Revenge Read online

  Revenge

  The Fortinbras Files

  Cora Foerstner

  In loving memory of my mother Geneva Zeller (1928-2017). She never understood my love of science fiction and fantasy, but she encouraged me to follow my heart and write.

  Contents

  1. Market Day

  2. What Albert Knows

  3. The Prison

  4. Politics

  5. Bulldog

  6. The Council

  7. Ryoto

  8. The House

  9. Akbar’s Visit

  10. Jo

  11. Interrogation

  12. The Academy

  13. Inspecting the Academy

  14. Taking Chances

  15. Kick in the Shins

  16. Henry

  17. Jo and the Whore

  18. Marietta’s Family

  19. Changing Tide

  20. Hope

  21. The Raid

  22. The Council Meeting

  23. Bulldog’s Bedside Manner

  24. Collins

  25. Sarah

  26. A Break

  27. The Beach

  28. Kidnapped

  29. Gone

  30. Battle Front

  31. The Rescue

  32. The Attack

  33. Bulldog’s Finale

  34. Home

  Note from the Author

  About the Author

  1

  Market Day

  Fortinbras scanned the sparse crowd, searching for the boy who might have information about the kidnapped children.

  Beside him Jo, his twelve-year-old ward, stood in the shade outside Tina’s Cantina. She watched the crowd too, weaving a short stick through her fingers, maneuvering it back and forth as if the movements didn’t require her attention. To their left, Tina hawked her assorted drinks to those passing by her table. Hidden at the end of the block, Corday stood guard, and Archangel watched the crowd from the rooftop.

  Glancing around, Fortinbras noted those milling about the outdoor market, farmers selling their produce, a few customers, and two boys. Neither boy matched the description of Jo’s friend. Usually, Market Day held the promise of music, good food, laughter, and camaraderie between local farmers and townies. Today, the musicians stayed away, laughter was a scarce commodity, and a general malaise hung over the drab streets. Already the scorching sun spread its tentacles across the town, promising another dry, red-hot day. Like the town, the market atrophied under the pressure of martial law.

  It wasn’t the faltering economy that worried him, but the news of another missing child. That made six kidnapped children they knew of, maybe more that were unreported. For a small town, one missing child was a tragedy, several added up to a catastrophe. Low birth rates and high infant mortality worried everyone. The survival of any town depended on children, on population growth.

  The few shoppers drifted from stall to stall, looking over produce and wares. Here and there customers bartered with sellers. Some ignored the armed Legates patrolling the street, others shot quick, uneasy glances their way and hurried to complete their business. There were fewer stalls and fewer shoppers than there had been a month ago.

  No matter how he sized up the situation, he felt responsible for the current tension. He’d agreed to martial law and extra Legates.

  “Do you see him?” Fortinbras asked Jo.

  “No,” she snapped. “He’ll be here.”

  Jo knew a boy who claimed he’d seen the kidnappers. She assured Fortinbras the boy would be at the market. So they waited and watched.

  Frowning, Jo tossed her stick aside and scanned the stalls. The foul expression on her pixy face had nothing to do with the heat or the waiting or the general mood of the town. Her ill temper was a direct result of something Fortinbras had done or said. The problem was he didn’t have a clue of what had pissed her off.

  His ignorance of twelve-year-old girls surprised no one. In general, his personality aggravated people. Archangel and Corday were the only two who seemed perfectly fine with his quirks, but when it came to Jo, he annoyed her daily, sometimes hourly. Because he didn’t understand what he’d done or how to undo the damage, he turned his mind to the problem at hand and went back to scanning the crowd, searching for anyone or anything out of place.

  Across the street, two Legates stopped to chat with a woman. They stood with their rifles cradled in their arms. A tall round-faced Legate walked past, nodded to Fortinbras, and shook her head when Tina offered her a beer. A hot breeze brought the smell of body odor wafting their way. Tina’s raspy voice called out to people strolling past.

  “Lemonade. Beer. Tea. Coffee.”

  Occasionally, she wiped her brow and pushed her dark hair away from her face. Her energy level rivaled that of a teenager. She rushed around from dawn until evening, serving people food, drinks, and light conversation. Her cheerfulness wearied Fortinbras as much as it comforted him.

  She glanced his way. “Could you get these Legates off the street? They ain’t good for business.”

  “If I had my way, they’d all be gone right along with Akbar.”

  “We don’t want all the Legates gone. Just the outsiders.” Her eyes held a glint of mischief.

  Beside him, Jo grunted, a sound that was either a protest or an accusation. Glancing up, she rolled her big blue eyes.

  “She’s gettin’ ready to tell you that you’re the best Legate in the whole wide world,” Jo whispered.

  “Maybe I am.”

  The two Legates across the street looked his way and pointed. The woman they’d been chatting with glanced at him before nodding to the men. She marched across the street, skirting around the vendors. Her unruly brownish red hair escaped from the dainty gray and blue hat she wore. The hat matched her long tailored jacket. She was definitely not from Orange Hope. Her clothes suggested she came from a more established town. Most likely she’d arrived from Los Angeles or perhaps Whittier, both towns were larger and more prosperous. A new batch of Legates arrived today, and he heard they brought along some civilians.

