The Book Eaters(49)
Definitely Hester. Was sure of that, now.
He turned the thing over, examining. Expensive and old. Custom? Yes, but based on a standard revolver. He recognized the emblem burned into the haft, too. Three red stars and a thick red line, sitting above a stylized lion. The motto: In Defiance. He grinned. The Ravenscar crest.
Turned the gun over. On the pistol butt, very subtle, were engraved the initials WR. Interesting indeed. He guessed—that was too weak a word, he’d have staked a lot of fucking money on it—that this gun had once belonged to Weston Ravenscar. Until he’d been violently removed by his own offspring.
Aloud to the world at large, Ramsey said, musing, “Did he give this to Hester, or did she take it from his corpse? Why does she have it instead of Killock?” and then listened intently, as if someone might answer.
No one did, of course. The humans on the train were still busy being noisy little brats, only slightly calmer now that their attacker was apparently no longer among them. Someone had found the lights and fixed them, which abated their fear.
“Intriguing, but you are not a question I can pursue at this point,” Ramsey informed the gun, then slung the whole bag over one shoulder. He had nothing better to carry it in, and wasn’t daft enough to shove a loaded weapon into his waistband.
The train tracks stretched tediously. Best start walking or he’d be here all night. There was a lot to do. Before anything further could happen with his sister or the Ravenscars, Ramsey had business with his own knights to settle first. The gun had given Ramsey ideas.
He set off, heading southwest; not due west, as Devon had.
Realized he was hungry. Been a long evening. He wrested free his emergency book, stored in the same body pouch as the transmitter. Flashman novel, his favorite kind of comfort food. Bit through a corner, pleased by the creamy texture of the pages. Gunfights and sex sizzled on his tongue.
The Six Families did not discriminate by skin color, so neither did Ramsey. Couldn’t afford to when their population was barely sustainable. But the inherent racism and bawdiness of these Flashman books had always struck him as flavorful and fascinating all the same.
Self-hate was intrinsic to the entire human race. He’d come to that conclusion after his various dealings with humans. When they could not find enough to dislike in their own selves, human folk went looking for flaws in their neighbors. Delicious, that tendency.
A buzzing against his hip. Ramsey glanced down. The rattlesnake hiss of a mobile phone going off in his pocket. Swallowed a last mouthful of book and pulled out his phone. Pressed the green answer button.
“Ramz?” Ealand sounded stressed, as usual. “Where the hell have you gone? You’re all over the news!”
“We are all over the news. Thanks to Kingsey.” Couldn’t keep the tartness out of his voice. “I’m somewhere between Newcastle and Berwick. Where is the commander?”
“Still in Newcastle. He’s not best pleased, not pleased at all.” Ealand’s voice dropped to a semi-whisper. “Says your spy has betrayed us. I think he’s dead set on pinning the blame for tonight’s disaster on you.”
“Is he, now.” Stay cheerful, Ramsey thought; stay unruffled. Stay in control of the conversation. “That’s funny, because my spy as he calls her has done nothing of the kind. Devon and Hester Ravenscar are traveling to the Ravenscar hideout. Couldn’t ask for a better solution.”
A caught breath. “Are you sure?”
“You all saw Hester there. And I spoke to Devon on the train. They got off before Berwick and she’ll be in touch shortly. Wants us to send a knight to ‘check in’ on them, by following her phone signal.”
“Well, that changes everything! I’ll let Kingsey know—”
“No,” Ramsey said. “Say nothing to Kingsey.”
A confused silence. “But…”
Ramsey altered his tone, sweetened it. “E, you’ve been a good friend. Trust me or don’t on this one, I won’t judge, but I haven’t got time to explain. Only, I think it’s better I deliver the news in person.”
“Then what do you want me to tell him?”
“That I’ll be waiting for him, and all the rest of you, at St. Michael’s Church. Just outside Alnwick.” Checked his wristwatch, scanned the sky. “ETA three hours.”
“Damn, Ramz. When you say waiting for him…” A muttered phrase that wasn’t audible, followed by, “Fuck it. I’ll pass on your message. Can’t guarantee how he’ll react.”
“Cheers, mate.” Ramsey hung up, mentally picturing the commander’s face as he stuffed the phone away. The sullen, deep lines.
Knightly life had been a shock to child-Ramsey. Training was harsh and the older knights let their youths sort out any aggression or disagreements among themselves, meaning the youngest and smallest suffered the worst. Ramsey, proud and young, had suffered spectacularly.
The first night in Oxford, Kingsey Davenport had taught Ramsey the secret of fear and power by locking him in a room with a live, ravenously hungry dragon, and waiting till it nearly killed Ramsey before giving a command word at the last moment to keep it in check.
Afterward, while Ramsey curled on the floor of his new home and cried like a girl, Kingsey had bent down and said, You will never have to fear what you have mastered. The words meant nothing at first. He hadn’t understood at the time but had remembered the words all the same.