Page 148 of Trick

Shit. Well, I couldn’t be right every time.

We ran. My legs pumped, my soles pounding over stone and gravel. Nicu’s head jostled against my shoulder, so I cupped it, trying to keep him steady and praying he wouldn’t wake up.

At the fork, we veered east but skidded in place at the overlapping bellows and pulsing lights dawning from an intersecting shaft. On a hiss, I spun and doubled-back, leading Briar toward the alternate route curving west, which would dump us near the glazier’s forge outside the citadel. From there, we’d have to flee across the lower town and past the Dragonfly Pavilion, Spring’s most frequented brothel, to get to the public stables.

We halted again. More lights and shouts clamored in the foreground. Twisting, I saw bodies advancing from behind as well.

“Fuck,” I seethed, dread slicing through me.

The noise roused my son. “Papa?”

My palm clamped over his lips. My frantic eyes darted around the area. A niche embedded into the passage would have been our saving grace. But by the time I located it, they had encircled us, four armored soldiers drawing a circumference of spears and swords in our direction—mine and Nicu’s.

Briar had disappeared.

I whirled and searched for her, panicked that she’d been caught. The thought burned my knuckles, rage coalescing with fear. If they got to her, I’d be forced to smash my fist through their plated chests and yank out their vital organs.

I clutched Nicu, whose head shifted from left to right as he took in the scene. He would have been elated by this attention, except the guards’ armor and whiskered features resembled that sod in the dungeon. ’Twas enough to trigger the opposite of excitement. He dug his trembling fingers into me, burrowing closer whilst making tiny, terrified noises.

The men sneered at me. Me, the cloaked specter who had rattled these castle walls.

The knots securing my hood would conceal my face, no matter how I moved. And move, I would.

But if I spoke, they would know who I was. Fame indeed had its drawbacks.

“You’ve led a merry chase, bloke,” one of the guards acknowledged, dumping his torch into a wall bracket. “Now it’s time to give up.”

My nostrils flared. I clasped my son tighter and slowly shook my head.

“By order of the Crown, give us the half-wit!”

If you want what’s mine, you’ll have to kill me first. That is, if I haven’t extracted your heart by then. And if you do take him anyway, my ghost will sever this world in half getting him back. Don’t you know that, sweeting?

In training, a jester learned to be constantly aware of his props. My right boot concealed a surprise, the scabbard at my hip another. But against sets of armor, the vital areas I could target were limited. Hence, I would have to get creative.

Which weapon to use first? And how to defeat four assholes with only two means of defense? And how to do so whilst holding my son? And without him seeing his father likely commit murder?

“We’re going to play a game,” I whispered to Nicu. “Like when I spin you at home. Are you ready?”

“Uh-huh,” he peeped.

“Good. Close your eyes.”

He mashed his face into my chest and squeezed me with all his might.

Bowing my head, I gave my targets a one-armed performance.

Wheeling around so that my back shielded Nicu, I whipped the blade from my hip. Lashing my arm backward, I sent the weapon flying into the first guard. A fountain of blood spurted from the side of his face, where the blade hacked off one of his ears. Red spritzed the stones. With a howl, the man dropped his sword, tripped into a wall, and crashed to the ground, where he rolled and groaned.

The next one charged. A low, reverse-twirl dodged his spear, which I stole after the full revolution. My fingers pivoted the spear into a windmill, which cracked against the side of the guard’s skull, dislodging his jaw and knocking him unconscious.

The third adversary caught me off guard. The man’s sword rotated, caught my spear in a wide arc, and sent it careening. Tucking Nicu close, I rolled and ripped the second dagger from my boot, then slashed behind the man’s knee, red spraying his limbs. He bellowed, but that didn’t stop him.

The rock did. It clouted him in the face, crimson bursting from the well of his nose. Roaring, the dazed man pawed at the wound just as another heavy rock slammed into the back of his head. His eyes rolled before he collapsed.

The fourth guard barreled toward me with a lion’s roar, swinging two swords at once. Baffled from where the rock came, I shot to my feet as he advanced. And then I dropped my second dagger on instinct and punched the man in the face. My knuckles rammed into him, bone crunching on impact. His swords fell beside him on the ground, and he went still.

Wheezing and stroking my frightened son’s back, I discovered the princess abutting the tunnel’s niche, with another rock poised in her hand.

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