  She stopped a of couple feet in front of him. Jo straightened up and glared at the woman.

  “Fortinbras?”

  He nodded.

  She looked him up and down. “I’m Lydia. I came here to visit my sister, Zoe Lampson.”

  He waited for her to continue. Tall and broad-shouldered, she stood with an air of someone who demanded and always got what she wanted. Archangel would call her the perfect woman for the present moment. She looked sturdy enough to survive anything this nasty world could dish out.

  “Are you mute?” she demanded.

  “He ain’t mute, but he don’t talk much,” Jo said. “Any second now he’s gonna correct me for saying ain’t. Good luck having a conversation. By the way, I’m Jo.”

  “Hello, Jo. Pleased to meet you. You have an excellent vocabulary.” There was a sparkle in her brown eyes that matched the grin on her full lips.

  “That’s his doing, too. Makes me study and read every day.”

  “That’s enough, Jo. Can I do something for you?” Fortinbras asked.

  “Yes. Don’t badger the girl. She’s just being friendly, which is more than I can say for you.”

  She had the gumption to match her good looks. That was a plus.

  When he didn’t reply, she continued, “I’m from Los Angeles. Came to visit my sister.” She glanced around. “To talk her into moving from his dreadful, dangerous place. L.A.’s a slight step up, but at least we don’t have Legates patrolling the streets like thugs. My problem is that she and her partner are missing.”

  “Perhaps they are out or at work?” Fortinbras tried to sound pleasant, but his observation sounded like an accusation.

  “Do you take me for a fool? The neighbors sa
id they are missing. Been gone for over a week. Along with others in this neighborhood.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.

  “Missing people?”

  In this hot weather, people often camped at the beach or went scavenging for things they could use to barter. The beach people fished and partied, while scavengers made a tidy living picking over relics from the past to repurpose or to sell. Either of these was a likely explanation for her missing sister.

  “I suppose you don’t know about the missing children either. I can see why this town needs extra Legates. Seems the locals can’t handle things.

  “Where does your sister live? I’ll check things out.”

  “Right around the corner. Cannon Street number four. Since you don’t seem very motivated, I think I’ll do a little checking on my own.”

  “Try the beach. It’s a favorite spot.”

  She frowned.

  “You are the darkest man I’ve ever met, and I’m not talking about your skin.”

  Head held high, she marched away, tromping past the market stalls as if they didn’t exist.

  Beside him, Jo grinned.

  “She did a good job of dressing me down,” he said.

  “It was a wonder to watch.”

  “I like her.” He wasn’t sure why, but there was something appealing about the way she strutted as if she owned the entire town.

  He turned his attention back to the market. A few people nodded to him, others glared as if he were responsible for all their problems. As he watched the downcast faces of the shoppers and peddlers, he promised himself to get Akbar and his iron fist rule out of Orange Hope as soon as possible. Across the street on the roof, he spotted two Legates in animated conversation. On the same roof, Archangel, his long white hair pulled back in a ponytail, glared at the invaders. In his mind, all the rooftops were his domain.

  Below them, Franz Xaver, a teacher from the Legate Academy, chatted amiably with a tall, tan female Legate. Fortinbras couldn’t help grinning. Even the older man wasn’t past appreciating a pretty woman. He wondered what the shy Legate might be discussing. A few moments later, the woman he’d been chatting with left, and his old teacher crossed the street. Smiling, he stopped beside Fortinbras. He nodded toward Tina and Jo, but both were too preoccupied to notice.

  “Delighted to see you, Fortinbras,” he said. “The market seems normal.”

  “I’d prefer more booths and shoppers. Fewer of Akbar’s troops.”

  “Of course. How are things?”

  “Quiet.”

  “I’ve heard rumors and was curious.” Franz Xaver shrugged.

  “There are always rumors.”

  “Anything important?”

  “Hard to tell,” Fortinbras replied.

  “As verbose as always. Any news on the missing children?”

  Fortinbras shook his head.

  “I heard there are—”

  “I’m not speculating,” Fortinbras said.

  “Of course. Wise policy. You must stop by the academy for a visit.” He glanced at Jo. “Bring your ward.”

  Jo turned her attention to the older man. He smiled at her.

  “Come visit me young lady, and we’ll have a nice chat. I’ll get Fortinbras to show you around the academy. I think you’ll like it there,” he said, smiling pleasantly.

  She grinned back but didn’t respond to his invitation.

  Fortinbras studied his former teacher, annoyed he’d invited Jo to the Legate Academy.

  “What?” Franz Xaver asked.

  “Why are you interested in Jo?”

  “I’m being polite.”

  Fortinbras squinted at him, trying to ascertain the man’s motives for singling her out. Being polite wasn’t one of Franz Xaver’s strong suits.

  The old man looked away like a teenager caught in a compromising position and waved to a Legate at the vegetable stand in front of them.

  “I have someone here you should meet,” Franz Xaver said. “Ryoto, join us for a moment.”

