Brian McClellan - Return to Honor

“Lost him,” Vlora said.

“And I’m glad you did,” Karin said. “He’s a good man.”

Vlora held up her hand, wrapped in a bloody handkerchief. “Your good man just attacked an Adran soldier. If I see him again, I’m going to put a bullet through his eye.” She began pacing the room, kicking discarded shoes out of her way. “Where will he have gone?” she demanded.

Karin shrugged.

Vlora wanted to go slap the smug look off her face. She looked at Olem.

He picked up the pie pan with the remnants of the pie still in the bottom and dug out a chunk of it with his finger. He chewed thoughtfully before offering the pie to her. Vlora shook her head.

“We’ll have to start from scratch,” Olem said.

Vlora paused in her pacing. Maybe not , she thought, going over and taking the pie pan out of Olem’s hands. “Hold me back,” she said in a whisper.

She whirled, hurling the pie against the wall. “No, we don’t,” she said angrily. She pointed at Karin. “We have her . We’ll take her to the nearest barracks and let the soldiers go to work on her.” She began to advance on Karin.

Olem threw an arm across her chest. “Back off, Captain,” he said.

“We’ll find out where he is,” Vlora said. “She knows. She must know.”

“That’s not how we do things.” Olem set his shoulder and shoved her back roughly, putting himself in between her and Karin.

Vlora bore her teeth at him. “Then I’m going to tear this place apart until I find those files.”

“No,” Olem said, shaking his head. He seemed to get what she was up to. “We need another warrant for that.”

“Piss on the warrant. She attacked you!”

“Just a little scuffle,” Olem said. “Nothing to throw her to the wolves over. No sense in ruining someone’s life for protecting their lover.”

Vlora barked a laugh. “That lover is endangering Adran lives. Out of my way.”

“Outside!” Olem said. “Now.”

Vlora locked gazes with him, forcing every bit of anger onto her face. She held the pose for a few moments before looking over Olem’s shoulder at Karin. “We’ll be back in a few hours with that warrant, and the city police. We’ll see how you like this place torn apart brick by brick.” She whirled around and stalked out into the street.

She waited out there for about five minutes before Olem joined her. He took her by the arm and led her away as if by force, keeping his grip until they had gone around the corner.

“You know,” he said, “I was eating that pie.”

“Sorry. Do you think she fell for it?”

“Shit, probably. I thought you were going to go through me to get to her for a moment.”

“We better hope she did too,” Vlora said.

They doubled back and entered a milliner’s shop across the street from the cobbler’s. Vlora took up a position by the front window and watched for Karin.

“Can I help you?” the milliner asked.

“Just waiting for a friend,” Olem said, pulling out a pocketbook and handing the hatter several bills.

“I see,” the milliner responded. He made himself busy in the back of the shop, keeping an eye on them.

Olem came up beside Vlora and hooked a thumb in his belt loop, a new cigarette clenched in his lips. “That intelligence might be inside the building,” he said. “Our best bet is to get some men and ransack the place.”

“I thought you said we needed a warrant?”

“I was just playing along. The warrant we have already covers a search.”

Vlora bit her lip. It was tempting. A partial victory was still a victory. “Tamas wants the intelligence and Wohler,” she said. “I’m not gonna hand him just one.”

“And if we lose them both?”

“Then I’m in deeper shit than before.” Vlora shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t think I can get much deeper.”

Olem took the cigarette out of his mouth and blew a smoke ring. “Yeah, I think you can,” he said with a wry smile.

“That’s really not reassuring.” Vlora resisted the urge to ask him what Tamas had said about her, and if there was anything else she could do to win back his trust. If Olem had anything to say, he’d say it when he was ready. Until then, Vlora could only hope she was making a good impression.

Not that she had any confidence that she was.

“How’s the hand?” Olem asked.

Vlora lifted the handkerchief. “Superficial cut. Lots of blood at first, but it won’t slow me down.”

“Have a surgeon take a look at it, make sure it doesn’t need stitches.”

“It won’t.”

“Better safe,” Olem countered.

They fell into a comfortable silence for the next twenty minutes. Olem watched the street, and she watched him chain-smoke through several cigarettes.

“It would be awfully lucky if he decided to come back,” Olem said, breaking the silence.

“And stupid,” Vlora said. “He’s not that dumb, and I’m not that lucky.”

“He a good fighter?” Olem asked.

“Damn good with a sword. Didn’t have an ounce of powder on him, otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“Maybe lead with a bullet next time.”

“I plan on it.”

“Good,” Olem said. “Wait. Karin’s looking out the window.”

Vlora sidled up to the front window of the hat shop and took a peek. “She see you?”

“I don’t think so. There she is.”

Karin emerged from her shop with a large, black bundle under one arm. She was wearing a green dress and a matching hat pulled down to hide her eyes. She stopped outside her shop just long enough to lock the front door, then looked both ways before heading down the street.

Vlora and Olem followed at a distance.

Karin hailed a hackney cab at the next corner. Vlora kept after it on foot until Olem caught up with a cab of his own, and she jumped onto the running board, head up so as not to lose Karin.

They crossed the river and wound through the dock district, taking a few erratic turns before heading north along the riverbank, up past Kresim Cathedral. They continued north to the outskirts of the city, stopping in front of a small chapel about a quarter of a mile from the river.

Karin left her cab, still clutching the bundle, and went inside the front door of the chapel.

“Think that’s the hiding spot?” Olem asked.

Vlora watched the chapel for several moments. A man in a bicorn and overcoat loitered on the street beside the door to the chapel, smoking a pipe, a wine bottle on the ground beside him. “Only one way to find out,” she said. “Roll me a cigarette. And give me your hat and coat.”

“Should I ask why?” Olem asked, already removing his coat.

“Because they’re older than mine, and bigger. Pit, give me your shirt too. Baggy is better. Driver!” she called. “Take us around the corner.”

She had the cab drop her several blocks from the chapel, well out of sight, leaving her weapons inside with Olem. She hunched her shoulders and tucked her hair up, then, armed with Olem’s hat and cigarette, headed back toward the chapel.

She approached slowly, walking without a purpose, pausing every few moments to look up at the sky and mutter angrily to herself until she came up even with the man sitting outside the chapel with his pipe and wine bottle.

“Hey, mister.” She coughed, pulling the cigarette out of her pocket. “You have a match?”

The man had watched her approach, eyes intent, but at her request he looked past her, up and down the street. He took a swig from his wine bottle. “No. Get out of here.”

“Come on,” Vlora whined. “Don’t be all high an’ mighty. Yer smokin’ a pipe. I’m not sober, but I’m not stupid either.” He didn’t respond, so she reached for the front door of the chapel. “Maybe ’em damn priests’ll have un.”