Ian moved a bit.
"YOU! I SAID YOU SHOULD HALT!"
The Captain's voice was a whip-crack. Ian, just feet from the side-door escape, froze. His back was to the Captain, but he could feel the man's eyes, and the point of his sword, aimed directly at him. He was caught.
His mind, trained for years in the art of war and espionage, went perfectly calm and cold. He could feel the weight of the ledgers and the map of Strathmore, tucked securely inside his rough-spun tunic. He could not, under any circumstances, be captured. His hand, hidden by his body, moved slowly, his fingers brushing against the hilt of the thin, razor-sharp dagger hidden in his belt. He would kill the Captain, and as many guards as he had to, before he let them take those papers.
High above, on the private balcony, Derek saw it all. He saw Ian freeze. He saw the Captain, his hand on his sword, advancing. He saw the other guards beginning to turn, their attention focusing on the new "fugitive."
