Of Silk and Steam
Page 87
Rigby’s eyes narrowed. “And someone has been keeping secrets. You’re very good, my lord.”
“Caine hired an ex-Falcon to tutor me as a child.”
“There are no ex-Falcons. We go to the grave for our prince.” A damning assessment, for it made Rigby a far more dangerous opponent than he’d seemed. A true believer.
“A sentiment not shared by all, it seems.”
Taking out a narrow cylinder, Rigby snapped it open with the barest flick of his wrist, turning it into a substantial metal truncheon. It was hardly the type of weapon to inspire fear, but in the hands of a trained professional, far more deadly than any knife.
The violent sounds behind him had stilled. Leo spared the Nighthawks the briefest glance, finding Byrnes kneeling over Stanton and pressing hard on his abdomen.
“Byrnes,” he called. Unfortunately there were more lives at stake than Stanton’s. “Take his right side.”
“Aye, my lord.”
With a muttered curse, Rigby shot an anguished look toward the Ivory Tower, then back at the pair of them. “Curse you.” He flipped something from his wrist, and a steel shuriken spun through the air. Leo jerked aside, the hot cut of the throwing star slashing along the outside of his thigh.
Rigby threw himself through the open clock, pressing something at his belt. A pair of metal wings tore through his coat, opening up into some sort of segmented gliding device.
Leo ran forward, catching himself on the minute hand. The next thing he knew, an enormous white flash of light erupted in the sky overhead, turning it molten. Rigby’s head tracked it, then returned to the ground as he focused on landing safely.
The signal.
Seconds to spare. Leo raked the room for anything to help him, settling on an old winch-and-rope pulley used to close the clock face during inclement weather. “Byrnes!”
The man nodded. Grabbing hold of the rope, Leo ran for the window. Byrnes cut through the rope at the precise moment needed.
The warm summer air lifted Leo for a second, his body arcing out past the ten on the clock, then gravity began to take its revenge. He shot downward, stomach plummeting as the ground rushed up to meet him. Rigby was gliding to a halt at the base of the tower.
Ten feet from the bottom the rope jerked hard in Leo’s hands. He gritted his teeth and hung on as he began to swing back toward the tower. Rigby slipped out of the harness of his glider and withdrew something from his coat.
The detonator.
No time to spare. Gauging the distance, Leo let go, plummeting onto the unsuspecting Falcon. They tumbled over each other, the detonator skittering across the ground toward a slim figure in the darkness. An elbow smashed Leo in the face, leaving him no time to look. Grabbing Rigby beneath his arms, he rolled them both until he was on top, grinding the man’s face into the cobbles.
His thigh throbbed, blood spilling down his trousers. Leo pinned the bastard, wrenching his gaze toward the detonator. Lark crouched low nearby, as if surprised to see them. Where the hell had she come from? She was supposed to be at the Warren with Charlie, guarding Honoria and the baby.
“Grab it!” Leo yelled. “But be careful with it!”
Rigby smashed his head back into Leo’s face. Pain exploded out from behind his nose, leaving him half-blinded as a pair of blows smashed into his ribs. Then he was on his back, trying to shake off the blow. Damn it. “Lark! Run!”
Noise was everywhere, filling his head and ringing in his ears, but even over the din he heard the sound of a pistol retorting.
It shocked him out of his pain-induced haze. Lark sprinted toward the gates, and as Leo watched, time seemed to slow down. She jerked, her legs giving way beneath her as red bloomed between her shoulder blades. Like a marionette cut from its strings, she hit the ground, the detonator tumbling from her fingers.
She didn’t move.
“No!” Charlie appeared out of nowhere, his eyes blackening in a haze of rage as he saw her go down. Driven by his fury and grief, he started running toward the Falcon, fists pumping at his side. Tin Man tried to grab him, but it was too late.
Leo exploded to his feet. The boy wasn’t good enough for this… Not ready. Christ, he couldn’t—
Rigby lifted his pistol again, flicking the hammer back with contemptuous ease. The distance between them narrowed, but Leo knew he wouldn’t make it in time.
