D-Nine: Protectors of the Crown

Chapter 12

The next day, I wasn't feeling so much better as used to the cramps and bleeding-or at least somewhat resigned to them. Sort of. I was very, very grumpy. I nearly bit off Ronchet's head when he poked it in my room and told me the short captain, Fibua, was gathering a counsel of war. I actually did yell at him when he tried to feed me stew for breakfast again.
"Sorry," I said, not particularly apologetic. "Hormones."
"It's all right," Ronchet said awkwardly, and I was struck by the amusing notion that, in this time period, they probably had no idea what hormones were.
Ha. Lucky fools.
The viciously smug feeling this gave me carried me along well enough that I let Ronchet drag me to the war counsel.
The whole company of four squads had been crammed into the war room. There were some familiar faces among the bunch of new guys.
Aside from me-if I even counted-there was only one woman there. She was raven-haired and quite beautiful. Once upon a time, I would have spent the meeting eying her, wondering how to ask her out. Now, I eyed her and wondered if I could get her some place I could talk to her alone ... to ask her how women in this time period dealt with their monthlies.
Yes, I was desperate enough to ask. There are some things worth the embarrassment.
The three who had attacked me were present in the war room. The trio's leader, Juan, was a good friend of Ronchet. We, too, had become friends. The huge gathering of men and a lone woman resembled a busy and noisy marketplace. Ronchet was busy chit-chatting with Juan while their eyes were fixed on that woman standing by the corner. She was the sole beauty among the beasts.
The room suddenly fell to a deathly silence when Fibua entered. He took his place at the head of the table and sat down.
"I bring grave news." He looked around before proceeding. "The things we brought back from the fort do not provide us with much information. However, we did gather that a large sum of money was sent to a man known as Mr. D."
Audible whispers were heard among the people at the table and Fibua took the wooden mug and banged the table, silencing them.
"From our intelligence branch, we know that Mr. D is an agent for the Deadly Bats."
Brows furrowed around the table upon hearing the news and everyone waited for the captain's orders. "Our next mission will be to raid the hideout of the Deadly Bats."
"That's not going to be easy," someone yelled.
"It is suicidal," another piped.
"Silence!" Fibua looked around angrily. "This mission is not easy, but we are not here to do easy jobs, are we? We serve the crown and protect the kingdom."
Everyone kept their peace after hearing this. Well, everyone except me. I was still in a foul mood. "Raid?" I said grumpily, loud enough for everyone to hear. "And here I thought we were supposed to be guerrilla warriors and assassins. What happened to subtlety?"
Fibua turned and fixed me with a look. "The last four spies we sent in," he said coldly, "came back minus their heads. The Deadly Bats are mercenaries, and they do not welcome outsiders. Mr. D is the most ruthless of them all and executes spies on sight ... at least, so we believe. None have ever returned alive to verify this. Keep your place, Nine, and let the people who know what's going on decide what to do."
I flushed bright red and didn't reply.
Fibua continued. "Dismissed. We will convene once the location of the hideout is determined."

***

"Just a minute," I told Ronchet as we exited the meeting. "I'll be right back." I wriggled my way through the crowd to the raven-haired woman.
She turned to me, eyebrow raised. "Yes?"
"Uh ..." I said. Now that I had the opportunity to ask, I had no idea how to begin. Then I spotted Ronchet watching interestedly. "Could I talk to you alone for a minute? Please?"
The raven-haired woman looked me up and down appraisingly-and then, abruptly, her expression softened. "Oh," she said. "Oh. You poor thing. Yes, of course, come with me."
I could feel my face flush tomato red as she led me to a back room. "Is it that obvious?" I asked.
"You're a bit old for it," said the woman, "but I recognize the expression-and Ronchet said you didn't have any family. I suppose your mother never told you?"
I shook my head.
"Go on," she said kindly. "Ask anything you want. Do you need some supplies? I always carry some emergency cloths with me."
I emerged nearly half an hour later, half-dead with embarrassment.
"What was that all about?" Ronchet asked. "I thought you'd never come out."
"None of your business," snapped the raven-haired woman. "Men!"
For the second time in as many days, I was inclined to agree.