Enemy Within (Moira Ashe Book 1)
Chapter 3

Lincoln was blinded by the morning sun as he followed Flynn out of The Midnight Hour. Nothing in the town of Quinn was natural; everything was built on a foundation of cut stone. The vibrant greens of nature fought against the hewn grey, but even they too were controlled. Ivy clung and draped over bare walls as trees stood defiantly among their square prisons that lined the back alleys.

“So why does this Ryan Quinn want to meet me?” Lincoln asked Flynn as they travelled to their destination.

Flynn didn’t turn around. “It’s simple. You’re a person of interest from a foreign country, and he owns this town.” Flynn paused for a second and then added. “I figured the name would have tipped you off.”

Lincoln figured that the man’s last name and the name of the town was no coincidence.

“So why is the place named after him?” Lincoln asked.

“It’s not. It’s named after his family, who built this town, so he really does own the place.” Flynn halted and turned to face Lincoln. “Not that it’s the only reason he’s the chieftain.” Flynn turned back around and continued marching. “He has done a lot of good as the leader of the community, and he’s not afraid to get his hands dirty doing some labour in the quarry.”

They rounded the corner and walked up the market street towards the tallest point in town, where Lincoln saw a large home. The market street was crowded when compared to the previous streets they’d passed. Seemingly hundreds of people were milling around the multitude of stalls and shops lining the street. Flynn tipped the brim of his hat and greeted almost everyone they passed in the street. These passers-by were polite to Lincoln, too. Most greeted him with a smile or a quick “How are you?”

The men passed by a clothing store as they came near the end of the market. Lincoln almost stopped completely as he spotted a tailor’s shop. He was in need of fresh garments, especially considering the duration of his stay and the return trip home. He wished he could change now, considering he was about to be thrust into the role of foreign diplomat. Lincoln pulled and brushed at the dirt that dusted his coat as he hurried to catch up with Flynn, who didn’t appear to notice Lincoln was lagging behind him.

Now aware of his ragged appearance, Lincoln could only guess how much worse his escort made him look in comparison. Fitted and pristine, Flynn’s boots were even free of dust as he strode through the street with his clean-shaven chin held high. Lincoln’s hand went instinctively to his own chin. “This is going to be rough.” He grumbled to himself as he felt the repercussions of his neglected goatee.

They soon arrived at Quinn’s house, and it was a spectacular building! The three-storey house loomed over its neighbours, elevated by a tall foundation. A wall quarantined the house from the rest of town.

As much as the property resembled a fortress, it was horrendously unprotected for such a facility. The large doors leading into the courtyard were left completely open, and not a soul was present. But Lincoln couldn’t complain since it made entering the place quick and hassle free. They climbed a short set of stairs that led to a bright door. Flynn knocked quickly three times, and the both of them stood side by side in silence. They waited for several seconds until heavy footsteps approached the door . Flynn quickly stood at full attention as the door swung inwards.

When he caught sight of the prestigious Ryan Quinn, Lincoln didn’t feel so bad about his attire.

He had met a number of high-class men and woman in his time as an officer in Abalon but they were almost exclusively descended from wealthy families. Few had actually clawed their way to that position themselves. Ryan Quinn, on the other hand, was not what he expected to see, considering the man inherited his fortune from his forefathers. Lincoln had no trouble believing what Flynn said was true. The man wore no shirt-only a pair of worker’s overalls-so that his muscular arms and chest were clearly visible.

“Good morning, Lieutenant Flynn,” said the man at the door.

Flynn was stone faced as he replied with a salute. “Good morning, sir. I have escorted Mr Clarke here as you requested, sir.”

The man returned the salute and turned to face Lincoln, holding out his hand. “Ryan Quinn, chieftain of the town of Quinn.”

Lincoln found that Ryan had the strength to match as the man shook him by the hand.

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr Quinn,” Lincoln said as his hand was released.

“And I you.”

Lincoln could tell there was warmth in Ryan’s smile as he greeted him, but not in his eyes. Ryan turned back to Flynn, who had not moved what seemed like a single muscle as he waited for Ryan and Lincoln to finish their introductions.

“Thank you, Flynn. You may return to your duties, but you can join us if you wish.”

Flynn almost dropped his serious demeanour as he replied, “I would be honoured, but I have duties to attend to.”

Ryan nodded his head. “Very well. Thank you again.”

Ryan and Flynn shook hands before Flynn turned on his heel and marched out of the courtyard and down the street.

Ryan motioned for Lincoln to follow him as he turned and led the way into the house.

Lincoln kept pace with Ryan as he stopped in a sitting room, which appeared to be made for occasions such as these. Ryan stopped and motioned for Lincoln to move past him into the room. “Welcome to Quinn and to my home. Please take a seat.”

Lincoln complied and sat in the middle of a coach facing a single chair in the middle of the room. Ryan followed and strode past him to a cabinet at the far side of the room. He opened it, revealing an assortment of beverages and glasses.

“Care for a drink?” Ryan asked as he selected a bottle out of the cabinet.

“Yeah, I could go for one,” Lincoln replied, eyeing the bottle.

Ryan nodded, snatched two glasses out of the cabinet, and brought them over to the table separating the coach and the single chair. Ryan set the bottle and glasses on the table and then sat on the edge of the chair facing Lincoln as he poured them both a portion. He handed a glass to Lincoln then sat back in his seat.

