Gideon’s shoulder to his wrist and then, when Gideon gave the sign, to Mia’s shoulder. “Friend,” he said to the draco. “Guard.”  And, while Elvis showed his displeasure by shifting from leg to leg, he remained in place, his right forepaw resting in Mia’s hair.

“No,” she whispered, never minding that the draco had been her sole desire not five hours ago. “We’ll fight ‘em. Like we did before.”

“Can’t,” he said again. “Listen,” he crouched down quickly because, to his horror, the girl was actually near to tears. “These aren’t going to be the last. The person who sent the twins—“

“Rand,” she said.

“Yes, Rand,” Gideon agreed, as a rush of fresh air from behind told him the basement door was now open. “Rand’s like Killian Del — he has money and power and even if we could fight his mercs — and we can’t, not with the Ohmdahls in the mix, we can’t — but even if we could, Rand won’t stop sending people after me.”

“But—“

“And the thing is,” he continued over her, “they’re not looking for you. And I’d like to keep it that way.”

Her face began to crumple, and his heart seemed to be going along for the ride.
Must be something in the smoke…

Footsteps were closing in. The screens Mia had walked around were being torn aside or simply through.

“Keep Elvis safe for me,” he said. Then he rose and dropped the curtain before her expression could completely undo him, then spun around in time to face the five — no, six, come to claim him.  

Gideon frowned, then counted. Three Ohmdahls, check, two angry twins, check, and one…

“Oh, right,” he said, as he recognized the sixth as Nahmin, the one who’d almost gotten him drowned. He probably would have identified him sooner, but the man’s clothing was far more sedate than when Gideon had seen him climb out of the Rand carriage in front of the Elysium. In fact, Gideon thought, he kind of looked like a butler. “Where’d you come from?”

“I found him waiting at back door,” Freya said, peering somewhat owlishly at her companion. “First I wonder who is this little man in front of door, but then I am thinking, the more the happier, yes?”

“No,” Gideon said, glancing at the six standing between him and any hope of freedom, “not really.”

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-F
OUR

“I’M HURT,” NAHMIN
said to Gideon Quinn, moving away from the buxom blonde as he spoke. He didn’t mind that she was a foot taller than he, or that she smelled as if she’d just bathed in a vat of vodka, but he did mind that she was blocking his view of the proceedings —
all
the proceedings — such as the way in which Quinn was planted so firmly in front of the privy’s curtain, and Rey’s predatory expression as she looked on Quinn.

“Did you bring the carriage?” Rey asked with the resentment he’d come to expect from her.

A ridiculous resentment of course, as Nahmin was not a rival to the twins. His skill set barely overlapped theirs. “It is outside, though the street is so narrow, it is possible I left some paint on the wall of this,” he gestured expansively around the room, “charming bit of local color.”

“Is not so bad,” one of the blonde males said, looking around. “A little paint, maybe some of mama’s wall hangings, it could be nice, yes?” he asked, giving Quinn a clap on the back so hard the man stumbled into Ronan’s injured arm. Ronan cursed, then spun Quinn around with his good hand, allowing his sister haul Quinn’s arms behind his back, where she proceeded to bind them.

At least, Nahmin thought, she’d learned from her two previous encounters with the ex-soldier though, he further thought, those encounters made Quinn’s complacence in his current circumstances the more curious.

The Gideon Quinn of Rey’s description would never have allowed himself to be taken so easily. Admittedly, the odds were significantly against Quinn, this time but still — Nahmin looked at the curtain, again.

“I thought you were looking for a higher class of employer,” Quinn was addressing Rolf.

“You’ve met one another?” Nahmin asked Quinn.

“I facilitated an understanding between the triplets and a young lady.”

“Nice girl,” Rolf agreed. “Friend of Mia the dodger.”

Nahmin watched Quinn’s expression blank at the mention of the dodger.
And where
, he thought,
did this Mia the dodger disappear to?
“Small world,” he observed, aloud.

“Things got off to a rough start,” Quinn admitted.

“Our new friend give us enough for many drinks,” Ulf agreed, looking on happily at his brother and Quinn.

Enough drinks, Nahmin noted, to render them oblivious of their new friend’s predicament.

“Well,” Quinn replied, “I did cost you a job, so—“

“Enough!” Rey cut Quinn off with a blow to the head that had him staggering towards the curtain. He didn’t fall into it, but the expression on his face at the possibility told Nahmin he was worried about more than a whiff of privy air.

At the same time the triplets were beginning to look less oblivious.

“Thank you for your assistance,” Nahmin said quickly, before the three came to any conclusions that were not in his, Nahmin’s, favor, “but we can take over from here.”

The Ohmdahls, however, were not eager to shuffle off the stage. “We are happy to be helping,” Ulf said, and both his siblings nodded.

Amateurs
, Nahmin thought with a mix of amusement and despair.

