The Unwilling Aviator (Book 4) by Heidi Willard Page A

Fred's arms. The vendor stepped up beside the stand and looked between the bird and the girl. "I see you have met my best and brightest. He is a fine specimen. Look at these wings!" The man grasped the bird's wings, but the hawk pecked at his hand and he barely avoided a sharp rap on his knuckles. The hawk hopped around on its perch and flapped its wings, and Ruth noticed one of its legs was chained to the stick with a lock settled against its claws. "Such liveliness, but what feathers! Now what do you say? A beautiful bird for a beautiful young woman. A steal at only a hundred gold coins."
    "I say we can't afford it," Pat spoke up as she marched back to her captive friends. She grabbed their arms and dragged them away from the stall.
    Ruth let herself be led away, but she glanced over her shoulder at the bird stall. The gray hawk tilted its head and watched her go with unblinking eyes. Its feathers shone against the torches that lit the street and those golden eyes revealed an intelligence greater than most birds. She sighed and looked away.
    The three companions hurried onward and reached the end of the market before more trouble found them. That area of the market was filled with stalls offering alcohol of every kind. There were flavors strained from the honey of Diluvian bees, cantankus spit, and grains Fred didn't recognize. Gathered around these places were short men dressed similar to Fred , and most held a mug of alcohol in their hands. They laughed and jostled one another, and drank and were merry.
    Fred followed the girls through the crowds until a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. He turned to find himself staring into the glossy eyes of a fellow aviator who wore a lopsided grin on his face. "How ya doing, friend?" the man asked him. The stranger's breath reeked worse than Fluffy's.
    "Um, fine, but I have to go," Fred replied, and tried to pull away. He yelped when the man swung him around and into the arms of other men who wore aviator outfits.
    "How about we treat our friend here to some fun?" the first man called to his companions.
    "Yeah!"
    "Here here!" came the cries.
    "Let go of me!" Fred demanded. He struggled in their grasps, but they were much stronger and many more than he could handle.
    "Give this boy some drink!" the first man demanded. A mug was thrust into Fred's hands and the contents spilled onto his clothes. The man stumbled toward him and clanked their mugs together. "To flying and dying!" he called out.
    "To flying and dying!" was the boisterous reply.
    By this time Pat and Ruth had noticed Fred's disappearance. They turned around and gazed over the bustling crowd behind them. "Fred?" Pat called. "Fred?"
    "Over here!" he yelped.
    Ruth grabbed Pat's arm and pointed. "There he is!" she told her friend.
    Pat squinted, but her eyes widened when she saw Fred among the brawny, bellowing aviators. She scowled and pushed her way through them to stand before Fred. "Release him," she ordered the men. The crowd erupted in laughter.
    "Look what we have here, my friends. A fine little princess come to rescue her prince," one of the men jeered. He grabbed her from behind, but Pat swung around and jabbed her elbow into his face. The man fell back into his friends with blood dribbling down his broken nose.
    The happy mood in the crowd changed to threatening. The men dropped their wounded companion and pressed around Pat. Several pulled out hidden knives and others cracked their knuckles. "You shouldn't have done that, little girl," one of the men growled. "When ya fight one aviator ya fight us all."
    "So be it," Pat replied. She pulled her sword and stared back at them with unwavering eyes. The mens' bloodthirstiness wavered under the shine of her deadly blade.
    The man who had caught Fred puffed out his chest and looked over his companions. "Come on, friends! There's only one of her and many of us!" he shouted. His fighting words emboldened the men, and half a dozen jumped at her.
    Pat blocked their fists with