The Infiltrators (25 page)

He picked Billy up and whispered,
“Donive. Her name’s Donive.”

He didn’t have to say anything else.
Billy flew out of the window with such a flutter the driver
shouted, “Feel free to close the windows if necessary. Sounds like
a bird’s trying to keep you company.”

“It’s gone, thanks,” Righty
replied.

Giving her name to Billy and seeing his
enthusiasm suddenly made him feel like that little pebble of
information might turn out to be a gem after all.

Righty let that optimism sustain his
otherwise low spirits to the edge of town, where he then told the
driver, “Here’re three gold coins to wait an hour. If I’m not here,
they’re yours. If I am, I’ll give you double what I paid last time
for trip to the jail.”

“Thank you, sir!” the man replied,
pocketing the money so quickly it appeared he was worried Righty
might change his mind at any second.

As soon as a look over his shoulder
confirmed he had walked out of sight from the carriage, he yanked
his boots off and then began to sprint towards Pitkins’
house.

A gust of wind came by him, and the
next thing he knew he was looking right at Harold.

“Aren’t you supposed to be watching
Rucifus’s house?”

“There’s nothing I can do that the
konulans can’t, and in fact they’re far more useful than I am
during daylight. But as for right now, you appear to need a
lift.”

Righty’s quick jump onto Harold’s back
was his answer.

Several minutes later, he jumped off
with five feet still between him and the ground and went sprinting
into the house.

The dog flinched momentarily before
seeing it was the man who had given him water and meat earlier, and
he quickly lay back down.

Righty considered it a good omen when a
bag lying on the kitchen table almost immediately caught his
attention. He sniffed its contents cautiously from a few inches
away. It certainly smelled different than Smokeless Green, but the
spicy odor stinging his nostrils left him little doubt it was the
substance Pitkins asked for.

He took another look at the dog and the
amount of blood caking its coat. He squatted down and saw the
remnants of a huge gash on its head where the blood had to have
come from, but rather than a large open wound there was nearly
fully healed flesh.

“How you feelin’ there,
fella?”

“Wuf!!” and a smile were the
reply.

Righty brought the dog some more meat
and water and told him softly, “Just take it easy there. I’ll be
back.”

The dog smiled and then began wolfing
down the meat.

Righty grabbed the bag of Spicy Green,
tied it securely, put it inside a coat pocket, and then sprinted
outside to Harold.

Harold knew Righty like a book and
whisked him to the grove of trees closest to where the carriage was
still waiting.

Righty arrived there nearly out of
breath, hopped in the back, and threw several gold coins into the
man’s hand. The carriage took off.

When Righty made it to the jail, the
sun had set nearly completely, and darkness was quickly gobbling up
what little was left of daylight.

Righty walked up promptly to the jail
door, but when he attempted to turn the door it wouldn’t
budge.

He knocked loudly, and after a few
minutes a small peephole appeared where before there had been only
wood.

“You again?!” a gruff voice
asked.

“I’ve got some papers I need Pitkins to
sign, or I’ll be out a pretty falon.”

“The hangin’s next week, not tomorrow
morning! Come back then, and not a second sooner!!”

The peephole slid shut with a clack as
loud as the man’s exclamation marks.

Righty knew that short of kicking the
door down, he had certainly reached a dead end.

When he turned around and saw the
carriage had taken off leaving him stranded, he figured he had
nothing better to do with his time than take a stroll around the
jail.

As he headed behind the jai, he felt
foolish for having expected to possibly see direct access to the
tiny barred opening he had seen in Pitkins’ cell. Instead, there
was a tall fence with seemingly razor sharp spikes on top about
twenty feet away from the wall.

Frustratingly, he could see the tiny
openings from the cells.

He thought about waiting for Harold to
give him a lift over the fence, but at that very moment he felt a
wave of urgency that made even his prior scrambling about that day
seem like a casual stroll around town. His mind went back to the
deputy’s cruel eyes, and he realized those eyes had soaked in every
aspect of his appearance and carefully stored it.

And for what
purpose?

If Pitkins is alive, it can
only be because Rucifus thinks it convenient for him to be so.
After all, no Pitkins, no swords.

She must see some pretty
serious trouble on the horizon for her to suddenly care so much
about having top-of-the-line swords.

His mind wandered back to the deputy
and his purpose for scrutinizing his countenance so
closely.

If Rucifus chose the city
jail to be where she attempts to exert pressure on him, she’s also
going to have a very keen interest in knowing of any visitors he
might receive.

With your build and
Seleganian accent . . . .

As he realized Rucifus was probably
mere hours from knowing of his visit to see Pitkins, and of his
insistence on seeing him, the full cascade of his collaboration
with Pitkins began to dawn on him.

You could end up not just
losing your largest business contact but going to war with
her.

And that was just half of it. His
entire business had been simplified into two separate customers:
Tats, who in turn supplied all of Sivingdel, and Rucifus, who was
the biggest supplier in Sodorf City. The fact they were brother and
sister didn’t exactly help.

