Soldier of Fortune: A Gideon Quinn Adventure (Fortune Chronicles Book 1) (25 page)

C
HAPTER
F
ORTY
-S
IX

IN THE SILENCE
following Gideon's revelation, Celia saw the curtains, closed over the bedroom’s open window, move gently. “Are you waiting for something?” she asked, focusing on Gideon. “Applause? A clap of thunder? A tearful confession?”

“I don’t doubt you could pull one out. But like I said, earlier, I just came for my coat, and maybe some answers,” he admitted with a negligent shrug.

“You’ve done such a fine job of coming up with your own answers. What could I possibly add?”

“How about why you’re still active, now the war has ended?”

“Foolish man,” she said, watching him — he really was a pleasure to look at. A pity he’d have to die. “The war hasn’t ended, not in any way that matters. It has simply moved to a different battlefield.”

He looked at her, stretched out on the bed. “I’ll say. So,” he flipped the knife he’d taken from her in his left hand and then used it as a pointer. “To sum up, you, Celia Rand, are in fact the Coalition operative known as Odile.”

“You are impressed with yourself, aren’t you?”

"Maybe just a little. But am I right?"

"For all the good it will do you, yes, I am the black swan." Here she sat up and crossed her arms over her knees, all the better to enjoy the show. 

“You are also a Sensitive of some flavor or other."

“Empath,” she confirmed. After all, what did it matter now, what he learned?

He let out a low whistle which she took to be appreciation. “I can see how that would be a plus for maintaining a cover as deep as yours.”

Oh yes,
she thought,
he definitely has to die.

“Only, and I’m guessing, here, when I was released from prison, you got worried. Less about me, because even if I could find out who was behind Nasa, who’d believe a convicted traitor?” He flipped the knife again and started to pace the room. “But still, you worried — probably about how poor old Jessup would react. Maybe he’s starting to feel a little bit guilty about killing those six soldiers — sorry, five soldiers.” He paused in his perambulations and looked at her. “Turns out your husband failed to murder my lieutenant, after all.”

“That’s not all he failed at,” she said tightly.

“Guess the mourning period is over,” he observed, resuming his pacing. “Anyway, you’re worried, and being a Sensitive, you’d have known you were right to worry. What to do? What to do?” He spun from the hearth and started towards the window. “Jessup is becoming a liability, and I’m already—“

“Troublesome,” she inserted, sliding to the edge of the bed, drawing Gideon back in her direction and, more importantly, away from the window. “The word you tend to inspire is, troublesome.”

“And I’m troublesome,” he said, pausing in front of her, with his back to the curtain. “So why not take out two dracos with one stone?” he continued. “Send your lackeys out to fetch me and once they do, you drug me, murder your husband and leave me to wake up in his blood. How am I doing, so far?”

“Impressively accurate. I would pay as much as two starbucks to see you at the Circus.” He gave the slightest bow, though his eyes remained locked on hers as she added, “So accurate, in fact, I wonder if you’ve a touch of Sensitivity as well?”

“Doubt it.” 

Despite the casual tone, his eyes darkened with the desire she kindled. Encouraged, she prodded him further, psionically stoking the fire of his need as she asked, “And why is that?”

“Sensitives don’t do well around live crystal,” he told her, his voice pleasingly rough. “Something you’ll be finding out, soon enough.”

“No,” she shook her head once, slowly, “I’m afraid I won’t.”

Outside, some night-flying creature keened a low and predatory note. At the sound, Celia felt her control of Gideon slip. At the same time Nahmin, whose presence she’d sensed outside the window, swept like smoke through the billowing curtains, his blade slicing through the air between himself and Gideon.

At the same time Celia slid to the floor, fully expecting to see Gideon falling to the carpet at her side, bleeding out with Nahmin’s blade in his back.

What she saw instead was Nahmin’s dagger rebounding off the bedpost before dropping to the carpet with a dull thud, and a pair of long legs in rough spun trousers facing the window. Looking up, she saw Gideon, his expression devoid of emotion, his left hand extended and empty.

