The Knowledgeables chapter four stands alone
Chapter Four
What I'm aware of now fills in some gaps. Of course, I sometimes wonder how different things might have been if I had known then what I understand now. The capriciousness of Chronicler Gift is almost worse than the Knowledge. Forgive my use of prose - I find it easier to read and understand than straight, cold notes. Besides, Chronicler visions have to be interpreted as they are anything but straight and cold.
* * * *
The Hunter And The Prey
If Brian had known his death was imminent he might not have stayed to continue the fight once his friends had gone down. Instead he might have tried running to escape the young man opposing him even though it would still have been useless. Brian did not know his friends on the ground were already dead; he may have suspected it but he preferred to think they were just unconscious. Hurt. How could they be dead?
It was just one man against them - five young men unafraid of a bit of a fight who had been in a number of stoushes before with supporters against their football club. They had been especially proud of the scrap they'd had with a group of Geordies last year that came to London for one of the finals. Brian and his chums had been through plenty of bother in the past but never had they met just one, scrawny, American backpacker on Clapham Common before.
'I don’t want to hurt you,' Brian warned the thin, mousey-haired tourist. The young man did not reply. He had not spoken more than eight words since the group of them spotted him getting off the bus and setting off across the moonlit park. They decided to have a bit of fun with him, that was all it was. They had been out at the pub for a pint or five that evening and were feeling pretty courageous, and he looked suitably bookish to taunt and bully. Then when he had spoken up and asked them to leave him alone in an American-sounding accent, there was even more to have fun with.
They had pushed the tourist, knocking his small backpack from his shoulders and kicking it despite his pleas not to as it had his camera in it. He had pushed back at one of Brian’s friends, Big Eddie, and Eddie had taken the shove personally and reacted by throwing a punch. It knocked the tourist to the ground and escalated the teasing into the brawl it was always going to become.
Brian still couldn’t quite understand what had happened. They had been in countless such fights before and had seen all sorts of tough guys crumble and turn into meek, bleeding wrecks. He had never seen a guy stand up after one of Eddie’s punches with such a look of black fire in his eyes - such simmering fury. Eddie had tried to hit the tourist again but the young man had growled like an animal, dodged, grabbed Eddie’s fist, and twisted him with such speed and strength that none of them could fathom what had happened until they heard the crack of bone and Eddie’s screams.
The other three reacted together to grab the young bastard and make him pay for hurting their mate. The tourist again somehow evaded two of them, one of his small fists striking Simon in the throat in just the right place and with enough force to crush his larynx. Simon fell back choking, but Rob managed to grab the tourist from behind in a headlock. At least he thought he did, but the scrawny American twisted and then Rob was facing him. Wiry fingers that hardly looked strong enough to hold a pen flexed into pointed knuckles and rammed into Rob’s temples. As Rob fell the tourist spun and his fingers stabbed into Jim's eyes, rupturing his eyeballs. Jim screamed for a moment, blinded and in agony, but then he was gripped under the jaw and thrown into a tree, the hand at his throat holding tight and slamming his head again and again into the wood.
The tourist leaped to his feet with his eyes gleaming black, and his pointed, bookish face frozen in an animal snarl that bared his teeth. Eddie was on his feet again, moaning, his broken arm being held at an odd angle by his other. The tourist kicked into Eddie’s sternum, and again bones cracked. Eddie could barely breathe let alone scream but there was no time for either. He hit the ground and the young American stomped his heel again and again into the place he had just kicked, rupturing the heart beneath. Without a pause the tourist used the body as a stepping stone to jump to Simon, who was still holding his throat and gasping but he also now held a large knife in defence.
The young tourist paused, cocking his head and assessing the threat, then dodged a lacklustre attack with the blade and grabbed his attacker’s wrist, bending his elbow and driving the blade still in Simon’s hand up into the underneath of Simon’s jaw. There was a gurgle and Simon collapsed. Casually the tourist kicked the handle of the knife to drive it in further.
It was then that the scrawny young man turned his attention to Brian, who had been frozen in place watching as his friends were dispatched in a matter of seconds. 'I don't want to hurt you,' Brian said again with even less conviction than before. The other man did not move, but his lips twisted into a thin smile. His eyes glittered. Presented with the option of running for his life or fighting, Brian chose to fight. The alcohol still made him feel invulnerable, made him feel more angry for the plight of his friends than frightened for his own safety. He took a step towards the tourist but the American stood still. Waiting. Brian readied himself to strike but it was only at the last second he heard the noise behind him. He spun and saw the three coming approaching, slightly crouched, one with a cricket bat and the others with knives that gleamed in the moonlight like their black, black eyes. It was the young woman with the long hair, the one that reminded him of his sister, that gutted him.
