Page 61 of The King's Man 2

Quin glances at me, his expression unreadable. He puts more weight into his rowing, and I almost lose my oar. I frown at him.

He doesn’t look at me. “The canal forks ahead, we can’t lose them.”

Not much later we reach a tidy neighbourhood on the fringe of the inner capital. Large stone-walled manors with modest households line the canal, separated from it by a wide lane and sprawling oak trees that cast long shadows in the moonlight. The boat ahead docks at a small jetty, and we squeeze ours into a nook, long grasses curtaining us from view.

At Quin’s command, I don my hood and scrabble up the dewy bank. Wind shifts through the grass and the trees overhead. I glance back to an empty boat. What’s he doing?

I skirt the shadowy stone walls with nervous steps and pray to the heavens I’m not seen—

“Shush, something’s there.” Only a dozen yards away, a redcloak spins in my direction.

I melt back into the wall, breath held tight.

The men stride closer—

Something skedaddles past their legs and one hits the back of the other. “It’s a cat, you fool.”

They turn while I try to recapture my gut that’s long dropped into the earth. Fearless my foot.

From somewhere above, I feel Quin’s penetrating eyes on me, silently demanding I keep moving. I glare into the night and edge along the wall.

“This is the place.”

They leap onto the wall and drop out of sight; I grit my teeth and curse Quin silently as I clamber up and belly-slide over, then tumble into a bush.

“What’s that?”

“How did you become a guard if you’re this easily spooked?”

“I heard—”

“It’s that damn cat. His chambers are west of the main building. We’ll search the rest of the house once we’ve dealt with him.”

I have to search the house for documents while these men commit murder? My stomach roils. I should besavinglives, not letting someone die, but... I have no fighting skills. Quin’s doing heaven knows what else. There’s nothing I can do against sentinian magic except cast a volatile shield—

Or...

I slip through shadows, climb through a window left partially open, and grab the first scrolls I find. Never mind if they’re incriminating or not.

I rush through the cold, quiet manor, fling open the door and run towards the west. My heart hammers, my footsteps make heavy clomping sounds against the earth, my fingers choke the paper in my hand. I trip over a prone body in the grass, surrounded by wine jars. The man shifts only to snore sharply.

A life is on the line.I scramble to my feet and spy the redcloaks ahead, closing in on a semi-detached cottage. My ears ring from my rapid pulse.

This can be considered a ward. Preventing death.Grandfather would’ve approved.

I haul in a breath and call out at the top of my lungs. “Stop. Don’t move.”

They spin, drawing metallic spells to their palms. “Who are you?” They creep closer, and I step back, raising the paper.

“I have the evidence.”

The redcloaks exchange glances and fork towards me. Clearly, they think they can get rid of meandget the evidence. Clearly, I did not think all this through. I’ve only delayed a death with what might be my own.

“If I don’t return,” I say, hoping my voice isn’t shaking, “I have orders for it to be distributed.”

They pause.

The paper trembles in my hand and the beefier one narrows his eyes on me suspiciously.

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