Free The Interminables by Paige Orwin

pull out. “Good morning.”
    â€œAnd to you,” she replied. She spoke with the lightest hint of a southern drawl, her words rich and measured. When he moved to help her with her coat and umbrella, she let him, like she’d been expecting it. “I’m glad you chose to meet me here. To meet me at all.”
    â€œMy pleasure.” He waited for her to slide into the seat opposite, then sat down again himself. “Would you like anything to drink?”
    She shook her head. Her hair just brushed her shoulders. “Thank you,” she said, “but not now.”
    â€œI’ll take that rain check.”
    She smiled. “It’s true, then, what they say.”
    He raised his eyebrows, a gesture only partly visible behind the mask. “Oh? What might that be?”
    â€œThat you are as charming as you are dangerous, of course.” She leaned forward, crossing her arms on the table. “A real Man in Black. Like the ones in the movies. Do you fence, too?”
    He leaned forward as well. “Would you like me to?”
    â€œNot here.” Her eyes were hazel. She glanced across the pub – no one watching, or at least not openly watching – and then dropped her voice to a hushed contralto. “Can we be frank, Mr Templeton? I don’t have much time to talk.”
    â€œPlease, call me Edmund. All I know is your first name; the least I can do is return the favor.”
    â€œEdmund, then. I know where those Bernault devices are, and where the mercenaries are taking them. They’re being transferred. Tomorrow.”
    He pulled his cape closer. There was a chill draft coming in from somewhere. “All twenty?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhere?”
    Lucy reached below the table and withdrew a piece of paper, pushing it over to him. He unfolded it. North City, Oxus Station, 3:15 pm . The words were penned in the same hand, elegant in its simplicity.
    He shook his head admiringly. “Where did you learn to write like this? No one writes like this anymore.”
    She shrugged. “Practice. I always thought it was important to make a good impression.”
    â€œYou’ve certainly done that.” He folded the note again and tucked it into his lapel pocket. He wasn’t familiar with Oxus Station but it would be easy enough to find it. He had time.
    Lucy drew back. Hesitated. She appraised him, eyes lingering on the Twelfth Hour pin, his smile, his sideburns. He knew the drill; he waited. Finally, she picked herself up. “I’m sorry, but... I should go.”
    He stepped out of the booth and straightened his cape in an eyeblink, offering her a hand out. “Thank you for your help.”
    She jumped at his sudden change in position, then smiled. Her dress really did accentuate the expression perfectly. “Of course.” She took his hand.
    He helped her up. “Where are you from?”
    â€œI can’t say.” She glanced at the door. “It was dangerous to even come here.”
    He nodded. He could be a dangerous person to associate with, at times. “I understand.”
    She shrugged her coat back on, again acting as though his assistance were perfectly normal, and took up her still-damp umbrella. “I wish you the best of luck. I’ll try to keep in touch.”
    â€œI’d like that.”
    â€œI would, too.” She turned to go, but again, she hesitated. Looked him over. Mouthed something under her breath.
    Edmund .
    Like she was testing the name for herself. Like she couldn’t quite believe it.
    Then she started for the door, weaving from table to table, and again it struck him just how much in place she seemed. Charlie’s was from another time, an era only he, Istvan, and very few others could remember. It had more in common with the people outside its windows than the people who frequented it. Patrons who liked it because it was old. Because it was exotic.
    He watched the door swing shut