The Black Hawk by Joanna Bourne Read Free Book Online Page A

away from him, down into the spiral of descending dark in the opening of the trapdoor. “They are called the Cachés . The hidden ones. They are being groomed to be sent to England.”
    With the last words, she went off down the stairs, as if she’d said everything that needed saying.
    Since he knew a fair amount about women, he didn’t hurry. He came along slowly after her, counting steps so he didn’t trip at the bottom, hearing her footsteps in front of him. At the bottom of the steps he could see the outline of the door. Owl was blocking off some of the light at the lower edge.
    If he’d been waiting there, he’d have stood off to the side so he didn’t give away where he was. Lots of tricks Owl didn’t know yet.
    He took the last few steps and reached past her to spread his hand flat on the door before she opened it. “What do you want from me?”
    She whispered, “We will talk outside. I—”
    “We will talk here. Explain, or I walk out and leave you.”
    She made some gesture he felt in the air. “You bluff. You will not walk away after what you have seen. You have no choice but to listen.”
    “You’d be amazed what kind of choices I have.” He opened the door an inch.
    Her fingers touched his arm. “Wait.” It was enough to stop him.
    He was looking at a smooth, pretty face that didn’t belong to a child. Determined eyes. Eyes that suggested it was probably not a good idea to cross her. He didn’t know what she saw when she looked at him.
    She stood and breathed on his shoulder long enough to make a warm, damp spot. Then she spoke, low and fast. “That place is called the Coach House. They made carriages there, years ago, in the work building behind the courtyard. There is a school now in the house where the master once lived.”
    “A damn strange school if you ask me.”
    “When one considers its purpose, it is not so strange.”
    “Are we going to stand here and play guessing games? Spit it out or swallow it.”
    “I am deciding what you should know.” A moment passed. “I take a great risk. In all of Paris, there are no more than a dozen people left who know the Coach House exists and what happens there.”
    “Well, I’m not one of them yet, am I?”
    “That is because you are an imbécile and keep interrupting me.” Another minute passed. “They are orphans, those children. A man of the Police Secrète searches for young orphans of a particular quality.” The long slit of light from the door fell on her face. Her mouth pulled in at the corner. “There have been many orphans in France, since the Revolution.”
    “They’re a glut on the market lots of places.” The streets of every city ran full of strays in various stages of starvation. He knew. He’d been one. “Common as lice.”
    “These children are not so common. They are the clever ones. Some are so beautiful they make the eye ache. They are brought there at eight or nine or ten years and it begins. In that house, every spoken word is English. They eat English food and learn the lessons and games of little English schoolchildren. You would not know they were born French. They are trained to fanatic loyalty to France and to the Revolution. Then they are sent to England, to be spies.”
    Interesting. “Not much use sending kids that age, if you ask me.”
    “You say that, you, who are younger than many of them. I would be amused if I had leisure to be amused with you.” She shook her head. “Think, ’Awker! Someday, they will not be children. They will be grown men and women who have worked their way into the circles of power.”
    “That’s planning a long time ahead.”
    “We speak of the Secret Police. Twenty years is a nothing. Governments rise and fall, but the Police Secrète remain.”
    “And that is a thought to take home and have bad dreams about.”
    “Do not smile at me in a superior manner. We speak of dangerous matters here, not foolery.”
    “I’m listening.”
    “Probably not, but I will speak