Page 40 of The King's Man 3

They demand more than a refund though. The crowd is restless and angry and... I understand them. This is another example of the many injustices they have been suffering. They’re upset and desperate, and they’re craving change. Actions held accountable.

I raise my hands and project my voice. “You’re right. He shall face the consequences.”

Quin lifts his head, enough that I make out his shadowed eyes and the sudden suspicion in them.

“Bend over the table.”

His biting gaze sends a jolt through me, but it’s not enough to overshadow the twisting stomach I have from witnessing the pillaging of these people’s farms. This may seem outrageous to him, but it’s not. Not to these people. And if Quin took a moment, he’d accept that too. He was the one who declared, at my local luminarium, that if necessary even the king should be caned before his people.

Some grim-faced farmers grab an arm each and push him over the table. When he’s in position, and none too happy about it, I take his cane, raise it sombrely for the townspeople to see, and bring it down on the king’s rump. Again, and again.

Between thwumping hits, Quin growls at me that he won’t forget this.

I’m not sure I will either.

When I reach the count of ten, I release my grip on the cane and it drops with a clatter to the table. Folk leave, silent but satisfied, while I’m left with a gloriously haughty face eyeing me sharply. I help him up, an arm slung around his waist. “I spelled pain relief at the same time.”

“That is not the point. My people have seen me—”

“—taking responsibility for your actions?”

He absorbs that and my piercing stare. “I expected you to be smirking.”

I wrench my gaze away—

He grabs my chin and his thumb is a ghostly touch over my deepening frown. “What’s wrong?”

I tell him about the confiscation of herbs, and he comes with me to meet with Olyn.

On the way to the dispensary, I ask, “Don’t you have a network? Could it help us?”

“It’s not big enough to have someone ineverytown. Last time, I made prior arrangements to meet.” He grimaces. “My nearest supporters are in Hinsard.”

So we are on our own, with someone whose magic is blocked.

I herd us into the dispensary, where Olyn is pacing, waiting.

I can’t introduce Quin as himself, our hunted king travelling, so... I wince. I really am no better...

Quin arches a brow in utter disbelief, but at my blushing insistence that he’s a fortune teller who may be able to see our best course ahead, he clears his throat and plays along. “I have foreseen that I am to take part.”

“Wait,” Olyn says. “You aren’t the fraud I heard about?”

I gulp. “Not a fraud! I used that as a way to return coin the people couldn’t well afford, and to steal him for our own needs. Truly, he is an all-knowing master.”

I spy a chuffed smirk at this and elbow the king’s side.

Olyn raises a brow. “Right.”

On the spot, Quin decisively outlines a plan, calling it ‘Old Man on a Boat’ after a famous painting that was crafted inthe region and is deeply revered among the locals and the military. Two hundred years ago, during the Mythos Aion wars before these giant walls were built, the army was surrounded on three sides by concealed forces, about to be ambushed and annihilated. A lone man in his boat was the only one who, knowing he would die if he entered the canals, did so anyway. His death on the waters alerted the soldiers. Warned them. Saved them.

I shiver. Every time I hear this story, I’m breathless and achy at this man’s bravery. To knowingly seek his own death for the lives of a thousand others...

Could I do that?

I shake my head. Swallow. I’d want to, but...

I hope I’m never confronted with such a choice.

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