Page 36 of Savage Reckoning

“I can wait until—”

“There’s nae mealtimes here, hinny. Folks just come down when they’re hungry an’ see what’s there. I’ve a nice bit o’ gammon on today, an’ if ye’ve any sense ye’ll be first i’ the queue. Ye have a look o’ a man as likes ’is food.”

I blink and struggle to decipher all of this. I get the sense there is some urgency recommended, and already my guide is rushing off to get on with whatever she does around here. Everything, would be my guess.

It’s clear there’s no formal protocol at Caraksay. It’s every man for himself, and that suits me well enough. I dump my duffel on the bed and set off to explore.

I start by wandering along the upstairs hallway until I find an open door. I peer in, to find a sleek, modern office with a conference table big enough for a dozen or so. I assume this to be the hub of the Savage empire and at first wonder why it isn’t better guarded, before I remember how secluded this place is. None but the Caraksay inner circle will ever come here.

I move on, passing doors that I assume lead to the private apartments of Ethan Savage’s closest family and associates, until I reach the end of the hallway. Here, another door stands ajar. The sound of a baby’s crying drifts from within.

Curious, I peep in. The older woman I noticed outside is seated on a rocking chair comforting a wailing infant while another baby kicks and gurgles on a mat at her feet and a sturdy toddler does laps on a bright-red push-along tricycle. The movement in the doorway must catch her eye. She glances up and smiles at me.

“If you’re looking for the men they’ll be down in the hall, probably.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I just heard the baby and—”

“Aye, she’s a fine pair o’ lungs on ’er, ’as young Faith.” She coos at the child who is quietening down at last. “She’s wanting her dinner, I daresay. Mummy will be up in a moment, yes, she will. She will…” The latter part of the sing-song sentence is for the baby’s benefit, who seems to be only partly mollified by the promise. She is already breaking out in a fretful whimper again.

I rake through my memory. “Faith? That’s Jack’s little girl, isn’t it?”

“That’s right,” the woman explains. “Baby Faith, named after me. Who would ha’ thought that, eh?”

“I see. Are you her godmother then, or…?”

“I’m Faith Sampson, Beth’s mum. This here is Baby Faith Morgan, and the wee princess on the floor is Roisin. Her mum is Casey, an’ her daddy is Jed O’Neill.”

Ah. British mob royalty.

“An’ the wee heathen charging about the place is young Sebastien, Cristina and Ethan’s lad.”

The boisterous toddler shoots in front of me, tooting at the top of his lungs. I step back out of his way.

“You have your hands full, I can see. Are you the nanny, then?”

“Ach, no. I just help out where I can, especially now, when everyone is so distracted. And with Magda so poorly…”

“Magda? The pilot?”

“And nanny. Sort of.” She gets to her feet, the grizzling baby pressed to her chest. “I might just go an’ see if I can find Ruth. Would you mind just watching these two for a minute?”

“What?” I eye the diminutive figures with all the suspicion I’d normally reserve for an unexploded roadside device. “But—”

“I shall only be a wee moment…” She scuttles past me before I can mount a decent argument and scoots off along the corridor.

“Wait. What if…?” Too late. I’m on my own. I turn to regard the enemy.

Sebastien is a sharp boy, clearly a chip off the old block. He knows a helpless victim when he sees one and homes in for the kill. “I need potty.”

Jesus!

“Now!” he squeals, dismounting the trike to hop from one foot to the other.

What the fuck? I never had this bother with the Taliban.

“Where is it?” I scan the room for anything resembling a kids’ loo.

“There.” He points to a tiny bright-red potty tucked under the changing table. “Quick, quick…” He’s already tugging his shorts down.

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