Chapter 4

Gawain woke to the sound of snoring. Really, really loud snoring. She opened her eyes to find that her vision swam, the light from the open window at the other end of the room distorted into waves. Overhead, she could just make out the shape of a circular ceiling lamp, turned off. Even in her daze, she recognised the environment.

She was in her bedroom.

Every single nerve in her lower abdomen burned. She put both hands on the mattress, and pushed. A low groan escaped her throat as she placed herself in a sitting position, and tears formed in her eyes.

Tears.

She remembered crying about...something. Her memory was a foggy haze at most, but she recalled the sound of a gunshot, and blood. A lot of blood, probably her own.

The snoring stopped. "Oh, you're awake."

Gawain blinked the tears out of her eyes, and turned to see Caradoc sitting back, his eyes half-closed on one of the wicker chairs scattered around her home. "What happened?"

"You were shot."

"By whom?"

"I don't know. He escaped, but we have the gun. Oberon got a serial number off of it." He rubbed his eyes and sat up straight.

She smiled. "I thought I recognised the snore." And she did. From all those times she had woken up beside him, sometimes in the very bed she was on. But those days were long gone.

"Is it that strange?"

"You're the only one I know who snores like a an elephant with the flu."

"Oh, shut up." He cracked a smile. "You feeling alright?"

"Everything down here hurts." She reached out a hand to touch the area just below her ribs, and winced when a sharp pain shot through the rest of her torso.

Caradoc grabbed her hand. "One of your ribs was snapped off completely. The doctor had to use a metal brace to put it back in place."

"The doctor...how long was I asleep?"

"Three days. And I think you need a few more."

"No, I'm fine. You're not my dad." She slowly swung her legs over the side of the bed. "I need to get to HQ."

"If you're talking about Maleagant, she's doing fine without you."

"Who?"

"The new recruit. Oberon's kept her busy while you were being Sleeping Beauty."

"Well, I need to train her."

"You're injured."

"I'm fine and you know it. Remember Baghdad?"

"You don't have a light machine gun this time, Val."

"How many did I take out?"

Caradoc sigh. "Fine, twenty-seven. To be fair, it was a flesh wound."

"You said it looked like a nightmare."

"So the paramedic would get you out of there. Although, you did completely halt their offensive."

"See? I'll be fine." She put both feet on the floor and stood up, grimacing at the throbbing in her chest.

"Hey, easy." Caradoc put one of her arms around his neck, and guided her towards the door. "This is exactly how I felt after the bomb went off."

"Oh, you."

"What? I couldn't walk for a week!"

"Stop making my problems seem small." She shrugged him away and took small steps towards the bathroom. "Will you go down and make some tea?"

"You drink tea?"

"Come on, you've known me for five years."

"And not once have I seen you with a cup of tea."

"Lancelot mailed me some after that thing in Stockholm. Darjeeling, I think. Been trying to go through the box for a year now."

"Lancelot? James or Roxy?"

"Roxy. James was a coffee person." She pushed the bathroom door open, and slipped inside. Gawain slipped out of her nightgown, and stood in the shower stall, turning the hot water up.

"You still got the packaging for the tea?"

"Why?"

"Just...do you still collect the addresses?"

"Sure, kitchen counter." She turned the shower on, and stood there until the hot water ran out.

Klaas hated waiting. And he hated himself for being so impatient. When he had grown up in the slums all those years ago, he learned to wait, to bide time, for the right opportunity. And now he'd become just like those he had opposed - the upper class of Amsterdam, who flaunted their riches and privileges while the boys he knew worked day and night for barely a fraction of what they earned.

So he had his reckoning. When Phoenix achieved global success, he had donated much of his fortune to charities around the world, hoping to relieve the poor of the suffering he had once experience. But he had underestimated the extent of the corruption which had flowed even into these charities, and only a part of his money went where he wanted it to.

Klaas eyed his own shaking leg, and mentally gave the command to stop. He was becoming more and more like them, and there was not much he could do about it. Power corrupted; that was unavoidable.

He looked up at the large brass plaque behind the reception counter, at the smooth cursive writing cut into it.

"He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. And when you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you."

-Freidrich Neitzsche

Once upon a time, he had a hold on that. Now, a flame was lit up inside him, containing all the anger aimed at himself for become like them.