'They called me American,' Tyler moped, drinking his black coffee and settling into a wooden chair at the Laminex table in the small kitchen of the old duplex. A young woman with long brown hair bustled about at the sink behind him making herself tea and sandwiches, barely listening.
'You sound like one,' she said.
'Canadian accents are totally different.'
'Not to us.'
He grumbled and sorted through his bag. 'They didn't break my camera, at least. I got some good shots of London Bridge at sunset.'
'You're such a tourist. And I bet you mean Tower Bridge. London Bridge is nothing to look at.'
He shrugged. The last thing he wanted after all that fuss was to have a conversation with Helen Allen, let alone an argument. What he did want was food. Using his Hunter Gift used up any energy he might have had stored from lunch. He didn't want the additional conflict of asking the tomboyish Helen for a favour, however - he had endured enough fighting for one night.
A thirty-something broad shouldered man with the lean muscular build of a greyhound entered the room, glancing over the Canadian and heading towards the sandwiches. His wavy dark hair was shaggy and matched the deep brown eyes and lush lashes set into his tanned, oval face. He moved with the easy, heavy grace of all Hunters but on him it settled comfortably like his casual, twill and denim clothes. Whereas the others in the group seemed innocuous, mundane even, Bruno Kiel drew some attention. There was nothing extraordinary about him that others could see but the rest of the Hunter-Seekers saw deeper and would follow his every command, written, verbal, or thought.
'Cheese and chutney sandwiches,' his voice was deep with a hint of German roots. 'Make me one, too, Helen.'
The woman immediately set about doing so. Tyler spoke up: 'And for me, please.' She curled her lip at this but caught a glance from her leader and did as she was asked.
'So, Tyler,' Bruno sauntered over to him, smiling. 'You started a fight, yes?'
'I didn't but I finished it.'
Helen Allen snorted. 'I finished it!'
'Where are Jimmy and Charles? Cleaning up the mess you made?'
Tyler took a gulp of coffee. 'Yeah. Down to the south somewhere. Look, it wasn't my fault-'
Helen slammed a plate on the table in front of Tyler, the cheese and chutney sandwich bouncing from the blow. 'It's always your fault.'
'Helen,' Bruno's gentle reprimand was enough to calm her down. She knew better than to go against the leader. With a muttered apology she returned to preparing food.
The leader sat down on the chair opposite Tyler, watching him eat. Bruno exuded gentle patience and politeness - in a minatory way. Only the most fearless of Hunters were unfazed by him. Them and ordinary humans, who failed to see the obvious below the surface.
'Tyler, I need you to stay around for a while, yes? I need the London Group to be as close to full strength as possible for a while. I'm going away for a little trip.'
'Hunting trip, Bruno?'
'Just scouting about and a spreading good will. Ah, danke.' He accepted his sandwich from Helen as she sat at his side, placing two plates of food before them. Her grey eyes were on him, watching intently.
'Good will?'
'I am going to Australia to see the group in Penrith. They asked for one of us to visit to establish a good working relationship. They said they had found something for us to share.'
Even Tyler found this odd. 'They want to be part of the London Group? That's not possible...'
'They have not much down there. Not much Hunter-Seekers, not much other races as they put it. But they say something big may be there, that there is something in the air, they just do not know what to do because they have not the experience. They want experience, yes?'
Tyler munched sombrely. 'You think it's the Knowledgeable we heard briefly?'
Bruno shrugged.
Helen knew that look. He was hiding something. 'You think it is Flyte?'
Bruno gave a small smile, aware of Helen's particular animosity, but he simply shrugged again and bit into his sandwich.
'If you think that then take more of us. Bring a Hunter-Seeker with you to tag her at least-'
The leader held up his hand for quiet, then wiped crumbs from his full lips. He knew she would want to go because she always wanted to be with him. Sometimes he found her attentions stifling. This was one of those times. 'I doubt there is much in Australia apart from overly enthusiastic and inexperienced Hunter-Seekers. To have more of us visit will make the Penrith Group think that we believe them incompetent. I have misgivings that there will be much down under but if there is I will use the locals or I shall follow the trail myself. As I said, it is mostly to establish cooperation, yes?'
