"On the surface, Captain, no one would. Despite your family's position, you are hardly well regarded. You are a Colonial half-blood who liaised with a Colonial unit disgraced in battle. Need I paint you a more complete picture of why some cautious souls wished to guarantee accurate information?"
"No, Highness, I understand."
"Good." The Prince smiled. "But you and I, for now, shall talk of specifics, and I shall write out some orders for my friend. Then we shall dine and you will go to your home for a well-deserved rest. Your arduous journey will begin very soon."
And it was, as the Prince predicted, an enjoyable evening of roast pheasant and local vegetables combined with valuable lessons that would aid Owen's ability to survive in the wilderness. The Prince delivered each of them as an anecdote, both making them easier to remember and less offensive in the telling. By the end of the evening Owen knew he still had a great deal to learn, but he had acquired a great foundation upon which to build.
He left the Prince with a smile on his face and a warm glow in his belly.
Both of which vanished when, at the first shadowed corner, the butt of a musket cracked against his head.
Chapter Nine
April 28, 1763
Temperance
Temperance Bay, Mystria
O wen awakened on the ground, dust in his mouth, a second before a booted foot caught him in the mid-section and lifted him back into the air. The Prince's dinner gushed out, replacing the dry dust with the harsh wet of vomit. He landed on his side, bouncing, then drew his knees up to cover his belly.
"Think you're so smart, do you?" A man's deep-voiced question invited laughter from his confederates. "Think you're better'n us, do you?"
Owen coughed, then spat. His stomach ached and the world swam. He could make out silhouettes-at least half a dozen-but there could have been more. The closest one to him, the man who had spoken, filled most of his vision-and that was a factor of his size, not just his proximity.
"There he is, boys, all curled up. A little Norillian dog, ready to die."
More laughter, until another voice cut in.
"Now, Rufus Branch, don't appear you're making constructive use of your time here."
"You stay out of this, Woods." The large man thrust a finger at Owen. "You know his kind. He wears the red coat. He thinks he's better'n any three of us."
Light laughter came from the alley-mouth. "You ain't never been good at your sums, Rufus, but even you can see there's a mite more than three of you here."
"You want to be evening up the odds?"
"I get to scrapping, ain't going to be even. Like as not I'd shoot you again. "
Owen shook his head, partially clearing it, then pulled his hands and knees beneath himself. "Three to one? I've fought worse."
Woods, at the alley-mouth, was little more than a tall, slender silhouette with a gun cradled in his folded arms. "Belike that knock in your head scrambled your brains, Captain Strake."
"Not like he has any brains," one of the others scoffed.
Owen got to his feet and staggered to his left. He let one of the men catch him and push him back upright. Owen twisted, burying a fist in the man's gut, then snapped a knee into his face. The man dropped fast. Spinning, he got his back against the building, then jacked his right elbow into the face of the man by his other side. The man's head rebounded off the building and he flopped forward, covering his compatriot's moaning body.
It wasn't the first time Owen had been jumped by a gang. He had one rule for such fights and applied it religiously: do as much damage as you can, however you can, and don't stop.
The man on his left hesitated, but the one on his right came burrowing in. Head ducked and arms wide, he went to tackle Owen. The soldier hit him hard over the left ear, dropping him to his knees, then kicked him in the chest. The man somersaulted back, cutting Rufus' legs out from under him.
Without waiting for the man on the left to act, Owen charged and caught him with an uppercut. Tooth fragments littered the dust. Owen grabbed the man's jacket and tossed him onto Rufus' back.
Another man raised his fists and broadened his stance. Slightly smaller than Owen, he had a confident glint in his eyes. He darted forward, feinting with a left toward Owen's head. Owen's hands came up, leaving him open for the man to drive his right into Owen's stomach.
Pain exploded but didn't slow Owen down. He snapped his head forward, smashing his forehead into the man's face. Bones cracked. Blood gushed over Owen's face. The man staggered back, hands rising to his ruined nose. Owen kicked out, catching him squarely in the groin. The blow lifted the man a foot or so in the air and dumped him, writhing, into the alley.
Rufus roared and Owen spun. The giant had tossed one man off him and rose to his feet. A head taller than Owen, and with shoulders broad enough to fill the alley, Rufus Branch curled his hands into bucket-sized fists.
"You should've stayed in Norisle."
Owen swallowed hard and set himself. He had one chance. A quick kick to a knee, crippling Rufus; then finding something big enough with which to brain him.
All of a sudden Rufus' head snapped forward, accompanied by the sound of a musket-butt being applied as a club. The man staggered and half turned. "Why'd you have to do that, Woods?"
"You're not worth the price of powder to reload." Woods hit him again, catching him in the forehead.
Rufus Branch collapsed.
Woods lowered his gun. "The last of them went running off. He'll bring friends. I'm thinking a retreat's the smart play."
"Agreed." Owen straightened up and felt around his right ear. His fingers came away wet. He stepped over Rufus and followed the Mystrian out of the alley. "You didn't need to intervene."
"I reckon you coulda took Rufus, but he'd agone and busted you up some. The Prince hired me to guide you. Ain't no good if you is crippled."
Owen stopped by a public wellhead and worked the pump, splashing cold water over his head and washing off his face. The shock brought a little clarity, but the aftermath left room for his body to report the aches and pains. Another wave of nausea washed over him, but he choked vomit back.
Nathaniel Woods came around and looked at his ear. "Nasty gash. You'll be needing some sewing to fix half your ear back on. Good thing Mistress Frost is handy with a needle and thread."
Owen straightened up again, sweeping dripping black hair out of his face. "They will be rethinking their offer of hospitality."
"It won't surprise 'em none." Nathaniel shrugged. "Caleb likely told them what to expect after he told me."
Owen looked back toward the alley. "He wasn't…"
"He don't have much truck with the Branches."
The two men moved on through the dark city streets, heading uphill toward the Frost estate. "No love lost between you and Rufus."
"'bout right."
"You said you'd shot him before?"
Nathaniel nodded. "He was needing it. Wanted to shoot him in the head, but it was so far up his hind parts, alls I got was his sitting-down meat."
Owen couldn't tell if Nathaniel was joking or not. He got the very distinct sense that both in the alley and even now, Woods was measuring him. "So, tell me, Mr. Woods. Would you have intervened if it wasn't part of your job?"
Nathaniel Woods stopped in the middle of the street and ran a hand over his angular chin. "I'm thinking I might have. Spoiling Rufus' fun's one of the pleasures of my life."
"You're not afraid of reprisals?"
"Not particularly." Nathaniel started moving again. "I'm thinking he's a lot less favorable on being shot than I am on shooting him."
Owen pressed his handkerchief to the side of his head. "You're not afraid of him shooting you first?"
"He gets close enough to take that shot, I ain't deserving of much more life."
They came to the Frost house. Owen opened the gate and waited for Woods to come in.
Nathaniel shook his head. "Your arrival will cause enough commotion. I'll give you a day to rest, then will meet you at your supply depot."