Sylva nocked an arrow to her bow, but Othello tugged it from the bowstring before she could raise it.
‘The world is watching,’ he hissed, pointing at the Wendigo, whose black eyes were fixed on them with keen interest.
‘You want to help them?’ Sylva snapped, turning her anger on Fletcher.
‘Maybe we’ll just share with Seraph’s team,’ Fletcher said, his voice taut with the same fury. ‘You seem like you have all the help you need.’
‘What help would a filthy servant boy with ideas above his station and a soldier stupid enough to get himself lost in the jungle give us?’ Tarquin said, inspecting his nails. ‘Run along and share all you like. We’ll be on our way now.’
Isadora grinned nastily at them, then hissed an order at the Wendigo. It knuckled its way through the underbrush, its claws spreading wide to tear a path ahead.
‘Catch you later, Fletcher,’ Didric called, tapping the rapier at his side. ‘We’ll be seeing you very soon.’
Then the Forsyth team walked nonchalantly into the jungle, their backs receding until all that remained was the distant snap of branches.
‘Well, I don’t want to know what that was about,’ Verity said brightly, stepping forward. ‘But we would be very willing to share. Mason can show you how to read the ground and leave no trail, a lesson that those idiots could have benefited from.’ She pointed a thumb over her shoulder at the path of broken stems and disturbed ground the Forsyths had left behind. ‘What do you say?’
She kicked Malik, who coughed and nodded in agreement.
‘You’re a Faversham,’ Fletcher said bluntly, though he reddened as soon as the words left his mouth. He wasn’t used to being so rude.
‘And you’re a Raleigh,’ Verity replied sarcastically. ‘I know my father prosecuted you at trial, but that’s his job. I try not to judge people based on their families. Do you?’
Fletcher hesitated as she smiled at him, a hint of mischief in her big, dark eyes. She really was very attractive. He stuttered, tongue-tied – and the way Sylva was staring disapprovingly at him did little to help.
Fortunately, Seraph spoke before the silence went on for too long.
‘Can’t hurt,’ he said, puffing out his chest. Seraph could never resist a pretty face. ‘If one of us gets caught, it makes things harder for the rest. I say we spend the day here teaching each other and then camp overnight. It’s already afternoon anyway. Should have done all this planning before we got here, but there you go.’
Fletcher looked to Othello for guidance, and after a pause, the dwarf gave him a curt nod. A faint scratching from within his backpack sealed his decision.
‘Fine,’ Fletcher said, pushing through his team and striding to the edge of the forest. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some business with one of those trees out there.’
26
Fletcher hurried into the jungle, his face burning. Pretending to need the toilet. Couldn’t he have thought of a better excuse?
He struggled through the tangled bushes, his skin itching as he brushed against a sticky cobweb. Around his head, the whine of mosquitos intermingled with the low buzz of common flies. Despite the abundant humidity in the air, the insects seemed attracted to the moisture in his eyes and mouth, and he spat and spluttered his way through until the others were out of sight.
Aware of his vulnerability so far from the others, he summoned Ignatius and Athena with two blasts from his palm. Immediately, Athena was fluttering to the top of the nearest tree, scanning the area for danger. Ignatius contented himself by scampering up Fletcher’s shoulder, giving his master a remonstrative thwack of his tail for keeping him infused for so long.
With a furtive glance over his shoulder, Fletcher crouched among the bushes and slowly opened his pack. Within, Blue stared back through wide, fearful eyes. He had somehow armed himself with a fishhook, one of the many tools that Uhtred and Briss had stowed in the leather satchels the dwarves had provided. It was a pitiful weapon, but the gremlin held it aloft as Fletcher stepped back, his arms raised to show he was no threat.
Slowly, his eyes never leaving Fletcher, the gremlin clambered out, until he was crouched on the ground, his scrawny chest heaving with anxious breaths.
‘I shouldn’t be doing this,’ Fletcher said, and as he said the words, doubts began to plague him. Blue could go straight to his orc masters and tell them about the mission. But it was too late now, for the gremlin had shuffled out of reach. A flash of white from above told Fletcher that Athena had sensed his fears, and was ready to pounce. Then, the gremlin spoke.
‘Thank you,’ Blue trilled, dropping the hook to the ground.
He could speak! Fletcher’s mind reeled as Blue darted into the thick of the jungle. Half a second later, Athena’s paws thudded into the ground where he had been, and she hooted with frustration.
‘Let him go,’ Fletcher whispered, as Ignatius leaped down and nosed the bushes. ‘He won’t tell.’
He hoped.