Joanna Bourne - The Spymaster's Lady

So. They would begin thus. She recognized the first of many little compromises he would force upon her. Each “yes” made the next one easier until, as he hoped, it would seem wholly natural to do exactly as he told her in all things.

“Leblanc uses such methods,” she said. “You would make me accept this kidnapping in return for a few ounces of water. It is profoundly discouraging how similar spies are everywhere.”

“Very philosophic. Do I have your agreement?”

“I make you no agreements. It is indifferent to me whether I sit on the seat or lie tied on the floor, unless the carriage is infested with fleas, which is of course a possibility. The question of water will resolve itself, I think, in another day.”

The driver could be heard, walking a circuit of the coach, kicking stones away from the wheels. The carriage rocked as he climbed up to the box. They lurched forward, up the hill, past the ditch that marked the old gate, jouncing on ruts in the Rue des Orphelines, clattering on the cobbles of the Rue Bérenger. They turned right. West. Toward England.

Toward Soulier, who was posted to London, serving the Secret Police and France. Soulier, who would give her sanctuary from Leblanc. With Soulier’s protection, she might even live long enough to deal with the Albion plans. These men were taking her ever so swiftly in the direction she wished to go. Of a certainty, there was an evil, humorous angel in charge of her own particular heavens.

“I wonder whether I should call your bluff.” Grey’s hands tightened. “Shall we—”

From the other side of the carriage, Adrian spoke, “For the gods’ sake, Grey, leave the girl be.”

“It’s not your teeth she’s trying to kick in.”

“I was not aiming for your teeth, monsieur,” she said.

“No, you weren’t, were you?”

“So entertaining.” Adrian’s voice was a satiric croak. “Why don’t we torture her later…when she’s stronger. So much more fun.”

“Hell.” Grey hoisted her to the seat. She was free to turn away from him and huddle in a corner.

“Harmony is restored.” The boy Adrian adjusted himself on the seat with creakings of leather and the swish of cloth.

“Easy for you to talk. You’re not the one she’s planning to emasculate,” Grey said sourly.

“That’s the entertainment…I was talking about.”

“You should save your chivalry. You don’t know her. This is a beautiful little snake.”

“But I do know her, by reputation, at least. The Fox Cub and I are old rivals…from the days in Italy. We snakes have to…stick together.”

She knew then who this Adrian must be, though he had used a different name in Italy. Such stories were told of him. Certainly she had fallen among deadly company this night.

Grey did not leave her to digest this new information in silence. He leaned across and brushed her hair back, settling it around her ear, uncovering her face, nudging her chin up. The outside lanterns would reveal her completely. She kept her eyes shut.

Adrian must have been looking her over, too. “She’s afraid of you, if that’s what you wanted. It comes and it goes. She’s afraid now.”

“I want her afraid. I want her too afraid to give me any trouble. Annique, just how afraid of me are you?”

“Immensely, monsieur. As much as you could wish.” Her voice broke. Dieu. Was there any way on earth she had not betrayed herself in these last minutes? “Entirely terrified, in fact.”

“What do you think?” Grey asked Adrian. “Real or just playacting?”

“Real enough. I saw many frightened women in my interesting youth. You’re very easy to be scared of. Believe me, I know.”

“Maybe she’ll behave herself. In deference to your delicate sensibilities, however, I’ll beat and starve her later.” He let her go.

This was infinitely comforting. She had known several men who tortured people, and not one of them had the least trace of humor.

She turned to the corner and put her hands up as if she were rubbing her eyes for the headache. She had been so very, very stupid to be caught like this. How Vauban would scold when he heard. He had trained her better than this. She had been so stupid. It was no doubt possible to be more shamed than she felt right at this moment, but she could not imagine how. Her hands shook where she held them tightly against her eyes.

“I’m not that easy to manipulate, mademoiselle,” Grey said. “You’ll find I have a singular lack of pity. And don’t even think of fighting me. Take this.”

“This” was a flask, half full. The water was stale and tasted of metal, but it was lovely as the finest wine on her tongue. Despite her boasting, he could have demanded many things from her in exchange for this water he tossed to her so casually. He must know that.

He dropped a loaf of bread into her lap. It was the same one he had used to trap her with, dusty from landing on the ground.

She brushed off the sand and tore a piece of the good bread and ate it slowly, alternating bites of bread with pulls of water. After a time, she no longer wanted to cry. It was magic, this bread and water, and it gave her heart again. Escape seemed possible once more. Now, perhaps.

Deliberately, she leaned back on the cushions, eyes still closed, her body slack and weary. The carriage lamps outside burned with a thick, oily smell. In that flicker of light, they were certainly watching her with all attention. The least tensing of a muscle would give her away.

She filled her voice with discouragement, of which she had any amount handy. “I think you win. See—I take your food, and I no longer fight you.” She lifted the bread as if it were heavy and took another bite and chewed and swallowed. They would not expect her to escape while she was in the middle of chewing. “It is no huge triumph to defeat me. I have not eaten for several days. You are not so clever, Monsieur Grey.”

Adrian snickered from his place on the opposite seat. Grey said nothing at all. The carriage rocked and jolted. They made some speed through the silent countryside, heading uphill, away from Paris. This road—she knew it well—wound through a region of compact stone villages and fields and grand houses surrounded by huge gardens. She could smell the late-blooming roses of the gardens and the country grasses. Occasionally there was the smell of apples. Everywhere the smoke of hearth fires filled the air, burning to keep the night chill out of the little stone houses.

It was the perfect place to run, the perfect time.

She had reached an accommodation with darkness months ago. She knew a thousand tricks of moving without sight that these men had never dreamed of. The night was her friendly kingdom, ready to hide her. None of them could outrun her in the dark.

She swallowed the bite of bread and pretended to take another. Now. This was the moment. It is not good to plan such things too much. The opponent feels it.

She twisted sideways in the seat and kicked Grey with all her strength. This time, for variety’s sake, she kicked him in the belly.

“THANK THE GODS.” ADRIAN COLLAPSED ACROSS the bed, fully dressed. His coat stank of wine. That was to explain him staggering with every step.

“You’re bleeding again.”

“Nobody saw.”

“Hell. That’s just fine, then, if nobody saw.” Grey slung Adrian’s feet up and began pulling the boots off. “Damned fool.”

“They’ll be looking for somebody with a bullet hole in him. Not some…idiot carrying a bottle.”

“Carrying a bottle and singing off key, strolling right through the middle of the innyard.”

“Nobody sees you when you…don’t hide. Pure genius.”

It might have been, but it had used up the last of Adrian’s strength. “Next time, do what you’re told.” When Grey unbuttoned the striped waistcoat, the front of Adrian’s shirt was soaked red. More blood lost. And they still had to get the bullet out of him.