Her gaze tracked the direction of that hand to see Nahmin, standing just inside the window, his expression blank and a knife — her knife which had been in Gideon’s hand — lodged in his throat.

Slowly, as if time had slipped out of synch, Nahmin’s head dropped in her direction. His mouth fell open but no words formed.

Still, she felt what he felt and surprised the both of them with the tears that wet her cheeks as she told him, “Your service will be remembered."

Her words seemed to act as scissors, for on hearing them Nahmin’s legs buckled and he dropped to the carpet where, after a soft sigh of release, Celia felt him no more.

She blinked away the tears to see Gideon, already crouching to retrieve Nahmin’s errant blade from the carpet.

“You should run, now,” she told him, her voice strange and flat in her own ears.

He looked up from his study of the blade. “Why?”

She stared at him, so calm so — smug — in his righteousness. “You’ve just murdered my servant, have you not? That’s two men in two days, dead by your hand.”

“I didn’t kill your husband.”

“You killed Nahmin.”

“In self-defense.”

“That may be true, but we both know when it comes to your word against mine, the widow of a decorated general trumps the ravings of a convicted traitor.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, “I guess you’re right.” Then he rose and crossed towards her hearth. “Which makes it a good thing I left this on, so the police could hear our conversation.”

As she watched, Gideon picked up a Stolichnayan radio from behind the Rubik's Cube. “Quinn to Hama,” he said into the device, “did you get all that? Over."

“DS Hama only heard that last,” a dry crisp voice Celia recognized as General Satsuke’s came over the radio, “but rest assured,
I
got all of it, over.”

“General,” Gideon rolled his eyes, “so glad you could make it, over.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” the general said, then there was a click and a buzz. “Still, that was an — enlightening conversation. Over."

"Enlightening enough to take Madame Rand here into custody? Over."

"More than enough. If someone will unlock the door. Over."

“We’ll be right there,” Gideon said. "Over and out." He set the radio down and held out a hand to Celia. “Coming?”

She looked at that hand, then at Nahmin — specifically at the dagger protruding from Nahmin’s throat. She could, she was certain, have the knife out of his throat and into her own heart before Gideon could stop her.

“If you do that,” she heard Gideon say, “you’ll be admitting you lost.”

“I
have
lost.” She looked up to see him watching her. Hatred and — something else — burned in her heart.

“You’ve lost the battle,” he agreed. “But you said it, yourself, the war’s not over.”

His hand was still out, still waiting.

“Suppose I still choose to exit the field,” she said, unmoving, “why would you care?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, after a beat.

Being what she was, she could feel this was so. She could only speculate on what caused the emotional conflict. “Maybe you wish to see me suffer for my crimes.”

He held her gaze. “Maybe.”

“Or maybe,” she held up her own hand, allowing him to pull her to her feet, “you’ve come to accept we really are much the same.”

His gaze sharpened, then he looked away.

Celia took it as a triumph, small though it be, to have rendered him speechless.

C
HAPTER
F
ORTY
-S
EVEN

ERASMUS ELLISON HAD
had a very bad day.

He was willing to take some of the wax for it, as it was him that put Mia after Gideon Quinn in the first place. That had turned out to be a bad move on his part, no getting past it.

But for the rest, that was on Mia, as the little hornet had cost him his hive of dodgers, his retirement fund and quite likely his freedom, should the coppers catch up with him.

It was also, a very small voice pointed out, on Quinn, but Ellison ignored that little voice because listening to it would mean facing up to Quinn and that was far, far outside Ellison’s comfort zone.

Dealing with Mia, however, that was spot in the middle of his comfort zone and that was why he’d followed the coppers here, to the poshest neighborhood in all of Nike, where somethin’ mighty important seemed to be going down inside the estate on Chaucer Street.

Not that he could see much from the stables, which he’d slipped into while the coppers and soldiers had been busy storming the front of the house. He could only hear the rush of footsteps and voices. Some were angry, some questioning, but all were excited.

The most excited voice was also higher than the others, and younger, and one he knew well, even though he wasn’t used to the sound of Mia’s laugh.