  The sly devil was wiggling his way out of this embarrassing moment. Fortinbras would let this slide for now, but he wouldn’t forget to follow up and find out what his old teacher was up to.

  He turned his attention to Ryoto, who could have been a recruiting poster for a Legate Academy—join the Legates, learn to kick ass with swagger, and turn everyone’s eye.

  “Franz Xaver, good to see you.” Her deep voice held a hint of playfulness.

  “I’d like you to meet Fortinbras. Fortinbras, Ryoto.”

  “I’ve heard about you,” she said.

  “Ryoto is a student of philosophy and history,” the older man said.

  Fortinbras nodded. “Where you from?”

  “LA. Been here a couple of weeks. Nice little town. Good people.”

  Her gaze was direct and focused. She ignored Franz Xaver. Her face softened as she smiled.

  “We’ll have to talk history sometime,” he said.

  “I’ll definitely take you up on the offer.”

  Jo, who had been leaning against the side of the building, moved forward and tugged on Fortinbras’ arm. She pointed to a boy three stalls down whose blond hair looked as if it had been cut with a knife. His baggy, patched pants hung like drapery around his thin legs, and his too-small shirt clung to his chest. The boy smiled and said something to the older woman selling eggs. She was so bent over she had to tilt her head up to see the boy’s face. Having diverted her attention from the basket of fruit at his backside, the boy reached an arm behind him and snagged a nectarine.

  “Go,” Fortinbras said to Jo.

  Leaving his former teacher and Ryoto standing alone on the sidewalk, he headed directly for the boy while Jo circled around to the back of the fruit stand.

  Behind him, he heard Franz Xaver saying, “Sorry about that. He can be abrupt.”

  “Albert?” Fortinbras called out.

  Without glancing up, the boy bolted, weaving his way through the crowd, and pushing people aside. Jo leaped over the stall’s table, her short legs barely clearing the stacks of produce. She landed in a crouch. Springing up, she raced after Albert. Someone in the crowd reached out to grab the boy, but he dodged and skirted around the outstretched hand. The crowd parted, cursing and shouting at the racers. Fortinbras took long strides toward the end of the street, following them but not bothering to work up a sweat. He knew Corday waited at the corner. Glancing up and to his right, he noted Archangel running along the rooftop. Reaching the edge of the building, Archangel jumped and glided to the next roof, his long white ponytail flopping against his quiver. He landed with the grace of a puma.

  Fortinbras stepped out of the crowd. Ahead, Jo tackled the boy and dragged him down. By the time Fortinbras reached the corner, she had jumped up and was wiping the dust from her skinned elbow.

  Corday, a slender Asian woman with fists of steel, stepped from the shadows and grabbed Albert by his shirt and pulled him to his feet.

  “Hey, Blondie,” Archangel shouted to Jo. “Good job.”

  Grinning proudly, Jo looked up and waved.

  Archangel, a chameleon who changed and adjusted to every circumstance, preferred heights, where he could look down on the world and watch. Fortinbras knew he also liked his physique silhouetted in the sunlight. He had the annoying ability to appear cool and laid back in the worst of conditions. Today, he wasn’t sweating and his pale skin somehow escaped the ravages of the sun. “Perception is everything,” he was fond of saying. He scaled down the side of the building, using the uneven bricks as grips. He landed next to Albert.

  Up close, the boy looked too thin and pale. His unnatural blondish hair contrasted with his dark skin and deep brown eyes, a sign of malnutrition. A stench of body odor surrounded him. Ignoring the cuts and scrapes on his chest, he tried to pull his arm away from Corday, but she held him tight.

  “Albert?” Fortinbras asked.

  “What’d ya’ want?”

  “To ask a few questions.”
r />   “I ain’t got no answers.”

  “Too bad,” Corday said.

  “I ain’t afraid of you, lady.”

  “You should be.” Archangel dusted off his hands and grinned at Corday. “She’s a bad one.”

  “Al, it’s me.”

  Albert glanced at Jo, and his eyes widened in recognition.

  “They just want to know about your brother. They ain’t here to nick ya.”

  “We aren’t here to nick you,” Fortinbras corrected.

  Rolling her eyes, she said, “They aren’t here to nick you.”

  “Why they wanna talk to me?”

  “They want to know about the men you saw take your brother. They want to get the kids back and find the people who are taking them.”

  The boy hung his head, studying the dirt, making circles with the toe of his threadbare shoe.

  “Okay,” he said. “They took him, me brother. Three days ago.”

  Corday released him and knelt down so she was at his eye level.

  “Who took him?”

  “One of you.”

  “What do you mean by one of us?” Fortinbras asked.

  Albert tapped the Legate badge on Corday’s shoulder.

  “Legates,” he spat the word out as if he were cursing them.

  “Are you sure?” Archangel asked.

  “I swear on me ma’s grave. They already took one of me other brothers. Samsung makes two from our home. There’s more been taken from other gangs. None come back.” He pressed his lips together and glared at Fortinbras. “Those Legates be bad, very bad. They be hurtin’ lots of kids.”

  Jo took Albert’s hand. “We’ll help you.”