Agent Of The Crown II...

The never less aptly named Roland stuttered for a moment as he was subjected to the wrathful glare of his mentor. With an exasperated sigh Gabriel turned back to the subdued prisoner. Wrenching at the buckle he unfastened the belt from the man’s waist, divested it of the neatly concealed blade and looped it about the man’s wrists, binding him tightly.

After the heady rush of a hard-won fight Gabriel felt the fatigue creeping into his aging body. Shepherding the remainder of his strength he pulled both himself and his captive to their feet. He was displeased to find himself slightly unsteady and his manner became curt to offset any sign of weakness.

“Here.” He said, brusquely thrusting the prisoner towards the younger man. Roland fumbled for a moment before eventually catching hold of one elbow, so that between them they were able to manoeuvre the Frenchman off the street. “We need to get him away from here and quickly.” Gabriel felt uneasy at their conspicuous apprehension of the spy in broad daylight. He was far more used to working under the cover of darkness or at least with some attempt at secrecy. Here, however, they had left themselves open to all sorts of speculation and the likelihood of discovery by the other two criminals.

Clumsily they weaved towards the wharf where a boat would take them across the city to their employer. As they reached the edge of the river Gabriel began to feel pinpricks of unease as the unnatural quiet of the place seeped into his consciousness. He could hear only the squawk of the gulls as they swooped and skimmed over the grey water and there was no sign of the promised transport. Their prisoner had woken up from the slap of cold wind that brushed across the water. He mumbled incoherently, his wits still reeling from the blow Gabriel had rendered him.

The crossbow bolt came from nowhere. The only warning was the stirring of the air as it propelled past them. Too late Gabriel yelled at the stricken Roland who still clung to the Frenchman. The force of the impact had pushed them both to the ground and blood oozed from the wound that punched through the prisoner’s chest. Gabriel’s gaze swept the perimeter swiftly but there was no obvious trace of the shooter. Desperation brought him to the side of the Frenchman and he shook the stiffening body.

“Where is he?” He demanded forcefully. “Where will you bring him tonight?” Silenced by his compatriots the Frenchman was unable to provide any answers. “Damn it.” Gabriel punched his fist on his thigh. “Now we have no way of stopping the French getting hold of those plans.”

Roland was paying scant attention to his mentor’s words as he scrubbed anxiously at the blood which stained the expensive Flemish wool of his tunic. As he looked up from his efforts he blinked against the sudden glare from one of the buildings. He acted with spontaneous recklessness, knocking his mentor aside.

Gabriel hit the floor awkwardly, his knee wrenching from his sudden topple. Cursing as he realised what had happened he grabbed hold of Roland’s tunic at the neck and dragged them both behind the protection of several sturdy barrels. If he had not been so desperate to obtain information from a corpse he would have commanded that they seek cover immediately. The boy was still alive but from the position of the bolt Gabriel knew that death was already waiting.

“Thank you.” His voice was uneven as the weight of responsibility settled over him. “You saved my life.” The boy’s smile was tremulous.

“At least I did something right for a change.” Gabriel had not the heart to deny him a gallant ending. Roland had acted like a bloody fool, wasting his life and believing it made him a hero. Yet Gabriel was experienced enough to know that there was nothing heroic in death.