Free Latymer by Tracey Devlyn

coat in a world of muted grays. I hoped it would be enough of a sign for O’Donnell and Somerton.
    Within minutes, this part of the city would awaken to another dismal day filled with backbreaking labor; hours of hunger, hopelessness, and violence, or any combination thereof.
    “Find the key in the saddlebag.” 
    Giles opened the flap and plunged his hand inside. He pulled out a single key. “This one, Papa?”
    “Yes,” I said, jerking my chin toward the door’s lock. “Go ahead. Unlock it.”
    It took him a few tries, but eventually a faint click reached my ears.
    Accepting Giles’s assistance, we entered into the sparsely furnished, dust-coated office. As if compelled by a force I could no longer control, my eyes began to close and my body caved in on itself. “Get me to the adjoining room. Quickly.”
    I half-fell, half-leaned against the far wall. “This is good.” From this vantage point, I could see the entire chamber as well as the outer office. My knees buckled, and as I slid down the wall, I managed, “The saddlebag.”
    Giles knelt at my side. “Papa, where are you hurt?” His brows knit together, and his voice revealed how close he was to tears.
    “It doesn’t matter. Don’t worry.” Opening the bag, my fingers brushed over several items; I recognized the packet and the letter my solicitor and I had exchanged. Reassured, my fingers searched farther until I found O’Donnell’s pistol.
    My time was running out, and I knew there was one thing left to do. “See those two chairs and the side table?” I waited for Giles to nod. “Drag them away from the wall.” 
    While Giles did as instructed, I kept my attention on the entrance door. If Somerton did manage to find us—and I fervently hoped he would—I had no way of knowing if the spymaster would kill me on sight or if he would allow me a few words. 
    “Like this, Papa?”
    “Yes.” The word squeezed out of my dry throat. Dear God, I could use a drink of water. “Run your fingers along the baseboard. The moment you feel it give, push hard.”
    Giles dropped to his hands and knees and did as instructed. “Found it!”
    “Push, Giles.”
    The wall shuddered, then opened wide. So did Giles’s eyes.
    “There’s nothing in there that will hurt you.” My body sagged lower against the wall. The call of oblivion clawed at the backs of my eyes. “Go inside, grab what’s there, and come back to me.”
    Giles twisted his hands together and tried to peek inside the opening.
    “You need to hurry, Giles.”
    Squaring his shoulders, Giles took a bracing breath and strode into the dark. I had never been more proud of my son than in that moment. Bravery had never come easily for Giles. Over the last few years, there had been times his gentle shyness had chafed against my nerves. But tonight he had proved himself. My son carried his own brand of courage, one I admired for its simplicity and quiet strength.
    Seconds later, Giles reappeared, hugging a large portmanteau to his chest.
    “Set it down there, then come sit beside me.”
    Once again, Giles did as instructed. He sat cross-legged near my hip and stared at me with solemn, bloodshot eyes.
    “There lies your legacy, Giles.”
    “Legacy?”
    “Your future.” I motioned for Giles to curl up against my chest—just like he used to. I braced for the pain yet none came. I felt nothing and knew my body had born as much as it could and was now shutting down.
    I kissed the crown of my son’s head and rested my chin there. The feel of Giles’s slight weight cradled in my arm seemed exactly right. “My title and property might be lost to you, but I’ve made sure you will never want for anything. Keep the bag safe, Giles.”
    Giles nodded, asking, “Can we get on the ship now? I don’t like it here.”
    “We missed the ship tonight.” Stinging sweat, mingled with blood, dripped in my eyes, making me flinch. I held my breath, forcing myself not to say another word. My son had been frightened