'I could go-' Tyler began.
'No. As leader I think it is best for me to visit. Besides, they hear you talk they'd probably think you were American like we first did. Can't have good will if you start by panicking our Australian friends, yes?'
The Canadian stuffed the rest of his sandwich in his mouth and swallowed coffee. He could never understand why the English couldn't tell their accents apart. 'I'll stay here till you get back then.'
'Good. Helen Allen will be in charge during my absence, of course.'
'Of course.' Tyler's heart sank a little. The fiery Londoner was not his favourite Hunter-Seeker. In fact, if he allowed himself to admit it, he was almost more afraid of her than he was of Bruno Kiel. Bruno had some sense in his head and took on board advice from those around him, even those of lesser races that he had managed to coerce into assisting the London Group's aims, whereas Helen was convinced she knew better than almost everyone. She tried to lead as second-in-command through force, while Bruno led through sheer charisma.
As the agreed leader of the group Bruno was also bestowed the additional ability of his Gift to unite and command his race for the good of the group. Although Tyler had briefly met the Ottawa Group, he had decided to join with the Londoners because of their combined strength and numbers. Both due to the planning of the ex-German leader.
Some of the things the group did made Tyler the individual, a pacifist in his real life, queasy, but if he lived in his Gift - if he was in the thrall of being Tyler the Hunter-Seeker - nothing else mattered but power. All he wanted was to see his group take command of everything and everyone, their rightful place of control. He had never seen such a future for the Ottawa Group, but the London Group... Oh yes, he thought there was a possibility the London Hunter-Seekers just might reach the ultimate goal. He was no Clairvoyant, quite the opposite, but he was smart enough to see they could do it. The first Group in history to achieve their goal. All he had to do was stay with them and do as he was told. He could even put up with Helen Allen for that.
* * * *
Bruno lay in bed that night beside Helen, his eyes open and watching the play of light and shadow across the ceiling. The wind rattled the windows of the top floor of the duplex and the moon slid behind clouds. He had heard the return of the minivan and the arrival of Jimmy and Charles some hours ago, then the sound of them below cleaning up and settling into their rooms. The next three houses in the street were also owned by their Group, as were another two some streets over. Not all of the London Group were Hunters or Hunter-Seekers, unlike the other groups in the world. Bruno had convinced some lesser races to join them with the promise of sharing the power which was to come. Of course, such promises were nonsense as only Hunter-Seekers were to rule, but he could lie as smoothly and sweetly as needed to make others believe him.
He had astonished himself when he managed to convince a Shadowmaker to be an auxiliary part of their group, but this had created unwanted animosity between him and the Mesmer who had been a long-time associate of Bruno's. Keeping the peace between these two and his Curet was always a problem and Bruno found himself constantly smoothing the water between them, praising each in turn and keeping them apart in different locations. Managing to push aside his natural dislike and distrust of the lesser creatures was a chore for Bruno but he kept the ultimate goal in sight and played his part as required.
Helen Allen shifted in her sleep and draped her arm across his bare chest, snuggling close. He wondered sometimes at the depths of her affection for him - or was it for his position? She was a Hunter-Seeker while he was a pure Hunter, and although it should not make a difference it did to him. On the scale of important things the London Group was at the top, but beneath that came the Hunters and then the Hunter-Seekers. In the depths of his mind he knew there was a further segregation than that, one he would never, ever admit to. It would cost him his life. They worked as a group for the good of the group; it was Hunter-Seeker ethics and it was their creed. It was innate within them to do so.
But not in Bruno.
He closed his eyes and listened to the deep breathing of Helen Allen and tried to focus his mind on his imminent journey to Australia. He told himself it was unlikely he would achieve anything of value. Even if they found a newly-emerging Knowledgeable he doubted they would be of much use and he was hesitant to waste his time pressuring a new talent with limited ability. He had been stung by that particular situation before - it had cost his predecessor her position as leader, and her life.
But in the back of his mind there was a glimmer of hope that the Penrith Group had found traces of a more powerful Knowledgeable that could be invaluable in the pursuit of the goal, and Bruno hoped that it was the Knowledgeable who had so recently slipped through their fingers and spoiled the recent Hunt that had resulted in the death of the Knowledgeable Jessica Moorland.
With any luck he would find Etienne Flyte in Australia. It would be a prize he would not have to share with anyone.
