Assassin's Reign: Book 4 of The Civil War Chronicles Read Online Free PDF

big, squared-off tower to her left would guide her on to Carter Lane, which was where the latest rendezvous would take place.
    Lisette saw Christopher Quigg long before he noticed her approach, and the fact irked her immediately. She could accept that some of the king’s agents had been thrust into this life without prior knowledge or training, but still their amateurish nature astonished her. Quigg was not the worst – not by a long stretch – but he remained an ill-judged conscript for the world of the spy. Nor, she reflected as Quigg loitered conspicuously beside a small pie-seller’s stall, was he a good choice if his recruiter had been aiming for one who might blend in with the folk on London’s busy streets. He was of average height and build, which, at least, was of benefit, but the rest of him left a great deal to be desired. His face had been ravaged by smallpox, the skin pitted so deeply it was as if an army of mice had feasted on his cheeks, chin and neck. His teeth were all but rotted away, leaving empty discoloured gums with which to chew, and his nose was severely canted to one side. But most startling of all were his eyes. They positively bulged. Great chestnut and white orbs, shot through with fine tentacles of livid scarlet, seemingly exploding from his pitted forehead as though there were simply no room in his skull.
    Quigg finally spotted Lisette when she was half a dozen paces away, and hailed her heartily. She walked straight past, leaving the bulbous eyes to strain in her wake, wet lips flapping mutely. Eventually she ducked into an alley, turned, and doubled back, reaching the bewildered spy before he could speak. The knife she held beneath her sleeve was pressed firmly at Quigg’s side.
    ‘Hush your breath or you will feel it leak between your ribs.’
    Quigg winced, blinked like a great toad and nodded. ‘My apologies, mademoiselle,’ he muttered hoarsely. ‘It is all rather new to me, truth told.’
    She removed the blade and cast him a withering gaze. ‘Let us go somewhere more private to speak.’
    Quigg nodded again, though she had already walked away.
     
    They reconvened beside a cartload of purple plums. The heady smell – earthy but sweet – filled the space all around, lingering in the warm breezeless air and overcoming some of the Thames’ stench of putrefaction.
    Lisette Gaillard breathed deeply, letting the plums take her back to France. How strange it was that the place could invoke such longing. Normandy had been the scene of so much horror for her, such grief, that at one time she had vowed never to return. Yet here she was, revelling in memories conjured by overripe fruit.
    ‘Mademoiselle?’ Quigg asked tentatively.
    Lisette waved him away. ‘No matter. I have been here all summer with no success. I grow frustrated.’ Stepping close to whisper, she leaned in, all the while raking her gaze along the road for signs of trouble. ‘I did not wish to threaten you before, Monsieur Quigg. But, you understand, a Frenchwoman in London brings suspicion, for she may be Papiste .’
    Quigg nodded. ‘Understood.’
    ‘A woman alone in London earns the suspicion of the Puritans, for they accuse her of harlotry.’
    He nodded again.
    ‘And a woman in a heavy cowl, bearing concealed weapons, earns the suspicion of the Roundheads, for she may be an enemy of their cursed Parliament.’
    Quigg swallowed nervously, big eyes darting to the floor. ‘I shall be more discreet in future.’
    ‘ Bon !’ Lisette flashing her sweetest smile. ‘If not, I will slice off your stones and toss them in the Thames.’ She watched Quigg’s face, gnarled as the apples in the cart, convulse briefly before continuing. ‘Now, I understand she has been moved.’
    ‘Just so,’ Quigg chirped, clearly relieved to have the subject turn to business.
    Lisette swore harshly. ‘I have been gone three weeks. Three goddamned weeks, and they move her.’
    ‘Beg pardon, madame, but might you have been