Fly Up into the Night Air by John Houser Read Free Book Online

wrenched his mind back to the present. "Here's my plan, Mother. After we get settled in the parlor with tea, you'll keep Megan and her mother busy, while I excuse myself to use the water closet. I'll look in the mud room to see if I can find Brin's cloak. If anyone catches me, I'll explain that I left my cigar case in my coat pocket and came to get it." Harte began to pace back and forth in front of his mother's easel, while Amalia fidgeted.
    "You don't smoke, dear."
    "I've just started. That's why I keep leaving my cigar case behind."
    "You'd better borrow one from your father. You're not concerned about tipping off Brin that you're interested in his cloak?"
    "He'll not likely be home. We'll go Saturday afternoon. He'll be betting on the horses, I'll wager." Harte smirked at his own wit.
    Amalia was too tense to be amused. "Just what am I to say to Mrs. Greer, while you wonder about the place looking lost? You know I'm not good at small talk. We must at least pretend that we have some reason for a social call."
    "I thought it would be enough for me to express a desire to see Megan again."
    Amalia stopped moving. "Oh no, Son. That would be cruel. There's only one reason a boy like you calls on a girl like Megan. Even if Megan knows better, you'll have Mrs. Greer hearing wedding bells. She'll make her daughter's life a misery."
    "What about an invitation? Yes! To a winter solstice party. We haven't had one of those since for years."
    Amalia picked up a brush and began to swirl it around in a flask of turpentine. "That's because your father doesn't care for big parties."
    "But he'll agree to it, because it will be a chance to socialize with the other members of the council. And if we invite Brin, he might even be dumb enough to wear that cloak."
    "Don't underestimate Brin." Amalia wiped her brush with a rag. "He'll know, soon enough, that you're investigating Raf's beating. If he did it, he'll be more careful than that."
    "Maybe. But he might just be arrogant enough to assume that no one would dream of going after him for a simple beating."
    Amalia threw down her rag and sat down, looking grim. "Nobody else would ."
    * * *
    Plans for the social call and the party were well under way, when Harte received a note from Griff saying that it was urgent they meet at the hospital. Raf was sick and wanted to talk to Harte. Harte wondered why Griff would be delivering such a message. How was he known to the sisters at the hospital?
    When he got there, Griff was pacing at the entrance. "Come on, he doesn't sound good. Sister Grace thinks he might meet God today."
    "Meet God?"
    "Her phrase. She is a sister."
    Raf's breathing was labored, when Harte knelt by the cot. He looked scared as he struggled for air. "I'm here, Raf. What is it? What do you want to tell me?"
    "Peli," the boy whispered between gasps. "Came. Somebody threatened him. Scared they will hurt--" He paused to breathe. "He's green. Don't know who to trust." He blinked. "If I can't protect him anymore." He opened his eyes wide. "Will you?"
    Harte nodded and brushed back Raf's hair. "Griff and I will look after him." If Griff was startled to be recruited for the job, he didn't show it. At that moment, a sister in a spotless habit entered the room and trotted towards Raf's cot. Harte withdrew his hand hastily.
    "You must be Mr. Harte Walford. I'm Sister Grace. Please don't tire Raf. He must rest. Come this way; I want to speak with you."
    Harte touched Raf's shoulder lightly, then got up. "I'm pleased to meet you, Sister. I would be honored. I take it you know my friend, Patrol Leader Tarren, of the watch?"
    Sister Grace smiled as she turned and trotted towards the door. "Yes, Griff is known to us."
    Harte motioned, "After you" to Griff, and raised his eyebrows. Griff shrugged, and set off after Sister Grace. They followed her out of the ward, down the corridor, and into a combination office, school room, and chapel. The cramped room held a desk, a small bookshelf, and an