Soldier of Fortune: Gideon Quinn Adventures Book One

Chapter 48

It had gone full dark by the time Ellison‚ carrying an overlarge burlap bag liberated from the Rand stables—entered the boathouse, where, until about three hours past, his hive used to reside.

The decrepit building was black as pitch, but for the wavering circle of light provided by the lantern Ellison had lit upon entering.

Since the lamp's crystal was old, the illumination it provided was uncertain, shrinking or expanding at random, so Ellison's view of the boathouse varied by the moment.

Not that it mattered, as Ellison, carrying both lantern and bag to the center of the room, knew every centimeter of the place by heart.

The bag had ceased bucking some time back, probably to avoid the pounding and slapping which was Ellison's response.

Once he dropped it onto the warped boards, however, it immediately commenced wriggling again, so he gave the sack a touch of the boot.

He was gratified to see the little shape curl up on itself with a soft whimper.

"There'll be more o' that and you don't mind yerself," he told it. "You savvy?"

The top of the bag gave a subdued nod.

Satisfied, he set the handheld lamp on a crate that, like the rest of the boathouse, had seen better days.

Then he opened the sack and pulled Mia out by the hair.

"You and me," he said, kicking the sacking aside, "we're gonna have us a little talk."

"About what?" she asked, arms crossed in front of her, defiance trembling in every bone.

"All kinds o' things," he said, looming over the dodger. "Like ingratitude."

"Sorry, didn't I thank you for the back of your hand last night?"

For which he, of course, was forced to give her the back of his hand, again.

"Now, now," a dry voice reproved from the darkness, "that's no way to treat your dodgers."

Ellison and Mia both froze.

"Who's there?" the fagin asked, drawing a blade from his belt with one hand while the other snagged Mia by the throat.

"Let's just say I'm a man who has had a spectacularly bad day."

Ellison turned to the left, cursing. He'd been sure the speaker had been at his right.

Mia tried to take advantage of the distraction by slamming an elbow into Ellison's gut, but she hadn't enough force to penetrate the layers of clothes, fat, and muscle.

"Ease off, girl," he snapped, knocking her up against the crate with enough force to daze.

A heartbeat later he was ducking as something screeched and dove at his head, then sped past to knock the lantern to the floor, where it gave a last, valiant sputter before fading to black.

Ellison silently cursed the moment he'd ever set eyes on that draco.

"I hear you met Elvis already," the voice in the dark said. "Which means you should have figured out he doesn't like people messing with kids."

A screech from the pitch dark above confirmed this.

"I don't like when people mess with kids, either," Quinn's voice (Because who else could it be?) continued.

Except now he was behind Ellison.

Ellison spun, lifting Mia up as a shield and pressing the blade against her throat. "Back off, Quinn, if you don't wanna see how much blood's inside this little girl."