The Last Smile in Sunder City (The Fetch Phillips Archives #1) - Luke Arnold Page 0,50

Weatherly. I wasn’t ashamed of being uncommitted and unformed, and yet…

There was something in the laughter that night that sounded different to my ears. I’d never cared what people thought of me because I was quite convinced that nobody actually knew me. They could criticize “Fetch” as much as they liked because he wasn’t real. He was my creation and he was doing just what he was made to do. That had served me well while I walked among strangers but now I had friends. Friends that I respected. That I cared about. And the real kicker was that I cared about what they thought of me.

I looked down at the patches on my trousers and the vile, rope laces threaded through my boots. I looked at my hands, which were coarse from labor and long days, wondering what they’d ever done that really mattered. Those hands belonged to Fetch: a made-up name that started as an insult and then got comfortable. Rather than rise above the name, I’d lowered myself down into it, doing what was expected of me and nothing more.

So, for a change, I did something unexpected.

“What kind of commitment are we talking about?”

I said it so matter-of-factly that the laughter died. The Governor tried to revive it.

“Hoping for just a weekend or two? Ha!”

“If you can use me, I’ll give you whatever you need. I never considered it before because, let’s be honest, a Human refugee sounds pretty useless in an army of Wizards and Ogres. I always thought us non-magic folk would be a burden but, if you’re really desperate and you need some manpower, I’d be happy to help.”

Hendricks peered over his glass of whiskey and I was pleased to see that he looked impressed.

“Six months of training and a two-year apprenticeship,” he said, mirroring my directness. He did me the honor of keeping a straight face. “Of course, there has never been a Human in the Opus before, so your application would be a unique one. That said, I’ll make sure you’re not posted to some distant fortress in the Far-North or anything like that. There are places close to me where your talents would make a wonderful addition to our ranks.”

“Talents?” The Governor chortled, but no one else joined in.

I picked up the glass of whiskey in front of me and took a hungry sip. Then, I dared to look at Amari. She was smiling. She seemed… proud, I think. She reached forward and put a hand on mine and squeezed it. Then she turned to Hendricks.

“How soon are you planning on taking my bodyguard away?”

“In two days,” he announced, springing up in excitement. “Tomorrow you must rest because tonight, Shepherd Fetch, we will drink ourselves stupid! Ha ha!”

And we did. We drank till we were dumber than doorstops and Hendricks made premonitions about where our adventures would lead. I professed my enthusiasm and even started to believe it.

Sometime before sunrise, once Lark had gone to bed, Amari had the idea of enlisting me officially that very night. She used the potions from her pack to mix up some kind of green-black ink, which she handed to Hendricks along with a sharpened quill. I sat down, and she stood behind me with her arms wrapped around my shoulders as Hendricks painted a pattern on to my forearm.

The tattoo was no mere black bar this time. It was a piece of art. For an hour, we drank and he drew and Amari rested her head on my shoulder, her cheek against mine, watching him work. When it was done, we all wrapped our arms around each other and for the first and only time in my life I thought that maybe I could be part of something good.

14

I woke to thunder, lightning and pain. The Flyboy messenger, supposedly sent by The League of Vampires, was gone. It wasn’t immediately evident how he’d got in or out.

I padded around the perimeter of the room and there were no smashed windows or broken locks, just the shattered whiskey bottle and drops of my blood. I guessed that Flyboy came in through the Angel door. Even so, he’d done it with more finesse than I’d expected. The little showman wasn’t completely clueless after all.

I was less worried about how he got in than why the League might be trying to shake me off. I wasn’t hot on the heels of any trail that I could see. Maybe it was just like the kid said: a sloppy