The Mosque Hill Fortune (The Sons of Masguard, Book One)

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Careful Steps Kal pried the lid from the trash can. Dropping it to the cobblestones beneath the cathedral with all the subtlety of an overturned china cabinet, the young raccoon dove to her elbows in the refuse with a shake of her head. She couldn't believe some of the things people threw out. A bit of broken porcelain, an uneaten apple - these things were useful, for Fate's sake.

"Pfft, nobles," C.S. scoffed, all-but-falling from the haphazardly-stacked crates when a voice shot from the shadows.

"They are an obnoxious bunch, aren't they?"

She recovered quickly, forcing her voice to calm itself as she turned to the form in the mist and chided, "You're late."

"Couldn't be helped," he shrugged, showing a glint of metal from his uniform. "Marshall runs a tight ship. I'd think your employer would appreciate my caution."

"Maybe he will. Maybe he won't," the young raccoon shrugged in return, mocking him. "You know how the Baron can be."

The informant cleared his throat and stepped forward - not enough to reveal himself, but enough for her to recognize the gesture for the threat that it was.

"It's C.S., isn't it?" He waited for her to nod before continuing. "Well you see, C.S. - I, in fact, don't know how the Baron can be. Because the Baron has never seen fit to meet me in person, has he? He keeps sending you to throw a bit of money at my feet and gather whatever information I've collected on the queen's impenetrable Armada. Which is hazardous business. So, between the danger and the disregard, you might understand if being scolded by a street urchin in an alley that smells like the tail end of an octopus isn't high on the list of things I'm willing to tolerate."

An expectant silence followed.

Next to her, the naval officer was practically a giant, and he was certain to be well-trained with the sword at his side. He could kill her with ease and leave her here among the refuse - it wasn't as if anyone would miss her.

So C.S. countered in the only way that she could.

Baring her teeth in a vicious snarl, the tiny raccoon lunged over boxes and garbage cans, pressing her face as close to the informant's as she dared.

"You don't like it?!" she hissed and howled all at the same time. "Then shove off and find another job, you filthy tar! You came to us, remember? So far, the information you've given hasn't been worth the coin you're getting in return. Now, if you want to be the one to explain to the Baron that you're doing something other than wasting his time, be my guest. But, until that day, you deal with me. And I don't appreciate it when you're late, you got that?!"

As if to punctuate her display of aggression, the cathedral's bell began to toll, a grand echo that swallowed the informant's surprised reaction. She had gambled on this same ruse many times in her short life. Sure, he was bigger, stronger, older - but would he be willing to test her if he thought he might lose his nose in the process?

She held her breath, careful to conceal her fear as she watched for his response.

Then the pealing of the bell subsided and the officer sighed.

Luckily, it seemed he liked his nose where it was, thank you very much.

"Now," she sniffed, "Where's the medallion?"

She could vaguely make out the line of his head as he shook it, "I couldn't get to it in time. I think she may have given it to the captain."

"So what? You can't steal it from him?"