* * * *
What I'm aware of now fills in some gaps. Of course, I sometimes wonder how different things might have been if I had known then what I understand now. The capriciousness of Chronicler Gift is almost worse than the Knowledge. Forgive my use of prose - I find it easier to read and understand than straight, cold notes. Besides, Chronicler visions have to be interpreted as they are anything but straight and cold.
* * * *
The Hunter And The Prey
If Brian had known his death was imminent he might not have stayed to continue the fight once his friends had gone down. Instead he might have tried running to escape the young man opposing him even though it would still have been useless. Brian did not know his friends on the ground were already dead; he may have suspected it but he preferred to think they were just unconscious. Hurt. How could they be dead?
It was just one man against them - five young men unafraid of a bit of a fight who had been in a number of stoushes before with supporters against their football club. They had been especially proud of the scrap they'd had with a group of Geordies last year that came to London for one of the finals. Brian and his chums had been through plenty of bother in the past but never had they met just one, scrawny, American backpacker on Clapham Common before.
'I don’t want to hurt you,' Brian warned the thin, mousey-haired tourist. The young man did not reply. He had not spoken more than eight words since the group of them spotted him getting off the bus and setting off across the moonlit park. They decided to have a bit of fun with him, that was all it was. They had been out at the pub for a pint or five that evening and were feeling pretty courageous, and he looked suitably bookish to taunt and bully. Then when he had spoken up and asked them to leave him alone in an American-sounding accent, there was even more to have fun with.
They had pushed the tourist, knocking his small backpack from his shoulders and kicking it despite his pleas not to as it had his camera in it. He had pushed back at one of Brian’s friends, Big Eddie, and Eddie had taken the shove personally and reacted by throwing a punch. It knocked the tourist to the ground and escalated the teasing into the brawl it was always going to become.
Brian still couldn’t quite understand what had happened. They had been in countless such fights before and had seen all sorts of tough guys crumble and turn into meek, bleeding wrecks. He had never seen a guy stand up after one of Eddie’s punches with such a look of black fire in his eyes - such simmering fury. Eddie had tried to hit the tourist again but the young man had growled like an animal, dodged, grabbed Eddie’s fist, and twisted him with such speed and strength that none of them could fathom what had happened until they heard the crack of bone and Eddie’s screams.
The other three reacted together to grab the young bastard and make him pay for hurting their mate. The tourist again somehow evaded two of them, one of his small fists striking Simon in the throat in just the right place and with enough force to crush his larynx. Simon fell back choking, but Rob managed to grab the tourist from behind in a headlock. At least he thought he did, but the scrawny American twisted and then Rob was facing him. Wiry fingers that hardly looked strong enough to hold a pen flexed into pointed knuckles and rammed into Rob’s temples. As Rob fell the tourist spun and his fingers stabbed into Jim's eyes, rupturing his eyeballs. Jim screamed for a moment, blinded and in agony, but then he was gripped under the jaw and thrown into a tree, the hand at his throat holding tight and slamming his head again and again into the wood.
The tourist leaped to his feet with his eyes gleaming black, and his pointed, bookish face frozen in an animal snarl that bared his teeth. Eddie was on his feet again, moaning, his broken arm being held at an odd angle by his other. The tourist kicked into Eddie’s sternum, and again bones cracked. Eddie could barely breathe let alone scream but there was no time for either. He hit the ground and the young American stomped his heel again and again into the place he had just kicked, rupturing the heart beneath. Without a pause the tourist used the body as a stepping stone to jump to Simon, who was still holding his throat and gasping but he also now held a large knife in defence.
The young tourist paused, cocking his head and assessing the threat, then dodged a lacklustre attack with the blade and grabbed his attacker’s wrist, bending his elbow and driving the blade still in Simon’s hand up into the underneath of Simon’s jaw. There was a gurgle and Simon collapsed. Casually the tourist kicked the handle of the knife to drive it in further.
It was then that the scrawny young man turned his attention to Brian, who had been frozen in place watching as his friends were dispatched in a matter of seconds. 'I don't want to hurt you,' Brian said again with even less conviction than before. The other man did not move, but his lips twisted into a thin smile. His eyes glittered. Presented with the option of running for his life or fighting, Brian chose to fight. The alcohol still made him feel invulnerable, made him feel more angry for the plight of his friends than frightened for his own safety. He took a step towards the tourist but the American stood still. Waiting. Brian readied himself to strike but it was only at the last second he heard the noise behind him. He spun and saw the three coming approaching, slightly crouched, one with a cricket bat and the others with knives that gleamed in the moonlight like their black, black eyes. It was the young woman with the long hair, the one that reminded him of his sister, that gutted him.
