Captain Richard's Arc

Chapter 2 of 13

Richard stood with the collar still warm in his fist. The tavern had gone quiet around the body. Then he felt it — eyes on his back, steady and patient. Someone in the room had watched the whole thing and had not moved to help. He turned slowly. A tall rainbow-glass pillar hummed near the bar, its colors sliding lazy circles on the floor. A figure stood half-behind it, pretending to warm gloved hands. A charred brown jacket. Red stains at the cuffs. One pocket bulged with a small leather book. Richard knew the look of a man taking notes on another man's life. The watcher's eyes flicked to the chest at Richard's boot, then up to meet his. A small smile. No fear. Through the cracked window behind him, Richard saw the shape of a bright painted barn across the square, its loft window open like an eye. That was where the man had come from. That was where he would go back to write everything down. Richard did not draw a blade. He walked. He crossed the floor as if to leave, then turned at the last step and caught the man's wrist against the glowing pillar. The book slid free. Richard pinned it under his boot. "You saw nothing," he said, low. "You wrote nothing. You leave this town tonight, or I find the barn before dawn." The man's smile thinned. He pulled his wrist back. He looked once at the chest, once at Richard's face, and Richard saw the calculation finish behind his eyes. The man knew Richard meant it. He also knew he had already memorized enough. He stepped around the pillar and walked out into the dusk without a word. Richard picked up the small leather book and slid it into his coat. He had silenced the page but not the mind. The watcher was gone from the tavern — and gone toward whoever had paid him. Richard lifted the chest. He had hours, maybe less, before that man's mouth reached the wrong ear. He had to move on the sanctuary now, tonight, ready or not.