Page 49 of The King's Man 4

“Or?” I ask hopefully.

“If they’re already dead.”

I grimace and plant hands on my hips. No time to waste. The game must be starting soon. “Looks like I have to die again.”

Frowner’s eyebrows shoot upwards, and I explain. Ten minutes later, Crooked Nose hits my acupoints, immobilising me prone on the floor. My whole body is stiff and, to anyone not knowledgeable in healing and the body, I look the part.

Goatee and Frowner shout for help and make a great scene to the constable that I suddenly keeled over, clutching my chest.

“He died just like that?”

“See for yourself.”

The constable kicks my legs and curses. “You two, carry him out to the courtyard. No funny business.” I’m lifted and trundled to the courtyard where, subtly, Frowner hits my acupoints again as a sheet is laid over me. “Back into the cell.”

Footsteps retreat and I hear the jangle and snick as Quin’s men are locked back inside.

“What will you do with him?” Crooked Nose asks.

“You can watch as I burn him.”

I stiffen.

Goatee speaks, keeping his voice steady. “Constable Michealios won’t like that—if you burn him without officially recording the cause of death. If I were you, I’d get the coroner.”

“What would you know?”

“Up to you.”

The constable grunts, but he stomps off, footsteps clacking angrily against stone.

Goatee calls out quietly when the clacking has receded. “Be quick.”

I throw the sheet off, bow my thanks, and run.

I’m bolting across the road towards the cover of trees when I plunge into the person I’ve most dreaded plunging into, and known it’s inevitable I would. Quin’s standing at the roadsidewith a squeezing grip on his cane and a displeased frown. His lips are flattened and his eyes are narrowed on me.

My heart jumps in fright and I stumble to a halt. He stares at me, his jaw flexing in the manner of a man gritting his teeth. I don’t quite understand. I’m the one who should feel the weight of emotions seeing him, knowing I’ll have to force myself to leave again. For all he knows, I left for only a moment.

“I watched you sneak out,” he says bluntly. “What were you running from? Or should I ask who?” His eyes search mine, daring me to answer. Even if I want to answer, the lump in my throat won’t let me.

I whip my head from side to side. We can’t do this right now. “We need to gather the vitalians. Get to the game.”

“I’ve already sent for them.”

I blink, startled and impressed.

“I bumped into Nicostratus’s head aklo on his way there. He said there’d be a thousand spectators, including the refugees.”

“Thatwas enough for you to know they were in trouble?”

“Call it instinct. Suspicion.”

I tell him about the commander’s father, dying at the hands of the town, and Quin steers me roughly into the nearest buggy. He tells the driver to bring us to the redcloak outpost, and then an awkward silence swells between us as we rattle over cobbled roads.

Quin glowers. I fidget.

I look out the window, and back at his brooding expression. When he meets my gaze, I rip mine away, and when I sneak it back, I find his still rooted on me. I jump, and whisper-blurt, “What?”

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