Lincoln accepted the glass, and they both took a drink of the liquid.

“Good, right?” Ryan asked with confidence.

Lincoln nodded in agreement.

“It’s Sleightstone whiskey. They are well known for it around here.” Ryan passed the bottle to the other end of the table. “It shouldn’t be too hard to find if you want to take a bottle home with you.”

Lincoln picked up the bottle and inspected it. He did enjoy the beverage and would probably pick up a bottle for himself before he left, but he wasn’t sure it would make it all the way home with him. Lincoln returned the bottle to the table.

“Why is this place called Quinn?” Lincoln asked.

Ryan’s face lit up at the question. “Because my great-great-grandfather built this place, you see. He owned the quarry and the land and decided to build his own town here. His statue is at the entrance of the town.”

Lincoln did remember seeing a statue of a man when he entered through the front gates, but he hadn’t paid it much attention.

Ryan gestured at a pickaxe that hung along the wall. “He used that very tool there.”

Lincoln interrupted him. “So he worked the quarry himself?”

Ryan smiled. “He did, and I do too—same as my father and his father before him.”

“A strange decision. Most people with your kind of wealth wouldn’t work a day in their lives.”

Ryan gestured to the lavish décor surrounding them. “True, but it taught me to appreciate what I have and the people who work for this city.”

Lincoln nodded. “So can anyone be the chief of this place?”

If Ryan was offended by the question, he didn’t show it. “Sure, but they have to be chosen by the people, just like I was.”

Ryan finished his drink and poured himself another one. “So, Mr Clarke, what business has brought you this far east of Fotland?”

“I’ve come looking for information on lycanthropy,” Lincoln replied, doing the same.

“Eamon looking to try us for the third time, is he?” Ryan laughed. “Can’t say I’m not surprised. It was damn nasty when your army started tearing itself to pieces.”

Lincoln chuckled nervously. “No … no … Nothing like that. There has been a lot of cases popping up in a short period of time, so I’m hoping to find a way of dealing with them quickly.”

Ryan composed himself. “Why travel this far east for that? There are tons of people who could have provided the information you’re seeking, and they’re a lot closer to your home than us.”

Lincoln frowned. “I tried to, but I figure most people thought I was just gathering information for the king.” Lincoln gestured toward Ryan. “Just like you did.”

Ryan nodded his head and took another drink before talking. “Have you found someone who has agreed to share this with you?”

Lincoln nodded. “Thankfully, yes.”

“Who?”

“Moira Ashe.”

“Moira … what did she tell you?”

Lincoln smirked. “Enough … and she’s letting me help hunt that werewolf that’s been plaguing the town the last few days.”

Ryan almost choked on his drink. “She told you about that?”

Lincoln nodded. “Just before I was stolen away to meet with you.”

“And you’re going to help kill it?”

“That is correct.”

Ryan leapt out of his seat. “Are you both insane?”

Lincoln held his hands up in self-defence. “Hey now … Calm down. There’s no need to get panicked.”

Ryan flung his hands into the air and paced around the room as his glass shattered against the wall. “No need to panic? Do you know what will happen if you get killed?” He stopped and pointed a stiff finger at Lincoln. “If you don’t return home, they’ll send people looking for you, and they’re going to come right here to my town. And then it will be Paleburg all over again.” His heaving chest slowed, and his flaring nostrils calmed as he sat back down in his seat and rubbed his eyes. “What was Moira thinking?”

Lincoln replied. “To be fair, the mess at Paleburg was executed by men, not monsters.”

“Hard to tell the difference after what they did.” Ryan sighed. “It doesn’t matter. All they’re looking for is an excuse.” He shook his finger at Lincoln. “I can’t have Moira not kill the thing, and I can’t afford to have you throwing yourself at death’s door. You will be moved into my house, and guards will be posted at your doors.”

Lincoln straightened his back and gave him a hard look. “I hope you aren’t suggesting you’ll hold me prisoner here?”

Ryan shook his head. “A prisoner? No, I simply plan to keep you safe until the matter is resolved.”

“I don’t think that’s how I’ll describe it when I get back home. And believe me, they won’t take too kindly to what I have to say.”

Ryan’s eyes narrowed. “You would risk a war for this?”

“The better question is would you? I won’t let you stop me from this. I do not want a room in your house. I do not want any personal guard. Let me finish my business here and we won’t ever see each other again.”

Ryan glared back at him with intensity. “Damn it, fine.” Ryan’s shoulders slumped. “I’m damned either way anyhow.”

Lincoln bowed his head. “Thank you.”

“Curse the both of ya.” Ryan regained his composure as he stood up from his seat, extending his hand to Lincoln. “I’m glad we had this chat. Now I think it’s time you leave.”

Lincoln winced at Ryan’s crushing grip. “It was an interesting experience. I just hope I didn’t waste your time.”

Ryan scowled and muttered. “If it wasn’t for that damn …” His voice trailed off into muttering and the last of his hospitality evaporated as he escorted Lincoln out of his house. The door slammed behind him as Lincoln descended the steps.

Stopping outside the courtyard, Lincoln took stock of himself. The meeting hadn’t taken up much of his time, and he still needed a change of attire.

“It’s as good a time as any, I suppose,” he mumbled. With a shrug of his shoulders, Lincoln strolled off to the market.

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