'They called me American,' Tyler moped, drinking his black coffee and settling into a wooden chair at the Laminex table in the small kitchen of the old duplex. A young woman with long brown hair bustled about at the sink behind him making herself tea and sandwiches, barely listening.
'You sound like one,' she said.
'Canadian accents are totally different.'
'Not to us.'
He grumbled and sorted through his bag. 'They didn't break my camera, at least. I got some good shots of London Bridge at sunset.'
'You're such a tourist. And I bet you mean Tower Bridge. London Bridge is nothing to look at.'
He shrugged. The last thing he wanted after all that fuss was to have a conversation with Helen Allen, let alone an argument. What he did want was food. Using his Hunter Gift used up any energy he might have had stored from lunch. He didn't want the additional conflict of asking the tomboyish Helen for a favour, however - he had endured enough fighting for one night.
A thirty-something broad shouldered man with the lean muscular build of a greyhound entered the room, glancing over the Canadian and heading towards the sandwiches. His wavy dark hair was shaggy and matched the deep brown eyes and lush lashes set into his tanned, oval face. He moved with the easy, heavy grace of all Hunters but on him it settled comfortably like his casual, twill and denim clothes. Whereas the others in the group seemed innocuous, mundane even, Bruno Kiel drew some attention. There was nothing extraordinary about him that others could see but the rest of the Hunter-Seekers saw deeper and would follow his every command, written, verbal, or thought.
'Cheese and chutney sandwiches,' his voice was deep with a hint of German roots. 'Make me one, too, Helen.'
The woman immediately set about doing so. Tyler spoke up: 'And for me, please.' She curled her lip at this but caught a glance from her leader and did as she was asked.
'So, Tyler,' Bruno sauntered over to him, smiling. 'You started a fight, yes?'
'I didn't but I finished it.'
Helen Allen snorted. 'I finished it!'
'Where are Jimmy and Charles? Cleaning up the mess you made?'
Tyler took a gulp of coffee. 'Yeah. Down to the south somewhere. Look, it wasn't my fault-'
Helen slammed a plate on the table in front of Tyler, the cheese and chutney sandwich bouncing from the blow. 'It's always your fault.'
'Helen,' Bruno's gentle reprimand was enough to calm her down. She knew better than to go against the leader. With a muttered apology she returned to preparing food.
The leader sat down on the chair opposite Tyler, watching him eat. Bruno exuded gentle patience and politeness - in a minatory way. Only the most fearless of Hunters were unfazed by him. Them and ordinary humans, who failed to see the obvious below the surface.
'Tyler, I need you to stay around for a while, yes? I need the London Group to be as close to full strength as possible for a while. I'm going away for a little trip.'
'Hunting trip, Bruno?'
'Just scouting about and a spreading good will. Ah, danke.' He accepted his sandwich from Helen as she sat at his side, placing two plates of food before them. Her grey eyes were on him, watching intently.
'Good will?'
'I am going to Australia to see the group in Penrith. They asked for one of us to visit to establish a good working relationship. They said they had found something for us to share.'
Even Tyler found this odd. 'They want to be part of the London Group? That's not possible...'
'They have not much down there. Not much Hunter-Seekers, not much other races as they put it. But they say something big may be there, that there is something in the air, they just do not know what to do because they have not the experience. They want experience, yes?'
Tyler munched sombrely. 'You think it's the Knowledgeable we heard briefly?'
Bruno shrugged.
Helen knew that look. He was hiding something. 'You think it is Flyte?'
Bruno gave a small smile, aware of Helen's particular animosity, but he simply shrugged again and bit into his sandwich.
'If you think that then take more of us. Bring a Hunter-Seeker with you to tag her at least-'
The leader held up his hand for quiet, then wiped crumbs from his full lips. He knew she would want to go because she always wanted to be with him. Sometimes he found her attentions stifling. This was one of those times. 'I doubt there is much in Australia apart from overly enthusiastic and inexperienced Hunter-Seekers. To have more of us visit will make the Penrith Group think that we believe them incompetent. I have misgivings that there will be much down under but if there is I will use the locals or I shall follow the trail myself. As I said, it is mostly to establish cooperation, yes?'
