Soldier of Fortune: A Gideon Quinn Adventure (Fortune Chronicles Book 1) by Kathleen McClure Page A

window himself where he stood carefully to the side so anyone looking up wouldn’t see him. “Ah,” he said. “Of course”
    “What?” the girl joined him, trying to peer around the tall man and his draco, both. “Of course what?”
    “That,” he nodded towards the coach and four pulling into the square.
    That there was a horse-drawn carriage at all at was impressive as, while equines were numerous in rural areas, in the cities most citizens used public trams or rickshaws. The moderately well off might spring for a battery powered car or cycle, but only ristos had the ready to support livestock that had no purpose other than to look good.
    So the fact the four horses drawing the Rolls were perfectly matched blacks was additionally impressive, as were their deep red traces and the carriage itself, which was big enough to hold six comfortably, eight if you weren’t prudish.
    “Nice,” the girl said, standing on her toes to better see the vehicle, “if you’re into that sort of thing.”
    Looking at the family crest emblazoned on the glossy black door, Gideon could say with absolute certainty, “They are.”
    “That’s a Rolls,” she pointed out. “A Rolls Royce with the Rand family crest on it.”
    He glanced down at her. “You know the Rands?”
    “Everyone knows the Rands. Family owns most of Avon.”
    “Of course they do.”
    “What’s it mean, them being here?”
    “It means,” he said as the horses rounded the square to pull up at the hostel’s entrance, “it’s time to find the back door.”
     
     
     

C HAPTER T HIRTEEN
     
    THEY FOUND THE back door by the simple act of looking for the kitchen.
    “Why the kitchen?” Mia had asked, following Gideon down the back stairs (the front stairs already being occupied by the sound of boots. Very purposeful sounding boots, at that).
    “Because,” Gideon said, leading the way into the Elysium’s cooking area, still redolent with the remains of the night’s offerings, “kitchens need doors for deliveries and to take out the garbage, making them the emergency exit of choice for those in need of quick and discrete departure.”
    Mia, whose attention had drifted to the savory smells of masala from the stove, looked over at that. “You callin’ us garbage, then?”
    He grinned and led the way past the Keepers, who didn’t blink an eye — Mia guessed they were used to the odd emergency exit— and kept at their various tasks of dishwashing, grill scraping and composting  as she, Gideon and Elvis passed through.
    One young fellow did look up long enough to ask Gideon how his dinner had been.
    “Better going down than coming back up,” Gideon said.
    Mia snorted and dashed past him. As she darted through the door to the narrow mudroom she heard Gideon ask the Keepers to hold his room for the time being and then he was behind her, and then in front of her, gently setting her to one side so he could peer out the mudroom door and into the alley which linked Carroll Square to Bard Street. After a moment, he slipped through the door, waving for her to wait.
    She thought that a bit uppity, as it was her supposed to be leading him. Maybe it came from the soldiering? Either way, even if she wanted to push past, there wasn’t room. She had no choice but to wait until he was fully outside before following through the  door, which opened right next to the compost bin she’d used to climb up to Gideon’s floor.
    She’d just hit the threshold when she saw him come to a sudden halt, hissing a gutter curse popular among dodgers. She took it as a warning and, rather than step straight out, slid to the right and tucked herself between the hotel’s wall and the bulk of the waste bin, in time to hear a woman’s voice say, “If you or the draco so much as twitch, I will kill it.”
    Seemed the people hunting Gideon were also aware of the general handiness of kitchen exits.
    “Understood,” Gideon replied without hesitation.
    Which told Mia that, whoever this