Cast In Flight. Michelle Sagara

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СКАЧАТЬ he didn’t make that claim for the Hawklord.” Her shoulders were bunching themselves up near her neck, which annoyed the familiar, who squawked loudly. “And I owe Lord Grammayre my life. All of it.” She glanced at Severn. “What do we do?”

      “Our jobs,” he replied. “And until we figure out where the hornet’s nest is, only our jobs.”

      * * *

      The Elani beat was relatively quiet. The Hawks broke up one fight, stopped someone from breaking a window, gave directions—and withheld advice, which was much, much harder—to new visitors to the quarter. Mandoran headed into Margot’s house of fraud, leaving Kaylin and Severn to their actual work.

      “If you’re doing that just to annoy me, it’s working,” Kaylin told him.

      Mandoran grinned. “Teela’s advice. So you know who to blame.”

      It was, if one ignored the assassination attempt—and apparently, she’d been ordered to do just that—a very normal day. The type of day she yearned for every time she left her own front doors.

      * * *

      The unusual part of the Elani patrol—and really, on a street full of fortune-telling frauds and miracle-medicine sellers, angry ex-customers trying to cause damage was the usual—came at the end of the patrol. Mandoran had rejoined them, his lips a suspicious shade of red that didn’t look entirely natural. He probably deserved to be clipped by a door that flew open without warning.

      The door belonged to Evanton’s shop. Grethan, Evanton’s apprentice, stood in the open frame, looking vaguely anxious. The anxiety cleared as the small dragon launched itself off Kaylin’s shoulders and onto the young apprentice’s.

      Kaylin and Severn, who had come to an instant halt, shared a glance before speaking. “Were you looking for us?” Kaylin asked.

      Grethan nodded. “Evanton wants to speak to you. He’s in the kitchen with tea. And, um. Tea.”

      “Um?”

      “He has another guest. The lady’s been in, on and off, for the past three weeks. She wants him to make something he’s not certain he wants to make.”

      “And...he’s asking my advice? Did he fall and hit his head?”

      “No. If he fell, he’d probably manage to hit my head instead,” was the morose reply. “I’m not sure why he wants to see you,” he added.

      “Does he want to see the rest of us?” Mandoran asked, remaining outside in the street. Given Mandoran’s previous visits—which had involved a lot of water in the wrong places—this was a perfectly reasonable question.

      “He didn’t say,” Grethan replied. “But I think it should be fine.”

      Mandoran looked dubious.

      “I think he actually likes you and your brother. He just thinks you’re walking disasters waiting to happen.”

      “They are,” Kaylin said before Grethan could continue. “You coming in or waiting outside?”

      * * *

      The small dragon liked Grethan; he always had. Grethan therefore remained his perch of interest while the apprentice led them to Evanton and his mysterious guest. They were, in fact, in the kitchen, a functional room that had never been intended for guests. The table could comfortably fit four. Evanton’s expression made clear that it was going to uncomfortably fit five, although he did take pity on Mandoran after everyone else was seated. “You can wander around the store, if you’d prefer. I would ask that you not touch anything without checking with Grethan first.”

      Mandoran looked to Kaylin, who nodded with some envy.

      Kaylin tried to gauge the importance of this visitor. Evanton didn’t let just anyone into his kitchen—probably some mix of pride and self-preservation—but guests of import or power were usually led through the rickety hall in the back to the Keeper’s Garden.

      Tea was poured, and Evanton had a cup situated somewhere in front of him, although he didn’t generally like to drink it. He watched Kaylin for a long, silent breath.

      “What did I do wrong this time?” It was a surrender on her part. Someone had to speak first, or they’d be here all afternoon.

      “That really is the question, isn’t it?” Evanton exhaled. He turned to his guest. “This is Private Kaylin Neya, and Corporal Severn Handred. They are, as you can see, Imperial Hawks, ground division.”

      “I’m not sure we call it a division,” Kaylin said. “The rest is accurate.”

      She was an older woman. Not as old as Evanton, of course, but her hair was silver with shots of rooted black, and her square face was lined. Her eyes were a pale gray. She was what Kaylin thought of as handsome: there was nothing frail about her, but she had a compelling face. At one point in her life, she might have been considered beautiful. She apparently had no name she was willing to have divulged, because Kaylin and Severn were the only ones who were introduced.

      Kaylin didn’t much care about manners for their own sake, but she was as curious as the next person, and the lack of an introduction made her wonder who the woman was, what she was hiding and what laws she’d broken. Then again, Kaylin was a Hawk, and her mind often ran in that direction, full tilt.

      “Grethan said you wanted to see us.”

      “Yes. I wish to ask your opinion.”

      Evanton’s guest clearly didn’t want him to do so. She drank her tea looking stiff and increasingly uncomfortable in every possible way.

      “Ask, then—we’re on the clock, and the sergeant is in a foul mood.”

      “I would imagine he is, given the assassination attempt.”

      Kaylin stiffened. Severn appeared to relax. Only one of these things was accurate. “You’re not just bringing that up to make conversation.”

      “No. I try very hard not to waste my own time, given the number of people who seem willing to waste it for me.”

      “What do you know about it, and how much do you want me to pass on?”

      “I know that the would-be assassin was an Aerian.”

      “How do you know that?” Severn asked, in the conversational tones people used to talk about either sports or weather.

      Evanton ignored the question. “This is not a matter for the Hawks,” he said. “I believe it will be classified under exemption status. The target was Aerian, the assassin was Aerian. And I do not believe the target will seek to have justice done in the Imperial Courts. I would even be willing to wager on it.” Evanton was aware of the Hawks’ propensity for betting, and he knew whom most of that habit had come from.

      “With your own money?”

      “Not with money.”

      “Odds?”

      “Any odds.”

      “Fine.” СКАЧАТЬ