'I could go-' Tyler began.
'No. As leader I think it is best for me to visit. Besides, they hear you talk they'd probably think you were American like we first did. Can't have good will if you start by panicking our Australian friends, yes?'
The Canadian stuffed the rest of his sandwich in his mouth and swallowed coffee. He could never understand why the English couldn't tell their accents apart. 'I'll stay here till you get back then.'
'Good. Helen Allen will be in charge during my absence, of course.'
'Of course.' Tyler's heart sank a little. The fiery Londoner was not his favourite Hunter-Seeker. In fact, if he allowed himself to admit it, he was almost more afraid of her than he was of Bruno Kiel. Bruno had some sense in his head and took on board advice from those around him, even those of lesser races that he had managed to coerce into assisting the London Group's aims, whereas Helen was convinced she knew better than almost everyone. She tried to lead as second-in-command through force, while Bruno led through sheer charisma.
As the agreed leader of the group Bruno was also bestowed the additional ability of his Gift to unite and command his race for the good of the group. Although Tyler had briefly met the Ottawa Group, he had decided to join with the Londoners because of their combined strength and numbers. Both due to the planning of the ex-German leader.
Some of the things the group did made Tyler the individual, a pacifist in his real life, queasy, but if he lived in his Gift - if he was in the thrall of being Tyler the Hunter-Seeker - nothing else mattered but power. All he wanted was to see his group take command of everything and everyone, their rightful place of control. He had never seen such a future for the Ottawa Group, but the London Group... Oh yes, he thought there was a possibility the London Hunter-Seekers just might reach the ultimate goal. He was no Clairvoyant, quite the opposite, but he was smart enough to see they could do it. The first Group in history to achieve their goal. All he had to do was stay with them and do as he was told. He could even put up with Helen Allen for that.
* * * *
Bruno lay in bed that night beside Helen, his eyes open and watching the play of light and shadow across the ceiling. The wind rattled the windows of the top floor of the duplex and the moon slid behind clouds. He had heard the return of the minivan and the arrival of Jimmy and Charles some hours ago, then the sound of them below cleaning up and settling into their rooms. The next three houses in the street were also owned by their Group, as were another two some streets over. Not all of the London Group were Hunters or Hunter-Seekers, unlike the other groups in the world. Bruno had convinced some lesser races to join them with the promise of sharing the power which was to come. Of course, such promises were nonsense as only Hunter-Seekers were to rule, but he could lie as smoothly and sweetly as needed to make others believe him.
He had astonished himself when he managed to convince a Shadowmaker to be an auxiliary part of their group, but this had created unwanted animosity between him and the Mesmer who had been a long-time associate of Bruno's. Keeping the peace between these two and his Curet was always a problem and Bruno found himself constantly smoothing the water between them, praising each in turn and keeping them apart in different locations. Managing to push aside his natural dislike and distrust of the lesser creatures was a chore for Bruno but he kept the ultimate goal in sight and played his part as required.
Helen Allen shifted in her sleep and draped her arm across his bare chest, snuggling close. He wondered sometimes at the depths of her affection for him - or was it for his position? She was a Hunter-Seeker while he was a pure Hunter, and although it should not make a difference it did to him. On the scale of important things the London Group was at the top, but beneath that came the Hunters and then the Hunter-Seekers. In the depths of his mind he knew there was a further segregation than that, one he would never, ever admit to. It would cost him his life. They worked as a group for the good of the group; it was Hunter-Seeker ethics and it was their creed. It was innate within them to do so.
But not in Bruno.
He closed his eyes and listened to the deep breathing of Helen Allen and tried to focus his mind on his imminent journey to Australia. He told himself it was unlikely he would achieve anything of value. Even if they found a newly-emerging Knowledgeable he doubted they would be of much use and he was hesitant to waste his time pressuring a new talent with limited ability. He had been stung by that particular situation before - it had cost his predecessor her position as leader, and her life.
But in the back of his mind there was a glimmer of hope that the Penrith Group had found traces of a more powerful Knowledgeable that could be invaluable in the pursuit of the goal, and Bruno hoped that it was the Knowledgeable who had so recently slipped through their fingers and spoiled the recent Hunt that had resulted in the death of the Knowledgeable Jessica Moorland.
With any luck he would find Etienne Flyte in Australia. It would be a prize he would not have to share with anyone.
* * * *