The Inquisition (Summoner, #2)(61)

She kicked Malik, who coughed and nodded in agreement.

‘You’re a Faversham,’ Fletcher said bluntly, though he reddened as soon as the words left his mouth. He wasn’t used to being so rude.

‘And you’re a Raleigh,’ Verity replied sarcastically. ‘I know my father prosecuted you at trial, but that’s his job. I try not to judge people based on their families. Do you?’

Fletcher hesitated as she smiled at him, a hint of mischief in her big, dark eyes. She really was very attractive. He stuttered, tongue-tied – and the way Sylva was staring disapprovingly at him did little to help.

Fortunately, Seraph spoke before the silence went on for too long.

‘Can’t hurt,’ he said, puffing out his chest. Seraph could never resist a pretty face. ‘If one of us gets caught, it makes things harder for the rest. I say we spend the day here teaching each other and then camp overnight. It’s already afternoon anyway. Should have done all this planning before we got here, but there you go.’

Fletcher looked to Othello for guidance, and after a pause, the dwarf gave him a curt nod. A faint scratching from within his backpack sealed his decision.

‘Fine,’ Fletcher said, pushing through his team and striding to the edge of the forest. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some business with one of those trees out there.’





26


Fletcher hurried into the jungle, his face burning. Pretending to need the toilet. Couldn’t he have thought of a better excuse?

He struggled through the tangled bushes, his skin itching as he brushed against a sticky cobweb. Around his head, the whine of mosquitos intermingled with the low buzz of common flies. Despite the abundant humidity in the air, the insects seemed attracted to the moisture in his eyes and mouth, and he spat and spluttered his way through until the others were out of sight.

Aware of his vulnerability so far from the others, he summoned Ignatius and Athena with two blasts from his palm. Immediately, Athena was fluttering to the top of the nearest tree, scanning the area for danger. Ignatius contented himself by scampering up Fletcher’s shoulder, giving his master a remonstrative thwack of his tail for keeping him infused for so long.

With a furtive glance over his shoulder, Fletcher crouched among the bushes and slowly opened his pack. Within, Blue stared back through wide, fearful eyes. He had somehow armed himself with a fishhook, one of the many tools that Uhtred and Briss had stowed in the leather satchels the dwarves had provided. It was a pitiful weapon, but the gremlin held it aloft as Fletcher stepped back, his arms raised to show he was no threat.

Slowly, his eyes never leaving Fletcher, the gremlin clambered out, until he was crouched on the ground, his scrawny chest heaving with anxious breaths.

‘I shouldn’t be doing this,’ Fletcher said, and as he said the words, doubts began to plague him. Blue could go straight to his orc masters and tell them about the mission. But it was too late now, for the gremlin had shuffled out of reach. A flash of white from above told Fletcher that Athena had sensed his fears, and was ready to pounce. Then, the gremlin spoke.

‘Thank you,’ Blue trilled, dropping the hook to the ground.

He could speak! Fletcher’s mind reeled as Blue darted into the thick of the jungle. Half a second later, Athena’s paws thudded into the ground where he had been, and she hooted with frustration.

‘Let him go,’ Fletcher whispered, as Ignatius leaped down and nosed the bushes. ‘He won’t tell.’

He hoped.



As morning turned to afternoon, Fletcher was pleased that Malik’s team had shared their guide’s knowledge. Mason taught them to leave fewer footprints by avoiding the wetter ground and staying near the firmer soil beside tree roots. To remember, when they examined the prints of others, that wild cats walked with claws retracted and hyenas, the orcs’ preferred pets, did not. How a few days of wind or a single night of rain would wipe it all away.

He showed them how to mask their scent and keep off mosquitos by rubbing wild garlic into their skin and hair. He told them of the natural highways of the forest, made more pronounced by years of passing animals. Some of this, Fletcher knew from his own hunting on the Beartooth Mountains. But to hear it said and taught, rather than just relying on his own instinctual understanding, was fascinating.

As Mason spoke, Jeffrey rummaged around the forest edge, collecting plant-life and stowing various specimens in his bag. When it was his turn to speak, it was his knowledge of botany that was most impressive, rather than the spells he revealed at the end.

‘See here, the water vine,’ he said, pointing to an unassuming liana that hung stiffly from the treetops. He sliced it at the bottom with a slim knife and held it to his mouth. Water flowed out, as easily as water from a tap.

‘Fresh as a mountain spring,’ he grinned, wiping his mouth. ‘If you can’t get rainwater or coconuts, this is the next best thing.’

He moved on to another plant nearby, a palm tree sapling. With some gentle sawing, he removed a core of white from behind the bark and crunched down on it with relish.

‘Palm heart. Tastes like celery,’ he mumbled through a full mouth. ‘Nutritious though!’

He sliced the core into sections and handed them out. Fletcher found it to have a plain taste, with a hint of nuttiness he quite enjoyed.

Further out from the camp, Jeffrey showed them a flower with purple and white petals. He tore it from the ground to reveal a knobbly orange legume attached beneath.