Chapter 10

“To Wren Atkinson,

On the basis of your description of the circumstances surrounding Mr. Dalton’s death, it is this Court’s decision to alter the terms of Mr. Grey’s assignment. Inform Mr. Grey that no less than proof of the death of Mr. Smith is required in order to receive payment. See to it that his assassination is carried out discretely and with no witnesses, without discretion.

The task of retrieving the stolen goods remains unaltered.

‘Eleanor’.”

Lucas walks back towards the shed, knowing that Wren will follow him, and leans against the wall. This takes them farther away from any of the residents of the town in an effort to avoid being heard.

“Not for all the money in the world.” He extends his arm towards Wren, parchment in hand. None but her are nearby to hear, but his voice is hushed to keep the conversation between the two of them.

She takes the letter from his hand, rolls it up, and tucks it into her backpack as she replies. “I knew you’d say that.” Her next words, Lucas notes, are tinged with hesitation. “You don’t have to do it yourself. Just find him and I’ll take care of the rest.”

From the beginning of her second sentence, Lucas begins shaking his head. “Out of the question. It’s not that I just don’t want to get my hands dirty, it's the principle. I’m not their executioner and I never signed up to be an assassin.” His expression becomes slightly condescending. “Besides, you’re fooling yourself.”

“What do you mean.” Wren’s eyes narrow and her voice reflects that she’s taken some offense.

“If you can barely tell a lie, what makes you think you have the stomach to kill someone? Let alone three people.”

She recognizes the implications of his last sentence. Suddenly, her voice becomes hollow, as though she barely believes the words coming out of her mouth. “They didn’t say anything about that.”

“What do you think ‘no witnesses, without discretion’ means? If they knew he’d be with his family, they would have been more specific.” He sighs and puts his hands up in concession. While his next words are slightly sarcastic, there is real hope behind them. “But you know them better than I do. Tell me I’m wrong.”

He looks expectantly at Wren, clearly wishing that she would matter-of-factly tell him that the Court isn’t so heartless but having no high expectations. For a moment, she appears to be forming an answer. All that comes of this is a sigh as her gaze wanders elsewhere. Lucas continues, adding another ounce of sarcasm.

“And they must have a good reason, right?”

Wren’s response is sharp, cutting in just before Lucas’s last word. “Alright, stop it.” A low groan of frustration follows.

Lucas’s mind has already left their conversation. He starts lifting himself from the wall and appears ready to walk right out of town. It is the sudden composure in Wren’s voice that stops him in his tracks.

“I see where you’re coming from, but you can’t just leave. Hear me out.” She waits for him to settle back into a listening position before she continues. “When I tell the Court you walked out, they’re just going to hire the next available assassin. The professionals they usually hire don’t care who their targets are. You’d be delaying the inevitable.”

As he listens, Lucas’s expression changes from mellow resentment to slight interest. He does his best not to show it, but Wren has pulled back a curtain of animosity from before him and anchored him into a more rational state of mind. To turn back in defiance with a heart full of pride helps nothing.

His response, after a brief moment of silence, is short and accompanied by a meager shrug. “Fine.” He attempts to put on a removed visage in an effort to hide the fact that he’s been handed a new, flaring sense of determination. The realization must be evident by the look in his eyes. Though distant, to Wren they scream his thoughts:

“I will save them.”

Part of Lucas’s newfound fire feeds on the prospect of defying the Court’s direct orders. This idea, savory to his conscience, is made ever sweeter as he continues to speak.

“Write back. Tell them I’m doing it.” He stands straight. For what seems like the first time, he looks Wren in the eyes with a genuine expectation of trust and understanding. “But this stays between you and me: they’re all coming back alive and willing.”

Wren nods with apprehension. “Alright.” She removes the original letter from her backpack and unrolls it. Her eyes scan the document as her mind goes to work orchestrating an appropriate response. At the same time, Lucas releases a silent sigh of relief. The very proposition of blatantly defying orders was a true gamble. Had Wren leaned differently, she might have rejected the idea and even decided to report him to the Court for treason. His only solid postulate is that, while Wren’s loyalty is her most profound quality, her sense of righteous morality may not be swayed by an unrighteous royal decree.

From behind Wren, Lucas spots another person approaching. He tilts to see who this is and finds the same woman they had first spoken with upon entering the town. She gives a courteous wave. Lucas walks around Wren to approach the woman.

“Hey, I just remembered something their toddler said as they were leaving.” Before the two are close enough for a traditional conversation, she starts talking to him. “Jessica told me they’re going to Athens. If you’re going after him, I thought I’d tell you.”

Lucas’s eyes widen. “Thank you very much, I’ll keep that in mind.” The words he delivers are a derivative of what goes on in his head. “Amazing.” He turns back to Wren, about to tell her that they have a new lead. Before he can fully commit himself to this motion, the woman’s next words demand his attention.

“By the way, why exactly are you looking for him?”

He turns back around. “Ah, he dropped off a crate at the capital and forgot to leave the order form for our records.” All the while, he forces a soft smile across his face. “We’re thinking he’s still got it on him.”

“Well, if he comes back, I’ll let him know you’re looking for him.” Her own genuine expression outdoes his fabricated one. When she turns around to walk away, Lucas’s face sags and he lets out an annoyed sigh. The act of presenting himself as a member of the Court’s system puts a bad taste in his mouth. He makes his way back to Wren, who has already turned to face him.

“You probably heard her. We’re going to Athens.” He tugs up on his satchel to better secure it to his body and notices that she’s already started to pen her response to the recently received letter. The raven on her shoulder watches with expectation.

The two of them make their way out of Kamares and return to the bicycle parked at the base of the hill. Before Lucas can climb onto the seat, Wren calls for his attention.

“How’s this?” She extends one arm and shows him the parchment paper upon which she’s been writing. The contents are a generic response of confirmation in compliance with the Court’s instructions.

“That’s fine. And when we bring in the Smiths, you can tell them I forced you to go along with it. I know you aren’t keen on rebelling against direct orders.” He watches her roll up the paper and tuck it into the leather pocket on the raven’s back. The bird then awaits her signal before it takes off into the sky.

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary.” She’s already becoming situated on the back seat. “Let’s get going.”

Lucas kneels next to the gears of the bike and flips the switch attached to the accompanying black box. The small light above the switch ignites green and a quiet whirring sound can be heard coming from the inner workings of the machine. Lucas then climbs onto the bicycle. With the assisted pedalling engaged, they continue down the road labeled 8A.

Little thought is put into what exactly Wren might have been saying with her last sentence. Her words enter one ear and leave through the other. Lucas’s mind is entirely focused on developing a plan for ensuring that Homer and his family escape the Court’s reach and, from this day forward, never again lay eyes on the capital.