You could end up at war with
the majority of the underworld in conjunction with an immediate
loss in all your customers and ability to make money.

“For another time!” he whispered to
himself harshly under his breath, as he began scaling the spikes.
Seconds later, he was twelve feet off the ground and was one
horizontal bar away from where the sharp spikes began.

There wasn’t enough room for a foot and
leg to be squeezed between the horizontal bar and the vertical
spikes, but there was for a hand and an arm.

Surprising even himself, he yanked his
body up with an explosive pull-up, and as he neared the height of
the movement he pushed viciously with his feet against the vertical
bars and threw his body into a cartwheel movement.

He braced himself for impact as he went
flying over the spikes, but to his relief the soft ground spared
his knees any damage. His feet stung as if they had been slapped
with a wet rag, but he barely noticed as he made his way quickly,
crouched like a cat, towards Pitkins’ cell.

It felt like an eternity crossing the
hundred yards to his cell, but once he was there he realized he was
far from being out of the woods yet. If he spoke loudly enough to
get Pitkins’ attention, there was some risk a guard might overhear
him.

Expecting a dozen dogs to start
growling viciously the moment his knuckle made contact with the
outside bars, giving them a quick three raps, his ears almost began
to ring with the flood of adrenaline and paranoia sweeping over
him.

Nothing.

Rap, rap, rap.

It sounded so slight it might be his
imagination, but then he heard something trying to move in the cell
below, accompanied immediately by a stifled groan.

He’s awake . . . go for it,
you fool!

He pulled out the securely tied bag,
shoved it between the bars with some difficulty, and then let it
plop down inside the dark bowels of the invisible cell.

Silence.

Then, in a voice so slight as to almost
be inaudible, he thought he heard, “Thank you.”

Righty turned to sprint back to the
fence but then stopped himself.

“Pitkins?” he whispered.

“What?” he barely heard.

“Promise me one thing. Don’t try to
escape until I contact you. Otherwise, Donive’s as good as
dead.”

“Deal,” he thought he heard.

Righty then went back across the field
in a low crouch at a speed approaching a brisk jog and then without
hesitation leaped up against the bars and began to scale
them.

He executed the same cartwheel motion,
but this time the impact against the dirt road sent bolts of pain
shooting through both of his feet and knees. He ignored it and
began a brisk walk. It was nearly pitch black out, the sliver of
the moon doing little to alleviate the victory of
darkness.

With the most urgent task now
completed, his mind immediately began to insist he ponder the
ramifications of what he was doing:

Will Tats stand by you if
you go to war with Rucifus?

Can you expect anything but
war with Rucifus if you use force to rescue Donive?

This line of inquiry brought
to mind his incredible
lack
of force at the moment.

Just what in the hell are
you planning on doing—slashing your way through a small army of
thugs, throwing Donive (whom you’ve never met) over your shoulder,
and then riding off into the sunset?

The absurdity of it all frustrated him,
and yet for the first time since he could remember he felt like he
had a genuine purpose in all that he was doing, something that had
eluded him for months now, as he accumulated wealth but not
satisfaction and had not the slightest idea what his vision was for
the rest of his life besides hoarding wealth and putting his family
in danger.

He could fly Harold to his ranch and
get several able-bodied men onto Harold’s back and have them
back—hell, he could probably convince the enigmatic combat genius
at his ranch to come play a part with him.

But do you really want even
more people learning about Harold?

And it wouldn’t just be Harold, they
would inevitably witness conversations with the konulans, the
secret would soon spread far and wide, and he would lose his most
important edge in this business.

And Pitkins?

And Donive?

A whir went past his ear, interrupting
his thoughts. He quickly saw it was a konulan, and he turned into
the first alley and began walking.

Five minutes later, he saw the konulan
come back. Next thing he knew, Billy was hovering before
him.

“News?”

“She’s not at Rucifus’s mansion, not
anymore.”

“But she’s alive?”

“Unclear. I heard some of the guards
outside the mansion say she had been taken elsewhere, shortly after
Pitkins got clobbered.”

“Anything else?”

“The konulans have arrived from
Selegania. There are about 150 of us. We have started following
everybody that leaves Rucifus’s mansion. It’s only a matter of time
before they lead us to her.”

“And just a matter of time before
Rucifus gets weary with the whole thing and decides to slit her
throat.”

Silence.

“And Harold?”

“He’s barking strict orders as usual,
keeping us on our toes,” Billy said rather
good-naturedly.

Righty felt some stress slide off his
back at this mildly good news, but still felt he was carrying
around a piece of lumber far heavier than any he had ever hoisted
during his years at the lumberyard. He was exhausted, felt he had
accomplished little today, and yet knew of nothing else he could do
until he learned of Donive’s location.

And he had no idea just what in the
hell he would do once he learned it.

He flagged down a carriage and then
took it to the edge of town and then headed towards the woods. He
needed to rest and wanted to be completely alone except for updates
from the konulans.