Lucy’s arm jerked, and she threw the knife, sending it far to the left so it lodged in a tree a good two yards from her target. Several birds nesting in the tree took flight, calling down their disapproval. Lucy wanted to scowl but instead pasted a smile on her face and turned to the man approaching.
“Uncle Winn,” she said, forcing cheer into her voice.
Uncle Winn was the leader of the Royal Saboteurs, better known by his codename Baron. He was walking slowly but unaided. In the cold weather an old injury bothered him, forcing him to use a cane. His hair was mostly gray with only patches of the brown from his youth showing through. He had assessing green eyes on a handsome face. Those eyes looked pointedly at the tree trunk where her knife still vibrated. He paused, and Lucy pushed her shoulders back and went to meet him. He was a tall man with broad shoulders, which made her feel even smaller than her five-foot-two and three quarters inches.
“Hullo, Uncle Winn.”
He glanced at the weapons teacher. “Mr. Pistol, might I borrow Miss Galloway for a moment?”
“Of course, sir.” The instructor was a thin, agile man of perhaps forty. He turned back to his pupils.
Uncle Winn looked down at Lucy. “Walk with me a moment, won’t you?”
Lucy fell into step beside him, slowing her naturally quick stride to meet his slower measured one. The dry brown grass of the winter had turned green and grown rather long where the agents didn’t trample it. She was no farmer, but the multitude of rocks in the soil would have made the land difficult to till. The difficult land was excellent for growing, so to speak, agents for the Crown.
Once they were out of earshot of the other agents, Lucy said, “If this is about my progress with knives, what you saw just now wasn’t my fault. You distracted me. I would have hit the target.”
“Mmm-hmm. As there are never any distractions in the field, I find that very reassuring.”
Lucy felt her cheeks color. “Uncle Winn—”
“I didn’t come to speak to you about your skill with weapons. I had a letter from your brother.”
Lucy stilled. She didn’t mean to. Her feet simply stopped moving. “Is Will hurt? Is he dead? Just tell me quickly. Oh, no! He’s lost his arm, hasn’t he?”
“Lucy, calm down.”
“His leg?”
“Lucy, he hasn’t lost any appendages.”
“His ear?”
“Lucy, Willoughby is fine. He is well, at least he was three days ago when he wrote the letter.”
“Oh.” Lucy took a breath. “Good. He annoys me to no end, but I wouldn’t want anything to happen to him.”
“Of course not. And if something did happen to him on my watch, I would have to go into hiding because your father and mother would hunt me down.”
Lucy gave him a sideling look. “Do you really think there’s anywhere you could hide if Saint and Wolf wanted to find you?” she asked, using her parents’ codenames.
He chuckled. “No.”
They began walking again, and Lucy forced herself not to ask Uncle Winn any further questions, no matter how many bubbled up in her head. She had to remember that Uncle Winn was also her superior. Uncle Winn had been an agent with her parents in the now disbanded Barbican group. She’d known him and Aunt Elinor all of her life. But here at the Farm, the training ground for the Royal Saboteurs, he was the indisputable leader, and she a lowly agent.
“I only mention the letter from your brother because its contents necessitate a change in my plans. Your brother is forced to stay in the field a bit longer. I can’t tell you anything about his mission, but he and Mr. Arundel are at a critical point in their work. I can’t pull either of them to come back at present.” Lucy knew her brother and another agent, Arundel, were on a mission. They’d been away for several weeks now.
“Why would you need them to come back?”
He glanced at her. “Because I have a mission for you.”
Lucy gasped and only barely restrained herself from jumping up and down with glee. Finally! A mission! She had been waiting for so long, almost eighteen months since she’d begun her training at the Farm. Before coming here she’d been an agent with the Home Office and had an exemplary record, else she wouldn’t have been invited to join the Royal Saboteurs. She’d expected her training here to last three months at most. Instead, she’d been forced to be patient—never her forte—as she saw other agents, even some who had arrived after her, go on missions, while she stayed behind. The waiting ended today. She had a mission.
Or did she? Uncle Winn said Willoughby’s mission changed things. “How does Will’s mission intersect with mine?” she asked.
“I had planned to send you out together.”
“Uncle Winn! I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I don’t need a male, especially my brother, to take care of me.”
