Berkens laughed. “Wow, was it that surprising?”
“What? No! I mean, yes! I was so surprised, my heart almost stopped! Ha ha ha!” Pacifica’s expression went completely wooden, and the laugh she forced out sounded hollow.
Raquel pulled out her handkerchief and wiped off her sister’s face.
Luckily, Berkens didn’t seem to notice anything strange. “Well, if I managed to surprise you that much, I guess it was worth it.”
“I thought the Scrapped Princess was just a rumor,” Shannon said, trying to sound casual as he fished for information. “Would the church really send you to investigate someone who might not even be real?”
“Well, I have no idea if she’s the real Scrapped Princess or not, but there’s supposed to be a heretical group around here led by a priestess who goes by that title. A group like that can’t be tolerated, so they sent me out here.” Berkens sighed. “I’ve got no real information, no contacts, and no idea where to start looking. The rumors say they’re somewhere in Mosburg River’s area, but they could be anywhere—if they exist at all. All I know is that this Scrapped Princess is supposed to be a blonde-haired and blue-eyed young lady who’s about fourteen or fifteen years old…” Berkens trailed off, looking at Pacifica curiously.
The girl chuckled nervously under his gaze. “Um, ha ha ha.”
Berkens grinned widely. “It’s funny how coincidences work out, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, um, it’s really funny.” Pacifica and Berkens broke into laughter, Berkens heartily, Pacifica painfully.
“By the way, you kids haven’t introduced yourselves yet.”
Shannon scowled. He thought briefly of giving fake names, but it didn’t seem like this Berkens Tanhoglio guy was in a position where he’d have access to highly classified information. Fake names could complicate things later if any of them responded slowly, or worse, used the wrong name. Shannon lightly touched the hilt of the sword under the table. If this guy caught on later, well, he’d just have to deal with it.
He glanced at Raquel. She gave him a tiny nod, so she seemed okay with it.
“I’m Shannon,” Shannon said at last. “And this is Raquel. The loud one is Pacifica.”
“Well, it’s been good meeting you all.” Berkens didn’t press them for a family name or question them any further; it seemed like the siblings were off the hook for the moment. “So, which direction are you folks headed? Have you crossed the river yet?”
“We’re planning to cross soon, but we haven’t had any luck finding a boat.”
“Hm, well, do you want to ride with me? I’ve got a boat lined up.”
Shannon and his sisters looked at each other.
“That’s really nice of you,” Shannon began, “but we have a carriage and horses to take with us.”
“No problem; I’ve got a small boat all to myself. Don’t worry about payment, either. The boat owner is a devout Mauserist—a rare breed for a merchant these days—and he’s sending me across as a special service for the church.”
“We couldn’t impose…”
Although Shannon and his sisters had no particular animosity toward low-ranking members of the church, they were still the enemy. Traveling with Berkens could prove to be extremely dangerous.
“Really, don’t worry about it. I’ve been traveling alone for so long, I could do with some company. Plus, I’ve taken a liking to your little sister. Let’s travel together for a little while, hm?”
“Yeah, let’s go with Berkens. He’s lots of fun,” Pacifica responded, patting the big man on the back. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were blurry—apparently the alcohol she’d been drinking made her forget the danger.
Shannon and Raquel exchanged a look, and Shannon sighed.
On the other hand, Shannon was quite interested in the heretical group that worshipped the Scrapped Princess. Traveling with the priest could lead him to more information. As long as they were careful, going with Berkens could end up working to their advantage.
“We’ll accept,” Shannon said at last. “Thank you very much.”
Berkens laughed heartily. “That’s great! If you need anything else, just ask.”
Raquel bowed politely, which seemed to make Berkens puff up with self-satisfaction.
Whether this would be a brilliant plan or a huge disaster remained to be seen, but now that they were committed, Shannon couldn’t do anything else about it. He decided to put his worries aside for the moment and enjoy his free meal—once he managed to pick out the rest of the mushrooms.
A knock at the door.
Luke Storm didn’t look up. He’d already sensed one of his squad approaching from down the hall; the man at the door was also aware that his presence had been acknowledged. That made the knocking strictly unnecessary, but Luke Storm ran his unit by a very strict code. The code was vital for people in their position.
Luke Storm was the leader of the Special Unit of the Royal Military Intelligence Division, usually known as the Blackhawk, and he and his squad were often put in a position where they had to act ruthlessly, crossing every line of decency and honor to complete their mission. The code drew new lines, created new standards for everything from day-to-day interactions to the most extreme situations imaginable. It was, in his mind, what distinguished warriors from homicidal maniacs.
“Come in,” Luke Storm called out.
Corporal Slay Hiram entered the room. He looked like a stereotypical farm boy, rough and unsophisticated and a little bit small for his age. Looks were deceiving in this case, however—he was one of the more recent additions to the unit, and thus was already capable of killing several armed soldiers with his bare hands. Slay also happened to be a very quick learner.
“Sir, I… oh.” Slay’s eyes widened as he looked around the office.
Every available flat surface was covered with books of all kinds: books on battle tactics and warfare, but also cookbooks, novels, and children’s books. What little space not taken up by books was covered in paperwork. It looked more like the office of a scholar than a military officer. It was a scene that often surprised visitors.
“Have you read all of these, Colonel?”
“I read as much as I can, when I have the time to spare.” Luke gave the document in front of him a final glance and signed the bottom. “You’ve heard about the large-scale cleanup operation related to the Scrapped Princess?” Luke asked the youth.
“The one from about a year ago, sir?” Slay put the documents he’d brought on top of a paper-covered trolley, which started sliding. The youth spent an awkward moment catching the falling papers.
“It was a year and two months ago,” Luke explained. “Right around the time when I was appointed leader of the Blackhawk. There was a lot of confusion around that time, so I’m going over these documents to check for anything that might have been overlooked.”
“I see, sir.” The boy nodded. “Sir, I never imagined that there were so many secret missions being carried out.”
Slay had only been in the Blackhawk for six months— not long enough to truly grasp the scope of what Luke did and ordered to be done on a day-to-day basis.
“The Intelligence Division isn’t involved in all of our missions. My predecessor, General Lugar, made use of military personnel outside of the Intelligence Division, as well as some civilians. Because of that, it’s been difficult to track his operations.”
“Is it true that the general was stabbed by his own daughter?” the youth asked in a conspiratorial whisper.