The Final Storm

04. Flat Race

"I 'eard some of what 'appened in there, and know just what ye gotta do now..."

Eagerly, Adaira took a step towards this helpful stranger. "And what is that?"

"Why, letting me cheer ye up, of course, lad!" Seductively, the woman sidled closer and struck a pose. "Army didn't want ye? Too young? Don't ye worry, I do. For just a few quid, I'll make ye feel better."

Adaira froze. Then she took a deep breath and sent an icy glare at the woman. One even her brother would be proud of. "You will, will you?"

"Oh, aye! Why don't we find a nice, quiet place so I can make a man out of ye?"

"That might be more difficult than you think."

"Don't ye worry." The woman—Adaira firmly refused to call her "lady"—sidled even closer, batting her eyelashes seductively. "I've done this for lots of people like ye."

"Somehow, I very much doubt that. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have matters to attend to. Apparently, I must grow some hair on my chest."

Shouldering past the other woman, Adaira stalked down the street.

"Harrumph! Noodle arms? Stick legs?" She threw a baleful glare back at the recruitment office. "I'll show you stick legs! Preferably by kicking you in the butt with one of them!"

Adaira squared her shoulders, filled with renewed determination. So she had suffered a temporary setback. So what? This wasn't the only recruitment office in Britain. And if need be, she could always get drunk and sing bawdy songs in front of the Palace of Westminster. That was practically a guaranteed way to get into the British Army.

But, for now, she thought as she glanced up at the sun dipping below the rooftops, I'll have to find a place to stay for the night. Luckily, that shouldn't be too difficult, right?

At least that was what she thought till she remembered that her brother was Mr Rikkard Ambrose, billionaire business magnate and owner of more than half the hotels in the United Kingdom. If she wanted to avoid being caught by her brother, waltzing into one of his establishments was definitely not the way to go.

The search lasted for hours. Finally, she found a bed-and-breakfast in the suburbs that offered far too reasonable prices to be owned by her dear brother. The view that met her eyes when she stepped inside was a comfortable common room with dark wood furniture along the walls, lit by a cheerful fire crackling in the brick fireplace. From behind the counter, a motherly woman in a flower-patterned dress gave Adaira a warm smile.

Excellent. This looked like a nice place to rest. All Adaira needed now was a good night's sleep, and tomorrow, she would go find another recruitment office and convince everyone there what a marvellously manly soldier she could be!

"Why, hello there, deary." The portly woman welcomed Adaira with a jovial nod. "What can I do for you today?"

"I would appreciate a room. I'm rather tired, and would like to turn in early."

"Just one room?" The proprietress's eyebrows rose. "What about your parents, lad? Ain't you a bit young to be out and about on your own?"

Adaira took a deep breath. "I am a perfectly mature man, thank you very much!"

"Really?" The look she received was stuffed to the brim with scepticism. "You ain't even got a speck of beard on your chin, lad. And your arms are as thin as noodles. How old are you? Fifteen? Sixteen?"

"Twenty-one!" Adaira declared boldly.

...minus three and a half, but she doesn't need to know that.