In The Devil's Stables (Spirited #1)

Chapter 26

Later that evening

Somewhere in England

The knife embedded next to the man's head, reverberating from the force and sending a whirring sound to Moreland's ear. It had clipped an ear, causing his visitor to whimper against the wall.

Even this sound Moreland found he could not take heart in, for at every turn it seemed no one was capable of a simple task. Only half-assed attempts.

"I did what you asked."

The whisper angered Moreland. "If you had done what I ordered - if you truly had any notion of my generosity and patience thus far with your flaming incompetence - then I would not currently be found in my present mood."

He shook against Moreland's body and Moreland drew back, glaring down through narrowed eyes.

"Do you think I am joking when I speak with you?" Moreland drawled, grasping the hilt of the knife and twisting so the board groaned and cracked. "Is there some part of my speech that you have failed to understand? I had thought that I made myself perfectly clear before."

"T..the f...flame should have t...taken out the entire stables, but the staff and all his t...tenants -"

Moreland's hand slammed down on the other side of his prey and Moreland watched as the damned weasel sunk back, cringing from the sound. It made Moreland's lip curl in disgust.

Had he, in fact, outlasted his usefulness?

"One damned job, is what I have given you. One you have been lolly-gagging about with -"

"The boy had seen me," he murmured, his eyes shifting nervously. "What was I supposed to have done? I would have been caught -"

"Are you trying to flaunt your incompetence further in hopes it will make me lethal?" Moreland sneered, leaning down to whisper in the ear that had a cut deep within its curve. "Because you are succeeding on that account, I can assure you."

Silence reigned, and message delivered, Moreland yanked the handle of the knife out. The blade felt hefty in his palm, the end newly sharpened. Moreland looked to the hole where the knife had lodged itself before deciding it would need to be sharpened again.

"Wha -" Moreland's eyes jerked to the man as he broke off. Clearing his throat, he began again. "What is your game with the earl? What has he done?"

Moreland narrowed his eyes. He wiped the knife on his black breeches before shoving it into the back of his trousers.

"Not that it is any of your business," Moreland said, walking away from the man and letting him believe he was safe, that he had evaded the devil - for now, "but perhaps you will find some...motivation, shall we say, from the retelling."

His smile must have been chilling, indeed, for the man swallowed heavily. The sound reverberating in the quiet.

"He betrayed me."

"I...I beg your pardon?"

"People like you have been cheating me for decades. After all, what has society done for those who bleed for them? Ones whose knuckles have cracked from a bitter winter or ones whose bellies remain empty?" Moreland laughed bitterly, giving the man a look from the corner of his eyes. He hadn't meant to say so much, hadn't meant to show how slighted he had begun to feel.

Choking back the emotion, the indignation, Moreland continued, "So, you see, I took it to heart, you could say. What would be more righteous - more comeupance - than to cheat those same gentlemen?" Moreland gave a pointed look at his quarry before releasing the man from his intense focus. "Ones whom did nothing more for the world at large rather than be born to a more advantageous whore than the rest of us?"