It was the only sour note in his current employment, that he was called upon to work with individuals such as Rey and Ronan, for whom violence was no more than an outlet for innate aggression. For the twins, it was all rage and pain but for Nahmin, violence was only a means to an end and that end was best achieved with simplicity, efficiency and — with the exception of Quinn — finality.

Yes, he, Nahmin, had botched the initial drugging (again,
who
chose to take their dinner in a bathtub) and that failure was on him.

But his failure had occurred only after Rey and Ronan had botched their first attempt at collecting Quinn, a failure they mistakenly blamed on their quarry. And it was Rey who’d wasted time and breath talking to the man in the alley of the Elysium, thus allowing his unseen ally to create the means for Quinn’s escape.

Amateurs, he thought again. And now they’d brought their little — their very large, he corrected himself — playmates along.

But Nahmin, for reasons so personal even he barely dared examine them too deeply, had sworn allegiance to the house of Rand, and it was not only the house of Rand’s pleasure that he deliver Quinn alive but that he allow the twins to participate in the collection process.

But no one had told him he need allow these blonde buffoons to join in.

“A generous offer,” Nahmin said to all three, “but our business with Mr. Quinn is just that, business, and dull business at that. There will be no need for your particular skill sets.” As he spoke, he drew an object from the sheath at his back, turning enough to let Quinn see the matte black stiletto in his hand. “I’m sure Mr. Quinn wouldn’t want to keep you from your pleasures. Would he?” he looked  at Quinn, then at the curtain,  then back to Quinn, making sure the prisoner understood he wouldn’t be able to stop Nahmin killing whomever Quinn had hidden in the fetid privy beyond.

Quinn’s eyes met Nahmin’s and his head dipped a fraction.“Absolutely not,” he turned to the triplets with admirable calm. “You all go and have a good time.”

“You are being sure?” the woman asked Quinn.

“Very,” Quinn said, firmly.

All three looked then at Ronan and Rey.

It was, to Nahmin, very like watching a panto at the Circus.

“We’ll join you tomorrow,” Ronan said, with a measure of tolerance Nahmin felt due more to the painkillers the man was taking than any innate patience.

“You see? Everything is honey in the comb, here,” Nahmin said with a smile, gesturing expansively towards the door with his left hand.

His blade remained low and ready and not until the swaying Ohmdahls made it over, around and through the rumpled pallets, pillows and screens did he turn his attention back to Quinn. “Now, if you don’t mind, the carriage is waiting—“

“Wait,” Rey held up a hand. “I was promised retribution.”

“Is that what we’re calling it these days?” Quinn asked, then grunted as Ronan’s good fist buried itself in his gut.

“So I’ve been informed,” Nahmin said not bothering to hide his distaste. “But perhaps you can restrain yourself until we move to someplace less odiferous?”

* * *

Mia, who’d remained as close to frozen as she’d ever been, waited until the sounds of footsteps faded to a safe distance before daring to peek through the heavy curtains.

The angle wasn’t good, but she could see Gideon, his hands bound behind him, being escorted in the direction of the Wollstonecraft door between a man and a woman who had to be the twins. Coming up behind was the little man she’d first spied close to eight hours and half a lifetime ago, following Gideon. This time the chameleon of a poisoner was dressed all in the black and white togs of a high-end servant.

Just as he was about to round the corner, the ponce/ninja/butler turned in Mia’s direction and, even though she knew he couldn’t possibly see her through the sliver of space between the curtains, she watched him once again raise his index finger and shake it back and forth in warning, exactly has he had when she’d spied him outside the hotel.

He held the position for a beat, then turned away and continued on after Gideon and the others, leaving Mia, for the third time in the same night, discovering there were people way scarier than Ellison. The first had been Killian Del, with his obstinate obsessions, the second was Gideon, seeing John Pitte for the first time and now this gently smiling, soft-spoken butler.

Elvis apparently thought so as well, because for the first time since she’d laid eyes on the draco, he’d not moved so much as a talon while she cowered behind the curtain. Either he was as afraid as she, or Gideon had trained him exceedingly well. Either way, Elvis had remained with her, allowing his person to go into what looked to be some pretty deep fertilizer.

“But we’re not gonna leave ‘im in it, are we?” she asked the draco still perched on her shoulder.

Elvis apparently knew she was addressing him because his neck snaked around so they were eye to eye and his head shook back and forth, back and forth, in what appeared to be both an echo and denial of Nahmin’s forbidding finger.

Moments later Mia and Elvis were outside. Wollstonecraft street was empty, but for the echo of a carriage and four rattling over the cobbles that made up most of the streets in this district.

“If you can find ‘im, I’ll keep up,” Mia said to Elvis.

Again the draco proved himself keener than any birds Mia had ever seen as, rumbling low in his throat, he launched himself from her shoulder, taking flight above the rickety housetops and flying in the same direction as the receding clomp of hooves.

“Wicked,” Mia judged, then took herself after the draco by routes used only by the dodgers of Fagin Ellison.

It didn’t occur to her, at the time, that it was Fagin Ellison who’d first mapped out those routes.