The Radiant War

Chapter 2a

     He was going to miss his rendezvous with the Brigadier again, Malone mused dismally.

     He and the small group of activists he'd been put in charge of were sitting in the dining room of the ‘Hound and Hare’ inn in the Kelvon town of Locksley, eating breakfasts of pastries and beans. Farwell, and the King's Shilling, were three hundred miles away. This would make the third rendezvous he'd missed. The Brigadier would be worrying, but the more important concern was that he hadn’t yet been able to report what he’d learned about Benjamin, one of the top leaders, perhaps the top leader, of the popular uprising. That information would be vital in helping to foil the Radiants’ attempt to plunge the Empire into civil war. If he died before he could pass it on, it would be lost, a prospect that bothered him a lot more than his own death.

     He sighed. There was nothing he could do about it, so there was no use in fretting. The Brigadier would just assume he was deeply embroiled in the mission he'd given him, which he was, and hopefully they'd be able to met up next week, if he was back in the capital by then.

     That was by no means certain, though. Jamie Fry seemed to have decided that Malone was the perfect man to be his delivery boy, probably in order to get him away from his side as much as possible. He’d made no secret of the fact that he didn't trust him, and Malone was fairly sure he still resented him for being chosen above him by John Martin. By giving him this job, and probably others like it afterwards, Jamie Fry was sending him far away for days at a time, and he suspected that the three men who were supposedly under his command had been told to keep a close eye on him. He’d certainly seen one or another of them looking in his direction now and then during the journey, although that may just have been because he was new to the team while they'd clearly been working together for some time. Also, the fact that he was the one with five hundred crowns in gold coins in his pouch was undoubtedly a factor.

     They were chatting together, sharing jokes and anecdotes that referred back to things they'd done together before Malone joined them, and which he therefore couldn’t join in with. It was a deliberate act of disrespect, no doubt inspired by the fact that he, an outsider, had been put in charge over them, instead of one of them being given the job. It made him feel lonely and nervous, and he looked forward to the day when he could leave these unpleasant people and go back to the Brigadier.

     “Some sausages would be good,” said Porto, using a piece of bread to mop up the last of the bean juice. “Glob pastries are good, but they ain’t sausages.”

     “You could've had sausages if you'd paid for ‘em,” pointed out Sykes. “You could've had a whole plate of sausages if you'd paid for ‘em.”

     “Don’t see why we should have to pay for our own grub. If they can afford to pay that kind of money for guns, they could afford to...”

     “Watch you mouth, Porto!” snapped Malone, looking around to see if any of the inn’s other patrons had overheard. “Could be spies listening.”

     The big man turned his head to look at him with eyes that burned with hostility. “Watch how you speak to me, dog man. I’m not a man to cross.”

     “Watch what you say and I'll quite happily not speak to you at all. And the name's Malone.”

     “People have names,” growled Porto. “Dogs don't.”

     “Actually, dogs do have names,” pointed out Lewis helpfully. “My mum and dad had a sheepdog called Shep. Ended up becoming my younger brother...”

     “Shut your trap, Lewis. Nobody cares about your stupid brother.”

     “Okay, mate,” said Sykes soothingly. “Calm down. We got a job to do. We'll do it best if we don't attract attention.”