The River of No Return by Bee Ridgway (best novels of all time txt) 📕

a horseman approaching, and well behind him on the road, another. Nick’s six equine charges whinnied their welcome, and the horseman’s mount—a flashy white beast with a pink nose—raised its head and neighed.

Well, shit.

It was that iceberg of an Alderman, Bertrand Penture, sitting astride the white horse like a prince. So it was to be the Guild who found him waiting here by the side of the road, not the Ofan.

Nick thrust his hand into his pocket, searching for the acorn. He might as well throw it away. But instead his fingers closed around it. He would have to play along, invite them to join him at Blackdown, and then hope and pray the Ofan got there quickly enough to help him get Julia away. To another time, probably. A hiding place somewhere up- or downriver. They wouldn’t need much. A hut somewhere, a cow, a nice straw mattress . . .

Penture urged his horse to a trot. As he rode up Nick could see that the animal had, of all the outlandish and affected characteristics, one blue eye and one brown.

Penture looked at the coach, the six horses, and then at the bloodstain on the gravel. “A mishap?”

“Julia’s cousin,” Nick said. “He’s reposing behind the hedgerow.” He jerked his thumb behind him to the coach. “Julia’s in there. Safe. But unconscious.”

“Ah, yes, Julia. How fortunate. But where is your companion—Mr. Jemison, isn’t it? And you appear to have misplaced the coachman.”

At that moment the other rider pulled up next to Penture. He was a tall, dark-skinned man, his face shadowed by his hat. He sat his sluggish horse uncomfortably; clearly he had only just learned to ride.

Then Nick saw him grin, and his world reeled. It was Leo Quonquont.

“Hi, Nick,” Leo said, as if not a day had passed since they last saw each other, in Chile, in 2003. “How are you?”

“You are acquainted?” Penture looked from one to the other. “How?”

“Oh, we were at school together,” Leo said. He doffed his hat—tall, like a beaver, but made of wool—and the three long braids of his scalplock came tumbling down like a banner. It made Nick happy to see them; whatever had happened to Leo, he hadn’t cut his hair. Nick opened his mouth to say something, but it was as if his voice had died in his throat. So he put his hand up, and Leo reached down from the saddle. Nick had to swallow hard when he felt that strong grip.

“Good to see you, Nick,” Leo said.

Nick found his voice. “You too.” He looked up into his friend’s eyes—how was it possible that he was here, now, at this terrible moment, an agent of the Guild?

Leo grinned. “Wondering how to get Julia away from us, Nick?” he asked. “Or have you figured it out? We’re not the Guild. We’re Alva’s Ofan band.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Penture dismounted. “What happened here?”

“Why the hell should I trust you even one inch? You shot me, you bastard! You aimed a gun at my head and had a bunch of untrained charlatans control the bullet! And the whole time it turns out you’re a double agent?”

Penture’s nostrils flared. “I told you why I was shooting you, before I pulled the trigger. I wanted you to make up your mind about which side to join.”

“Yes, the side of the Guild. But all the while you were Ofan.”

“I staged that little drama so that you would finally see the Guild for what it is,” Penture said. “I told you to choose sides and you chose the one I wished you to, and in the way that I wished you to choose it. You chose the Ofan, but you decided to pretend that you chose the Guild. That was exactly what I wanted.”

“Oh! Bravo!” Nick clapped.

Penture gave Nick a cold, green stare then went to the coach door and opened it. Nick had to force himself to stand still as Penture leaned in and touched Julia’s head. “She is unconscious?” He turned, his eyebrows raised.

“Eamon knocked her out, but I think she’s okay.”

“Good.” He came back to them. “Her injury is real, Davenant. I believe if you examine the thing that is paining you, you will discover that it is only your pride.”

Nick didn’t realize that his fists were up until Leo put a hand on his shoulder. “Chill out, Nick. Bertrand is the cagiest, most coldhearted, and mysterious dude it’s ever been my pleasure to meet. But he’s Ofan through and through.”

“I am not coldhearted,” Penture said. “But neither am I sentimental. Now, Davenant, explain yourself immediately.”

Leo grinned. “See what I mean? We find you here, guarding Julia like a hero of old, clearly having vanquished the enemy, and he treats you like a criminal. He’s a dickhead, but we need him.”

“You trust him?”

“I do,” Leo said. “And since I know you’re dying to ask, I can assure you that the irony of a Pocumtuk adjudicating between a Frenchman and an Englishman over the respective qualities of their honor is not lost on me.”

Nick surprised himself by chuckling. “You haven’t changed,” he said.

“No,” Leo agreed. “Have you?”

Nick glanced at the carriage, its door still open. He could see one of Julia’s hands, and the shadowy shape of her curled form. He took a deep breath and looked down the road as far as he could, to where it bent in the undergrowth. “I don’t know,” he said.

Penture sighed. “Have we finished with this therapy session? Will you tell us now why we find you alone with too many horses? And why a bloody corpse has been dragged from here . . .” He pointed at the bloody patch on the road. “ . . . and away behind that hedgerow?”

So Nick told them how he had killed Eamon, only to be surprised by Mibbs. How Mibbs had overpowered him, and about how Jemison had then sacrificed himself. He described, in a few terse words, how Mibbs had thrown Nick from him with a roar and scrambled to his feet reaching for Jemison, who had his