Read Online Blood Ties by C.C. Humphreys - Free Book Online

found the prone guard’s chin, jerked it back and swiftly to the side. There was a crack and he rode the body to the ground.
    The other three Cubs from the front gate now picked up the log they’d thrown over and ran with it at the door. It splintered at the first impact, folding in on itself, the three carried through by the force of their charge to sprawl on the other side. As Wilhelm and his two Cubs joined them – one of them clutching what looked like a broken wrist – Gianni stepped through the shattered timbers into the one room beyond.
    He had been there before, had anticipated the sight that would greet him. The smiling girl who had given the thirsty ‘student’ some water, she would be cowering there. And the Jew, of course, their quarry, finally brought to ground, he would be there. But the tall man with the pistol drawn and levelled, behind whom Jew and girl crouched, he was not meant to be there. And when he discharged the pistol and the bullet grazed Gianni’s face, to bury itself in the plaster behind him, Gianni knew he must be there no longer.
    ‘Mine!’ he cried, a dagger appearing in his hand, matched by one in the hand opposite. There were few times when he did anything but curse what his father, Jean Rombaud, had given him, but lessons with a knife, he almost blessed him for those now. The man he opposed had also learned, dropping into a stance, the dagger level with the other hand that reached out, balanced, but Gianni saw he was not quite square, his right foot forward. Throwing the dagger to his left hand he thrust it toward the man’s face, while his right reached up, flicked the clasp of his cloak open, swept it from around his shoulders, his hand passing over his head, carrying it down and around to the right where the rain-heavy wool wrapped around the man’s leg. Stepping back, Gianni pulled hard and the cloak jerked the man’s leg from underneath him, sending him crashing back onto the table, collapsing it. Dropping the cloak, stepping forward, the knife thrown back to his right hand, grabbed overhand, Gianni plunged down. With a sharp cry of agony, the man folded himself in on the blow that found his stomach, dropping his own knife, folding himself around Gianni’s.
    The attack had brought his face level with the old Jew’s.
    ‘What? What …?’ was all the old man could get out and the look of pure terror, coupled with the exultation of the violence, made Gianni howl with joy, howl like the animal whose name he had taken. The wolf cry, echoed from those behind, ended when Gianni raised a hand.
    ‘Vat? Vat?’ Gianni’s impersonation was exaggerated, deliberately so. ‘You will find out vat in a moment.’ He called over his shoulder. ‘Take the girl outside, and the servant. And finish this …’ He kicked at the writhing body on the floor. ‘Leave the Jew with me.’
    His wolves obeyed, dragging the moaning man, the whimpering girl, the pleading servant, taking them to the side of the house. The rain on the tiled roof, increasing in frenzy, swallowed all other sounds, leaving only the ragged breathing of the man before him. Gianni put his hand into the man’s bony chest, pushed him gently back into the seat he’d risen from not a minute before. Setting up the other chair, Gianni sat too, arms folded, leaning on the back of it.
    In the street the man’s hood had been up, but the cloak was discarded now, his head bare, save for the little leather cap that clung to the crown. Thick hair radiated downward from it, streaked with grey, glossy with some rich oil, to fall onto the large lace collar. The hair and cap were his only distinguishing features. The Jew’s doublet was plain but well-made, the apron such as would be worn by any artisan. Boots came halfway up the leg, meeting the thick wool leggings there.
    No , Gianni thought, aside from the head, they really don’t look much different from us .
    He studied the face, the trace of greying stubble, the dark eyes under