A Darker God Read Online Free PDF

Englishman.
    “Quite the adventurous young captain in Salonika, it would appear?” his questioner had mused, running a finger down the page. “Something of a trench-raider? ‘Devising and effecting raids on enemy positions and leading dashes into occupied territory for the purpose of snatching prisoners for questioning,’” he quoted.
    Percy had muttered that on some days he would have raided Hell to relieve the boredom. But at least his forays provided him with someone intelligent to talk to. The enemy of choice at the time were the Bulgars … His dark eyes had trained on the Assistant Commissioner a steady double-barrelled challenge. “Sportsmen like ourselves, good sense of humour and excellent conversationalists,” Percy had added.
    The Assistant Commissioner had cleared his throat, hesitated, and changed the subject. “And all this on top of a distinguished performance in Flanders during the first year ofthe war … Hmm … You’re just the chap to assume duties in a young and turbulent state like Greece, I’m thinking.”
    Half of Percy’s anger was directed at himself. He’d failed again. He’d waited too long. The words he ought to have voiced half an hour earlier came to him now: “Sir, you must be aware that you are sending me out of the country at a pivotal moment in my career. A certain position is about to become vacant in the next month or two. We both know that I deserve this promotion. This next step ought, by right of ability, to be mine. By posting me to Athens you are deliberately denying me the opportunity.”
    What had prevented him from speaking out? Cowardice? Percy required himself to consider this. He had medals and commendations enough, on the military and civilian stage, testifying to his courage. Old opponents on the rugby pitch still grimaced when they passed him, playfully giving his imposing frame a wide berth. If it ever came to a physical duel with his superior—anything from fisticuffs to pistols—Percy would prevail. But when the contest was a one-sided bout of aristocratic shadow-boxing with its underlying shibboleths, prejudices, and acceptances, he felt himself outclassed, anxious, the angry and impotent loser in a struggle he despised. Perversely, he’d have thought less of himself if he
had
been able to fight on their chosen terrain.
    And so, unable to voice his true objections, he had cravenly quibbled about the small print—the language, the local police, the political implications, even his lodgings. And he didn’t give a tinker’s cuss about any of that. Percy sighed. It was done and dusted. Kicking the guts out of a wastepaper basket would get him nowhere. There was very probably a rosy side to all this if he could consider it calmly.
    After a minute or two, the only thought he could come up with was that he was lucky to be still unmarried. He wouldn’t have wanted to find the words to tell a wife she was to packtheir trunks, that he’d been posted to the Balkans. If that was where he’d find Athens. He’d have to think of something to tell Vesta, of course. It didn’t have to be utterly convincing-she was hardly likely to wait for him anyway. Might as well tell her the truth.
    The truth? Percy was quite certain he hadn’t been told the truth himself.
    Athens—secondment to … That much was true.
    “Old so-and-so’s already there … You’re bound to run into what’s-his-name … Systems, you’ll find, are in place … The new Prime Minister’s expected …” It sounded as though someone were planning a sort of awful house party. No, that wasn’t quite the flavour … And then Percy had it at last! It had sounded to his ears like the click of ivory chess pieces being set up on a board. He was being taken out of the box and dusted down, ready to play his part. Doubtless as a pawn in the front rank. Vulnerable. Expendable. But on whose side? Black? White?
    Well, the game, any game, would find Percy, if confused, at least battle-ready. Pawns had