Page 16 of Reap & Sow
He brandished the fire poker threateningly. “Make a sound, and I’ll bash your brains out.”
Eda couldn’t have shouted if she wanted to. He was surprisingly heavy. She supposed that was the fault of the chainmail now visible beneath his collar. Her eyes filled with tears, fear and anger warring for dominance. Ben’s right. I’m an imbecile.
“Stand up.” Gregory hauled her upright. With the poker around her throat, he reached into his coat and drew out a fine silver-alloy dagger that flashed in the shadows. Eda’s heart thundered against her ribs so hard he could probably feel it. “The key’s in the foyer, you say? Are you telling me the truth?” The blade ghosted down her arm. “Don’t make me go looking.”
“Pocket,” she choked. “Right pocket.”
He rummaged about, searching. Eda reached into her jerkin and thumbed the penknife hiding there.
Gregory made an angry noise. “There’s nothing in here, you little—”
The blade pierced his thigh like a skewer in meat. He screamed. Eda twisted it with a grimace. His grip loosened and she elbowed him in the face. He fell back.
“Ben!” she screamed, racing through the stacks. “BEN!”
The Blade limped after her. Eda pulled over a stone vase, letting it roll into his path.
“Stop!” he roared. “You are being apprehended under suspicion of soul brokerage by the Order of the Blade—”
Eda didn’t hear Ben among all the commotion, but suddenly, he was there. He caught her as she scurried from the stacks into the foyer. He paused only a moment to steady her, then stormed onward the way she’d come. His hair was rumpled from sleep, and he was still dressed in his nightshirt, but his face was hard as stone. Eda watched in terror as he marched silently toward the Blade.
Gregory stopped. Raised his knife. “Stay where you are!”
Ben snatched another fire poker from the same collection she had, without so much as breaking his stride. The Blade must have realized the danger he was in because he frantically drew out a whistle from around his neck. The shop filled with a high, piercing note, loud enough to wake half the street. He blew again.
The poker struck him over the head. Gregory’s neck snapped back. He staggered, swiping blindly with his knife.
Ben hit him a second time. Blood sprayed. Gregory fell, but Ben continued to bring down the poker over and over. His strikes were so forceful that the muscles in his back bulged like a cart horse. Thwack, thwack, thwack. The Blade’s legs jerked. Fell still.
Eda couldn’t make much out in the dark, but she saw enough. She groaned and grabbed the shelves for support.
Lawrie was suddenly there, arms banded around her. His familiar scent of parchment and ink filled her nose. “Edie! Are you all right? What’s happened?”
Blood stained the grooves of her palm, she realized numbly. She’d stabbed Gregory.
Gregory, who was now lying dead on their floor.
Eda heard herself babbling. Her voice was thick with unshed tears. It was a wonder Lawrie could understand any of it. “—and then he hit me. I tried to get away—”
Ben appeared, cupping her face to make her look at him. He had specks of blood across his jaw. “Eda, listen to me. There are Blades outside, and they’ll soon be in. Do you have the cellar key?”
Only then did Eda notice them: dark shapes amassing outside the shop windows. The whistle. It was a signal.
She’d never known the Order to operate outside of their uniformed patrols. They were steadfast in the upholding of their tenets: In light we serve, through honor we defend. The Blades were not a faction to meddle in skulduggery and shadow. It was beneath them, and so beneath them was where the Shaws happily chose to remain.
But something had changed.
“The bishop,” Eda muttered. “That bishop from the capital—”
The door rattled on its hinges.
“Eda, the key!”
Bang.
“U-under the counter.”
Lawrie ran to get it. Ben pulled her through the stacks, ignoring the dead body sprawled across the rug. Eda nearly tripped over it, over him. A head cracked open, unrecognizable. Red pulpy smears. Soft tissue beneath her boots. She tried not to heave.
