Warrior Read Free

have joined Morris in the afterlife, though. Huntley looked up at the wall behind him. Two dozen neat holes had been punched into the solid face of the brick. Exactly where his head had been. If Morris hadn’t pushed him, those holes would now be adorning his own skull and his brains would be nicely splattered across half of Southampton, where they wouldn’t do him much good.
    “What the hell was that?” he demanded from Morris. Huntley heaved himself up into a sitting position, with Morris leaning against him. “Wasps like bullets? From a glowing golden nest?”
    Morris coughed, sending another bubble of blood through his fingers. “Never mind that. Something I have to tell you. A message to deliver. Must be delivered…personally.”
    “Of course.” Huntley owed Morris his life. That bound him to his service. It didn’t matter that, in a matter of minutes, Morris would be dead. It was an unbreakable rule, one that was never questioned, never doubted. Honor was held at a premium when the rest of the world went to hell. “Have you a letter? Something I should write down?” There were a few books in his pack, but of any of these he would gladly sacrifice a few pages to transcribe Morris’s message.
    Morris shook his head weakly. “Can’t write the message down. Even so, there are no mail routes to deliver it.”
    A message that could not be written. A destination beyond the all-encompassing reach of the British postal service. Things began to get stranger and stranger. Huntley started to wonder if, perhaps, he was lying drunk in a gutter somewhere, already deep in his return to England alcohol binge, and everything that had happened, was happening, was a whiskey-induced delusion. “Where’s it going?”
    “To my friend, Franklin Burgess.” Morris gritted his teeth as a wave of pain moved through him, and Huntley did his best to comfort him, brushing clammy strands of hair back from Morris’s forehead. “In Urga. Outer Mongolia.”
    “That is…far,” Huntley managed after he found his voice.
    Another ghostly smile curved Morris’s mouth. “Always is. Was headed to a ship to take me there when,” he nodded toward the horrible wound in his stomach as his smile faded. With his free hand, he clutched at Huntley’s jacket. The strength left in Morris’s grip surprised Huntley, but Morris was growing more and more agitated. Huntley tried to calm him, but to no avail. Morris became nearly frantic, spending the last of his energy as he tugged Huntley closer. “Please. You must deliver the message to Burgess. Thousands of lives at stake. More. Many more.”
    Huntley hesitated. Inwood’s letter was in his pocket. The promise of a quiet future beckoned. What Morris asked was huge, a deviation from plans to settle in Leeds, and yet, to Huntley’s mind, an adventure into unknown lands was infinitely preferable to tranquil stability. The fact that he’d thrown himself into a fight minutes after arriving in England told him so. Intelligent, probably not, but Huntley never put much stock in dry logic. And Morris had saved his life, the ultimate obligation. He could not refuse the dying man.
    He said, “Give me the message. I’ll deliver it to him.”
    Morris seemed momentarily surprised that Huntley had agreed, but then pulled him down so his ear was level with Morris’s mouth. In words barely audible, he whispered into Huntley’s ear. Huntley didn’t quite know what to expect, but certainly not the two lines of nonsense that Morris faintly gasped. How could the lives of thousands or more rest on something not even Edward Lear would comprehend?
    “Repeat them back to me,” Morris insisted. He was waxen and pale, his lips growing stiff and awkward. The blood from his wound was slowing now. The source was nearly tapped out.
    Feeling not a little ridiculous, Huntley repeated Morris’s message—three times at Morris’s urging—until the dying man was satisfied.
    “Good. You must leave. Tonight. Next ship