Rebels and Fools (The Renegade Chronicles Book 1) Read Online Free Page B

think so, Two-Hands.”
    “C’mon,
Spook, ya know there ain’t no cure for a hard day’s work like the drink.” The
big dockhand leaned in and in a quieter tone added, “’Sides, you’ll never fit
in with the rest if ya don’t join in the fun.”
    Arthur
saw nothing fun in sharing a barrel of hard liquor—likely stolen—with his
smelly and crass workmates. If he went along, he, being the youngest, would
surely find himself the butt of every joke and would probably end up being
tossed into the bay for one final laugh. At least, that was what had happened
last time.
    Seeing
that the boy was not to be swayed, Two-Hands Henry shrugged and said, “Suit
yerself, Spook. Ya know where to find us if ya change yer mind.”
    Arthur
stared blankly at the moving sea, hardly noticing when Two-Hands and the other
workers left. There was a kind of wisdom to Two-Hands’ thinking. Sooner or
later, the dockhands would get tired of picking on him, especially if he grew a
thick skin and pretended it didn’t bother him. His mother had given him similar
advice about his older brothers’ jests.
    Without
his fully realizing it, Arthur’s thoughts were once more in Hylan, on the
opposite side of the island. He sat there for a while longer, remembering the
people he had loved and those who had loved him. He thought that if he could do
it all over again, he would never complain about his chores. Eventually, his
mind began to play through scene after scene until he was reliving the very events
that had led up to his running away.
    Shivering
all over, Arthur grabbed his damp shirt and got to his feet. The last of the
sun’s rays had long since been swallowed up by the night. Gods, what time is
it? he wondered.
    Guiltily,
he looked all around and spotted only a few pier guards, making their rounds.
    Arthur
hadn’t the slightest idea what the punishment was for violating the city’s
curfew, but neither did he want to find out. He had little enough money as it
was. Two-Hands had said that thanks to Mayor Beryl’s newest laws, every
crime—big or small—had its own outrageous fine.
    He
watched the guards in the distance and took a few tentative steps in the
direction of the road. Maybe he could dodge the pier guards and get back to his
ramshackle lodgings before any of them spotted him.
    But
any tactics Arthur might have devised were ruined when he heard someone
directly behind him say, “You’re out rather late, aren’t you, boy?”

 
    *           *           *

 
    Klye
briefly considered banging on the doors. Whoever had just shut them was surely
near enough to hear it. That, of course, would attract some attention, and for
all he knew, the priests were already in the middle of some holy ritual they
wouldn’t want interrupted.
    His
fingers reached for the doorknob, but there didn’t appear to be any keyholes—no
lock to pick.
    “Why
don’t you just knock?” Plake demanded. “Once they see that we, too, are
priests, they’ll have to let us in.”
    Not
agreeing with Plake’s reasoning or bothering to explain his own, Klye said,
“We’ll look for a back door.”
    “A back door?” repeated Plake. “Won’t we look suspicious sneaking around
the Cathedral in the dark like a bunch of robbers?”
    “Someone’s
coming.”
    Klye
flinched at Othello’s ominous proclamation. He hadn’t even seen the archer
approach them on church’s steps—or the middle-aged man in the red-and-white
uniform embroidered with four vertical golden stripes, who was walking toward
them.
    Klye
had avoided too many constables to not recognize trouble when he saw it.
    “He’s
the man who spoke with Captain Toeburry on the docks,” Othello added softly.
    Which
makes him either the harbormaster or the Captain of the Guards, Klye concluded.
“Let me do the talking,” he whispered, hoping against all odds that Plake would
comply.
    The
man in the uniform walked right up the steps of the Cathedral and raised a hand
in greeting.