A traitor's fate

. . . Galen had not accompanied Liam and Dubhal, and Sean wasn’t sure he wanted to know what had happened to the traitorous weasel. Liam would only say that the lad had served his purpose. . .  

D: Did we kill him?

A: What?! Who?

D: Galen, the traitorous weasel (As an aside, do you really think that Sean would think that way?).

A: (He’s been around you lot for a month; he’s absorbing the vernacular.)

D: (Oh, I see. Makes sense. Continue.)

A: No, but I didn’t want him around anymore. He was a mean, cruel young man and he was giving me the creeps.

D: Oh.

A: You sound disappointed.

D: Well . . .

A: If it’s any consolation, you and Liam gave him to the O’Flaherty’s.  They will deal with him appropriately.

D: So maybe they off him?

A: Off him? God, what have you been watching? Do I get cable up here or something?

D: (Shrug)

A: Does it matter? You have smoke bombs.

D: Yes. Yes, I do.

A: (Face palm)

Previously. . .  

. . . Sean grinned. Galen’s expression was shifting from one of pride to bitterness.

“I think, Master Galen, that you had outlived your usefulness. I think, as you sit here bandying your fancy words, that you may have outlived your usefulness to us. What is to stop me from telling the lads here that we ought to do what your benefactor nearly did, and drown you in the sea?”

Galen twitched at this, but rallied. “Nothing, except the lass,” he said quietly, glaring at Sean and daring him to contradict.

“Aye, the lass, Maureen,” Sean said, putting emphasis on her name. He let it hang there in the silence of the hold, waiting. He felt Liam and the others tensing. Grasp of English or no, the mention of Maureen’s name let them know he’d come to the information the boy – and the boy’s handlers – wanted them to discover.

“She wasn’t part of the plan, was she,” Sean mused, watching Galen betray himself. A dark grin spread on Sean’s face. Maureen had been Galen’s last hope at life; saying her name was merely a test to determine how dear Maureen was to them.

Sean dropped down to one knee, close to Galen. He gestured silently, staying the others. He could feel their intense watchfulness. At the periphery of his vision, Sean watched Phalen and Dubhal put their hands on the hilts of the closest sheathed weapon in their personal arsenals. Galen was watching him closely. . .

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