"How many guns?"

Klaas snapped out of his daydream, and watched the clean-shaven man in his forties sit down opposite him. As before, he wore a cream-coloured suit, and his hair was styled thinly.

"I asked you a question."

"I wasn't listening."

"I said how many guns?"

Typical Garth Hendricksen. Unlike the members of Kingsman, the people Garth worked for did not feel the need to erase the identities of their agents from every database in existence. "Seven."

"What, the receptionist too? Don't bother. Where's that boy of yours?"

"Jonas? He's away."

"Shame."

"You withheld information from us. Jonas nearly died. Go figure."

Garth smiled. "And if I had told you about the umbrella, would you have taken me seriously? No, you wouldn't have. The result would have been the same. Consider it...a lesson. For both you and Jonas."

"Give me a reason to not pump you full of lead right now."

"Oh, well, I've a plan."

"Your 'plan' almost got my head of security killed. You either walk that door, or we're going to have a problem."

"Two."

"What?"

"Two guns left. You think I came alone?"

Klaas' hand shot for the derringer inside his jacket.

The cold titanium silencer barrel pressed against the back of his neck. "Hand out slowly, monsieur."

Klass removed his shaking hand from inside his jacket. He flicked his eyes towards the receptionist, who was drawing her pistol.

He heard fabric ruffling and something hit her in the forehead, smacking her against the wall. She slid down it, unconscious.

The silencer came into view, attached to a Beretta M9 pistol, and held by a thin man with high cheekbones and a sharp chin. The Frenchman sat down and, keeping the pistol aimed at Klass' face, smiled. "Zero."

"Now, let's talk business," Garth said.

"You could just ask her for some, you know?" Gawain said, poking a head into the kitchen doorway. She was wearing one of her other bulletproof suits, in this case a grey bespoke.

Caradoc's eyes widened, and he re-buttoned his jacket. "What are you talking about?"

"I saw you stuff the tea in there. Open."

"I didn't do anything."

Gawain sighed, and sat down on a kitchen stool. "I'm feeling a lot better now. There's a problem, though."

"Yes?"

"How'd I get in the nightgown?"

Caradoc turned beet red. "I...I changed you."

"Dirk!" She couldn't see it, but her cheeks burned.

"Your clothes had blood all over them. It's not proper to sleep in those."

She shook her head. "Nevermind. I need to get back to HQ."

"Have you seen the new girl? She's hella cute."

"Oi, you know the rules. Did you drive here?"

"How else?"

"Give me the keys."

"Ah, you're not driving. I am. Now be a good agent and get in the passenger outside." He produced his car remote, and pressed a button.

Gawain rolled her eyes and left the kitchen, opening her front door and stepping out of her moderately-sized home on the fringes of Amsterdam's suburbs. She took a deep breath of the morning air - it didn't matter if the broken rib made it hurt a little - and opened the passenger door to Caradoc's Mercedes.

She moved his umbrella to the backseat and sat down, turning on the radio and tuning to a music channel.

"I hate pop songs," Caradoc said, enting the car beside her.

"I know you do."

He turned the key in the ignition and gripped the steering wheel with both hands. "Especially this station."

"All's fair in love and war."

Caradoc stepped on the accelerator and they pulled out of Gawain's driveway, turning onto the road. "Do be careful around Holly."

"Who's Holly?"

"Maleagant. Holly Beckett. Irish, I think. Too scared to ask."

"You are too scared to ask? You really let yourself go, Dirk."

"She punched me in the face once when I asked her how old she was."

"That's because it's rude to ask for a woman's age."

"Still-"

"Shh, you're an idiot."

They sat in silence for the entire trip, music streaming from the car radio. The fields flashed past as they left Amsterdam going north.

Soon, the castle appeared in the distance. Caradoc stopped to the side of the road. "Out you go."

She looked at his gear, which wasn't on "park". "What about you?"

"Oberon got a serial number, remember? I've a thing to do."

"A thing?"

"Sagramore said not to tell you about in, or you might stow away in the trunk. So don't do that or I'll get my ass grilled."

"Charming. When will you be back?"

"Few hours."

She closed the door, and waved at him as he drove off. One small step at a time, Gawain made her way to the large medieval doors, which swung open for her.

From inside, she heard gunfire.