Free Empire of Bones by N. D. Wilson Page A

time.
    “Why, thank you, Rus-Rus.” Antigone laughed. “You’re such a sweetie.”
    “Don’t make me smack you,” Cyrus said. “I just meant that she looks exactly like you.”
    “I’ll take it,” Antigone said. She stepped back, kissed her mother, and looked back up at the picture. “She’s gorgeous, and I definitely want that dress.”
    This time Dan laughed. “Tigs, I haven’t seen you in a dress in years.”
    “Yeah, well, I didn’t have that dress, did I?” Antigone crossed her arms. “I had two brothers, no money, and thrift-store jeans.”
    Katie Smith moved from Dan and took Cyrus by the hand. Her touch was still a surprise, something long forgotten made new. She smiled at her son, and then pointed back up at the photo. There was a teenage boy standing next to her in the frame, trying to slide out of the picture. He was young and wiry, shirtless, but wearing what looked like a woven skirt belted with a wide scarf. A thick black blade like a machete was tucked into the scarf belt. The hilt was gold and nested with smooth emeralds.
    “Hanno,” Katie said. “Your uncle, my brother. He was your age when your father came to us. To my eyes, his blood is in you.”
    Hanno’s face was worried as he tried to escape the camera. The boy and Cyrus were not the same, but even Cyrus could see the similarities. The jaw, the wide cheekbones, the aggressive brows. Cyrus felt like an echo, like the bouncing sound of someone else’s voice thrown from very far away.
    “I like his skirt,” Antigone said.
    “I like his sword,” said Cyrus.
    Katie sighed. “Your father and Rupert gave it to him on behalf of the Order, though the Order knew nothing of the gift.”
    The sounds of a struggle erupted out of the stairwell. Shouts, kicks, and a crash. And then Niffy backed up the stairs, carrying Flint by the shoulders while the man thrashed. Flint was tied, and he had a cloth blindfold over his eyes, but he was writhing and twisting like a gator. Rupert followed Niffy up the stairs, sweating and gripping Flint’s ankles tight under his right arm.
    “Knock him out,” Nolan said. “Be done with it.”
    “No,” Rupert grunted. “He needs to speak.”
    Nolan shrugged and the crowd watched Niffy and Rupert carry Flint toward the stone hearth. They folded him down into a low chair and Niffy stood behind him with one thick hand on each of Flint’s shoulders.
    “Cowards!” Flint shouted. “Bloody useless sacks—”
    Niffy pinched down on Flint’s shoulders and the man trailed off into a scream, trying to twist and shrink in his chair.
    Rupert stood in front of him and crossed his arms.
    “Enough.” Rupert nodded at Niffy and the monk relaxed his grip. Flint slumped over the arm of his chair, panting. Niffy straightened him back up.
    “Flint Montrose,” Rupert said, “you sit before the Avengel of the Order of Brendan, Ashtown Estate.”
    Flint groaned. “I know who you are, you nit.”
    “I and these assembled members of the O of B, along with several of our allies, are currently operating in the field.”
    “On the run, you mean?” Flint laughed. “Sneaking about with your little gang of outlaw infants? You lot couldn’t hatch flies in a backyard dunny.”
    The temperature of Rupert’s voice dropped ten degrees. “You will therefore be tried under the rules of Field Governance and Martial Circumstance.”
    “Whoa,” Flint said, shaking his head, trying to work the blindfold loose with his cheeks and eyebrows. “You can’t do that. There’s rules.”
    “Yes, there are,” Rupert said. “The charges are murder and attempted murder. O of B witnesses stand ready to testify. A sufficient executioner for one of your rank is present and willing to perform his duty.”
    “You mean you!” Flint shouted. “You’re going to kill me!”
    “I’ll strike the blow!” the Captain bellowed, jumping to his feet. “And from the looks of the holy friar, he’d be well pleased to pry a pirate skullcap