The Night Angel by T. Davis Bunn Page A

the remainder. There is no telling what I will face upon the road. Gold may help to pave my way.”
    “Y-yes. Of course, whatever . . .” Alessandro’s voice failed him entirely.
    Falconer’s grip upon the chair back tightened. Serafina watched the knuckles bunch and whiten. She could see the pressure stretch the muscles of his forearms. The wood creaked beneath his grip.
    Yet when he spoke, his voice was soft as the rain now pelting the window. “Nathan Baring.”
    “W-what?” Alessandro stared at Falconer in bewilderment.
    “The young man who was here earlier.” The wood of the chair back groaned louder. Serafina’s mother winced at the sound and the sight of so much raw power. Still Falconer’s voice remained almost sibilant in its quiet. “The diplomat. The Christian.”
    “Yes. Of course. Your friend.”
    Falconer stared across the table at Serafina, and his dark eyes trapped and held her. She met his gaze because she had to. Why, she could not say. Though she did not understand what was occurring here, she knew one thing with unfailing certainty. Falconer would never harm her. I will obey .
    Falconer’s eyes were the first to drop, and his hold on the chair loosened. Serafina watched as he took a breath and struggled to speak.
    “I feel God’s hand upon this encounter,” Falconer finally said, his voice muffled by his emotion. “He comes from a merchant family. He is well educated. He is committed to his faith and his cause. I can say nothing more, because it is all I know. I feel he is someone who is well suited. . . .”
    Falconer turned and stumbled toward the rear of the house.
    “Wait!” Alessandro had to grasp the chair arms to force himself to his feet. “What of you?”
    Falconer had his hand on the doorjamb leading to the kitchen. But he did not turn back. “I am a man called to walk the path of peril so that others may live in safety.”
    Serafina found herself standing beside her father and crying. She wept without understanding, without regret, without joy. As though her tears were required simply to mark the end of one moment and the beginning of another.
    Alessandro’s own features struggled with confusion and relief and a desire to reach beyond himself and touch this man he did not understand. “What . . . what of payment?”
    Falconer opened the door and trod through the kitchen. “Whatever is fair.”
    “A fifth of the mine’s value! No, wait. A fourth!”
    The kitchen door had already closed shut behind him.
    Serafina hurried to the rear window. Her parents rushed to join her. Together they watched Falconer cross the back garden, his massive shoulders slumped inward and his footsteps faltering.
    Serafina traced one finger down the length of a raindrop upon the glass. She knew she had never observed a stronger man.

Chapter 8
    An hour later Serafina had dried her face and decided she would be able to face Falconer without breaking down entirely. She wanted to be strong—especially now when he was leaving. She stepped to the small rear cottage and knocked on the door. A voice invited her in, and she found Gerald Rivens seated upon the stairs leading to the second floor.
    Gerald removed the small clay pipe from his mouth. “I’ll be going with him far as the first Richmond bridge, ma’am. See to it he gets off in safety and secret. The Langstons’ men have just arrived. They’re scouting around the perimeter now, getting a feel for the place. They’ll be taking the upstairs chamber here for themselves. One of us will be on duty at all times. Tell your parents that. You folks will be safe enough.”
    “Thank you, Gerald. Your words offer me great comfort.”
    “Thought they might.” He pointed at the closed door. “That man yonder, he’s a singular sort of fellow.”
    Serafina swallowed hard. All her determination seemed less than smoke in a storm. “Yes, he is.”
    If Gerald noticed her distress, he gave no sign. “Falconer calls me to live the Word without opening