Page 23 of Company of Thieves
Glorious visions of me hauling an unconscious Etienne into the middle of the square blossomed to life in my brain, the look of admiration that would surely be plastered all over Alan’s face warming me to my toes. I might be unlearned in the ways of the warrior—or rogue, since I really wanted to acquire a pair of daggers—but by god, I would show him what I was made of! I pulled around the bit of the lay that hung down my back, hiding my lower face like Alan and his men.
“Just do it,” the man named Etienne snarled, and the two others made jerky bows, then hurried off to the right, disappearing into the shadows.
I couldn’t see anything of the open space beyond Etienne, the bulge of a large square building blocking my view, but I crept forward, keeping to the shadows, and peering around every few feet to make sure no one was coming.
I was almost on Etienne, my sword reversed in my hand so that I could brain him with the hilt, when he spun around and lunged at me, knocking me backward onto the soft sand. He swore in French, his hands going around my neck, tightening painfully so that instantly black blotches crawled across my vision.
“Argh,” I tried to yell, but the word came out garbled and strangled. Literally. Self-preservation was strong in me, however, and I brought my knee up as hard as I could right into Etienne’s crotch. He swore profanely, releasing my neck for a moment while he clutched himself. I rolled off him, intending on running like hell to the nearest friendly person, preferably one who was armed to the teeth, but Etienne kicked out, knocking my foot out from under me. I fell forward, pain burning across my scalp when he snatched the lay from my head, twisting the long scarf between his hands like a garrote.
I lay in a beam of moonlight, causing Etienne to pause for a moment when he realized I was a woman; then he spat out, “Moghul bitch,” before lunging at me with the garrote. I didn’t even think about it—I rolled away and spun around, punching him as hard as I could in the face. I doubt if that would have stopped him but for one thing—I was still holding my sword. The metal hilt slammed into his face as I punched, causing his head to snap back, a cracking noise following that indicated some bone had broken.
I snatched up my lay, and was off before he could do more than grab blindly for me. I ran to the left, praying I could circle around the square without entering it, but luck was against me, and after two turns, I found myself bursting out into a scene that looked like something Hollywood would be proud of. The square clearly did double duty as a marketplace, with wooden carts and little stands shrouded in long curtains clinging to the edges. In the center squatted a well, around which at least forty people were engaged in combat. I could see frightened faces in the glassless windows of the buildings that formed the perimeter, the occupants of the town clearly favoring the wisdom of staying inside rather than joining the fray that had erupted around them.
Smoke rose beyond the rooftops, probably from one of the explosions I’d heard, but I didn’t see signs that anyone here was using disruptors—judging by the madness of bodies fighting, twisting, being thrown, leaping, and flinging themselves willy-nilly, it was likely deemed too hazardous to fire in those conditions, at least not without harming people with friendly fire.
I caught sight of a familiar head of red hair, and ran toward it, wrapping my slightly torn lay around my head. Octavia was in the process of leaping onto a cart, a tall man at her side, giving her a hand up.
“Jack!” I yelled, trying to make myself be heard over the noise of all the screaming and shouting. “Octavia!”
A man bearing the Black Hand logo on his chest spun around at my words and, with a snarl, headed for me, a wicked-looking curved sword in his hand, one that dripped red.
“ALAN!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, throwing myself behind a small donkey cart that was parked outside a house, quickly scrambling underneath it when the revolutionary tried to follow me. “ALAN, WHERE ARE YOU?”
A cry lifted in the air, the same one that the Moghuls had made when Alan rode into the camp, quickly picked up by others, but I didn’t have time to stop and see if Alan had heard me. I crawled out from the donkey cart, kicking when my attacker grabbed at my leg, getting to my feet, and bolting to where I’d seen Octavia.
I’d just reached the fruit cart she had climbed, when someone slammed me from behind, throwing me forward into the cart. I dropped my sword, having forgotten I was holding it, the breath knocked out of me.
I was spun around, a man’s furious face blotting out everything else as he lifted a sword, clearly about to skewer me. “Jack!” I gasped, and snatched up my sword to block his attack. He paused a second, his eyes narrowing. “Hallie?”
“Yes, it’s me.” I pulled down the bit of lay that clung to my mouth and nose. “Holy cheese, Jack, you almost killed me. Duck!”
The man who had chased me loomed up behind him, but Jack wasn’t trained by the army in all sorts of covert fighting techniques for nothing. He spun around, slashing as he did so.
The man fell with a gurgle, thankfully facedown.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Jack demanded, grabbing me by the arm. Beyond him, a wave of men in gold was moving toward us. I had a feeling Alan was trying to get to me, but I had no way to tell him that the man with me was my brother, and that the Company of Thieves were no threat to me. “Why are you dressed like one of those damned Moghuls? Dammit, you really did find him?”
Octavia appeared behind me, saying in a rush, “Hallie? Is that you?”
“Ala—Prince Akbar is training me. He’s agreed to teach me, and he’s very nice, really. Surprisingly so, given his reputation—” I flinched when, on the perimeter of the town, an explosion lit up the night sky, leaving dirt and stone to rain down around us.
“Jack, Etienne is bombing the town,” Octavia said, gesturing toward him. “We have to get back to the ship. All of us,” she added with a glance toward me.
“Are you insane?” Jack asked me, ignoring her. “Why would you go to our enemy—”
Just then a couple of Black Hand members rushed toward us. Both Jack and Octavia moved in front of me, their swords flashing in the moonlight. To my right, three men in gold fought their way through another wave of revolutionaries.
“Hallie!” one of them demanded, gesturing for me, obviously Alan.
“I have to go,” I told Jack when he dropped one of the Black Hand men before turning to help Octavia.
“What? Hallie, no!”
I grabbed Jack by his arm. “I know you won’t understand, but I have to do this, Jack. I feel in my bones that this is the way my life is supposed to go. Prince Akbar isn’t the bad guy you think he is. He’s been very nice to me, and he says he’ll teach me to fight if you say it’s OK, which is something that infuriates me, but ... oh, I don’t have time to go into it. I just don’t want you to worry about me, OK?”
“No, it’s not OK. Wait, he’s beingniceto you? Why is he being nice—” Jack started to say, but Octavia took him by the other arm, saying, “Jack, we must leave.”
“I can’t abandon my sister,” Jack growled.