Just hearing it made his innards tie up in angry knots and it took every bit of his limited self-control to remain hidden with the stinking horses while the coppers and soldiers finished whatever they was up to in the big house.

Eventually things quieted some, then a few sets of boots left the house and some vehicles started and drove off, but he didn’t hear Mia’s voice among those departing and there was still a deal of noise from the main house.

The suns lowered. More vehicles arrived with more voices which headed indoors.

Ellison hunkered down between the stalls and waited.

* * *

“I don’t know whether to commend you, shoot you or send you back to Morton,” General Satsuke told Gideon.

“Due respect,” DS Hama said, “but I believe there are a few civil matters for Mr. Quinn to answer for, first.” 

The two, along with Gideon, had retired to Jessup Rand’s study while a fresh influx of police officers worked the crime scene upstairs, and a handful of recently arrived CIOD officers processed the rest of the house, in particular any and all confidential data Celia Rand had in her possession.

Celia herself had already been removed by a pair of eager young Corpsmen with the hastily deputized Ohmdahls as backup. No charges had yet been declared, but Gideon figured there were enough to keep both civil and military law enforcement agencies busy for some time.

“You’ll have to be more specific,” Gideon said from where he sat, legs stretched out and eyes closed, in the leather armchair that had once been Jessup Rand’s favorite.

“Certainly,” Hama replied. “Would you care to hear the charges in chronological, alphabetical or statute order? I and the Chief of Police are particularly curious as to why you had a thug from Lower Cadbury break into Minister Del’s home?”

“Someone broke into Minister Del’s house?” Gideon’s eyes didn’t even open. “I’m shocked.”

“Perhaps this is a matter best dealt with at a higher pay grade,” Satsuke cut in, before the detective’s blood pressure spiked to more dangerous levels. “In fact, I am quite certain your Chief and I will be able to facilitate the more complicated aspects of Mr. Quinn’s — situation.” And while, in the course of normal events, local law enforcement resented any sort of military interference, Hama’s expression was nothing but grateful.

“And won’t that be fun?” Gideon asked, suddenly opening his eyes and pushing himself from the chair with a surprising amount of verve. “In the meantime, if you don’t mind, I’m going to find my coat. And my draco.”

With this he strode from the room, intent on his purpose.

Hama looked at Satsuke, who shook her head at the ex-soldier’s whimsy. They’d both started for the study door when Gideon popped back to ask, “Has anyone seen Mia?”

* * *

Mia was perched on a low bench just outside the main entrance (actually, it was the step used by the gentry to climb in and out of their carriages but it served as a bench for undersized dodgers), watching Elvis chase pigeons over the rooftop as the suns broke free of the clouds just in time to drop below the skyline.

She didn’t think the draco was hungry. It looked more like he was having fun. For sure he was enjoying himself more than Mia.

Oh sure it had been exciting enough, earlier, when she’d been huddled with Officer Prudawe and DS Hama at the front door, waiting for the general lady to say it was okay to go in.

And when Elvis had gone stiff and still on her shoulder, then flown straight up to the second floor, she’d gone all tingly with fear and raced out of hiding and onto the street, to see the draco hovering outside the same window Gideon had jumped out of that morning. She couldn’t see anything amiss, but if Elvis was keening, Mia knew something bad was happening inside.

She’d raced back to the others, to tell them they needed to get inside, that Gideon was in trouble, but by then the general lady was with them, and they were all listening to the aftermath of Nahmin’s sudden attack and even more sudden death.

Her heart didn’t even think about slowing down until Gideon opened the door and handed the fancy lady murderer spy over to the police.

After that it had been a rush of coppers and soldiers pouring in and out of the house. Gideon had managed to give her a quick grin and a raised fist of triumph before being herded off by DS Hama and the general, leaving Mia and Elvis to their own devices.

She supposed she could just scarp. It wasn’t as if Gideon owed her anything. One might have said he owed her his life but having facilitated the hive of dodgers out from Ellison’s control, she supposed they were dead even now.

Still she remained, making designs in the gravel with her heels and watching Elvis perform a series of aerial gymnastics, until the moment a shadow crossed her line of vision.