A few hours to return to the house and for Reynold to notify the most loyal of mercenaries of what must be done with the bodies.
By the time morning arrived Reynold was back to staring out of the window at the top of the building. Everything was as it had been before the servant approached him. Everything except the child who slept in his arms. Both of them needed washing. But not yet. Much time had gone by since he left in the late evening and nothing now could be left to chance.
He had to think. To plan, to add another factor to his games. Perhaps the most important one and he was already pressed for time. Time was his only true enemy. Not because of his death. That was a certainty since he’d been born to a father who had killed his brother. Since his own brothers intended to kill him.
Time was his enemy because his plan depended on it. Assignations. Manipulations. Hiding, concealing, enquiring after legends. All these matters required time, a schedule, which was why he hid in one home after another. Always hiding while he played his games. He was close to securing victory over his family this last year when an Englishman bungled the capture of the treasure, the Jewel of Kings, a legend much like Excalibur. Except the gem was real and his family wanted it very much.
He thought the Englishman a clever foe, but he was only a fool. A dead fool when he was found by his family. And so he remained ahead in the game, for only he knew the legend’s true worth. Only he kept track of all the players in the game so he kept his advantage.
Until then the child, Grace, could not exist. This child was his, he did not want to let her go, yet he could not claim her. To claim her would spell her death. At least outside the walls of his home, he needed an alternative to him. Dark hair, grey eyes. Every feature of a Warstone and some that were his own.
Had he been this quiet at her age? He couldn’t remember. She hadn’t clung to her mother, to Cilla. She hadn’t cried out. Just kept those eyes open, absorbing everything. Depending on no one, observing all.
‘You like the shadows, too, my girl? You like to watch. So do I.’ How many times had he stood in darkened hallways and around shadowed corners? As a boy for protection, to wait and see if the room was clear and safe, and later to listen to private conversations.
But she was only a child. His child. A liability. A gift. His greatest weakness. His mind never found problems, but for once he could think of no solutions.
A commotion in the marketplace caught his eye. The baker, Ido, was making a fuss again. The man thought his loaves of bread were sanctified by God. They were good, but not divine. He knew of one baker in a village south-east of Paris, where the loaves were superior.
A large crowd was forming. This was more than Ido being cross over an opinion of his bread, much more than being shortchanged coin. A brute of a watch guard clenched the arm of a thin black-haired woman. In front of them, Ido was brandishing two loaves at her as if they were weapons. The woman was pulling, trying to get away. A theft.
Commonplace, barely worth his notice. But he knew immediately, incredibly, what it was: a solution.
With rapid strides, he swung the door to his room open and gave the guards outside precise instructions and his bag of coin.
‘Let me go!’ Aliette yanked her arm to ease the manacled grip of the guard who held it. After her feeble attempts he tightened it. She’d been concerned with bruises, now she was terrified he’d tear her arm away.
It had been years since she’d been caught. It had hurt then, too. But when she left the shadows and approached the stall, her attention had been on the baker. The guard had caught her by surprise. A deadly mistake.
‘I’ve returned the loaves,’ she said.
‘Ruined!’ The baker hoisted the loaves over his head and made a slow turn. It was a gesture for the growing crowd. ‘I can’t feed these to pigs now!’
There were hungry, barely clothed children who were eagerly in position in case he dropped or tossed that ruined bountiful bread.
She should have kept them. But she thought it early enough that she could return them without him knowing. What she hadn’t been aware of was the baker had already reported it to the guard, who dragged her across the market to confirm the loaves...and thus confirm the thief.
Very fine loaves, and an extremely arrogant baker. She was a woman grown and felt the scrutiny of shoppers. Gabriel would have been in tears with no chance to negotiate.
‘They’re not ruined. I returned them and I’ll work for the other two.’
‘Other two? I’m missing four loaves this morning. Four! And these...things! I’ll never accept bread from your filthy fingers! If I sold it, I’d be ruined as much as these loaves!’ He waved them again. A section fell to the ground and disappeared.
It wasn’t true that Gabriel stole four, but with the bruising grip of the guard and the salivating baker, it wasn’t the time to argue. ‘I’ll work for the others as well.’
‘You’ll go to gaol,’ the watch guard said.
‘Cut off her hands now!’ Ido said. ‘Gaol is too kind for one such as her.’
‘No. Please! I meant no—’
The crowd parted and two men silently approached. One whispered low and heatedly in the guard’s ear. The other flanked her right side. Neither touched her, nor gazed at the crowd. Neither acknowledged the abruptly silent baker. The men were identically dressed, hair identically cut. Their size the same, their build the same. Their manners the same. If not for the colour of their hair and eyes, she’d think them twins.
Hired mercenaries, but for whom?
A look at Ido told her much. His face unearthly pale, mangled bread fell from his hands to disappear before it hit the ground.
‘See here.’ Ido looked from one man to the other. He looked to the crowd who had backed several paces away. Some of them continued to jeer. Others had gone quiet or vanished.
‘I didn’t know she was part of his house,’ Ido said. ‘I have no grief with his house.’ He scampered to shelved loaves and proffered several to her. ‘Take these if you wish. They are the best I made today.’
The guard let her go. Startled, Aliette gaped as the mercenary gave him a small bag with the unmistakable jingle of coin. Without a backward glance he walked away.
But the mercenaries stepped closer to her. She couldn’t run. The crowd that was left stood solid at her back, their attention on the baker who looked as if his hand was to be chopped.
‘I was mistaken.’ Sweating, Ido was almost stabbing her with the loaves he held. ‘Take these. They’re yours for free. Tomorrow’s as well.’
‘I don’t want them. I told you, I’ll work for the ones already eaten. Free me and I’ll work twice what those loaves are worth.’
Ido stepped back. ‘Free you. I can’t—’
The men snatched the loaves in one hand and took her arms in the other.
‘Wait! Who are—? Please!’
They dragged her away from the baker’s stall. She yanked and fought, but these men weren’t a fattened guard or an even fatter baker. These men were warriors. Deadly. Paid well, with weaponry tucked at their waists.
‘Where are you taking me?’
They didn’t answer. Panic set in. She’d been worried to go to gaol, for her arm, for her hand. For Gabriel. But this was far worse. In gaol, there were people to plead with, to beg for mercy. These mercenaries dragged her away from anything she knew to take her