The pistol barked again, just as Tin Man launched himself at Charlie. They somersaulted out of view as Leo barreled into the Falcon. This time he wasn’t going to let anything distract him. A sharp chop of the fist sent the pistol flying.
Blows drove him back, and he swept them aside with his arms and hands, waiting for that one opening.
It came. Smashing a fist into Rigby’s throat, he followed up with another to the face when the man staggered, clutching at his neck and gagging. Rigby went down, breathing through broken teeth, and Leo scrambled for the pistol, his thigh almost going out from under him. He couldn’t even feel the wound now.
Rigby’s body jerked as Leo put a bullet straight through the man’s brain. Not even a blue blood could get up from that, but Leo coldly put another into him, just in case. He was starting to feel a little light-headed.
Sound rushed back in upon him with a roar—men cheering in the distance and chanting the national anthem. Fires licked the stone walls that guarded the Ivory Tower from the rest of the world. Dozens of macabre shadows danced gleefully against the backdrop of the flames, a nightmarish tableau his eyes couldn’t quite make out.
“No! No!” Charlie had Lark in his arms, rocking her gently. Tin Man lay still beside him, his eyes staring blankly at Leo, with half his jaw blown away, where the bullet meant for Charlie had taken him.
“Fix him!” Charlie screamed at him. The boy had a knife out and was trying to cut at his own wrist. “Help me!”
There was no fixing Tin Man. “Don’t.” Leo’s voice came out tight and dry. “You can’t… It’s too late.”
“It’s not!” Charlie squeezed blood from his wound into the bloodied hole in Lark’s back. A whistling sound came from her chest—still alive, but faintly. The bullet had nicked a lung.
Leo fell to his knees beside the boy. “What are you doing here? Where’s Honoria?”
A guilty, furtive look.
“Bloody hell,” Leo snapped. “You didn’t leave her alone?”
“There’s more’n enough men there,” Charlie retorted. “The fighting’s all here and I’m a blue blood. I can help.”
“Caine hired an ex-Falcon to tutor me as a child.”
“There are no ex-Falcons. We go to the grave for our prince.” A damning assessment, for it made Rigby a far more dangerous opponent than he’d seemed. A true believer.
“A sentiment not shared by all, it seems.”
Taking out a narrow cylinder, Rigby snapped it open with the barest flick of his wrist, turning it into a substantial metal truncheon. It was hardly the type of weapon to inspire fear, but in the hands of a trained professional, far more deadly than any knife.
The violent sounds behind him had stilled. Leo spared the Nighthawks the briefest glance, finding Byrnes kneeling over Stanton and pressing hard on his abdomen.
“Byrnes,” he called. Unfortunately there were more lives at stake than Stanton’s. “Take his right side.”
“Aye, my lord.”
With a muttered curse, Rigby shot an anguished look toward the Ivory Tower, then back at the pair of them. “Curse you.” He flipped something from his wrist, and a steel shuriken spun through the air. Leo jerked aside, the hot cut of the throwing star slashing along the outside of his thigh.
Rigby threw himself through the open clock, pressing something at his belt. A pair of metal wings tore through his coat, opening up into some sort of segmented gliding device.
Leo ran forward, catching himself on the minute hand. The next thing he knew, an enormous white flash of light erupted in the sky overhead, turning it molten. Rigby’s head tracked it, then returned to the ground as he focused on landing safely.
The signal.
Seconds to spare. Leo raked the room for anything to help him, settling on an old winch-and-rope pulley used to close the clock face during inclement weather. “Byrnes!”
The man nodded. Grabbing hold of the rope, Leo ran for the window. Byrnes cut through the rope at the precise moment needed.
The warm summer air lifted Leo for a second, his body arcing out past the ten on the clock, then gravity began to take its revenge. He shot downward, stomach plummeting as the ground rushed up to meet him. Rigby was gliding to a halt at the base of the tower.
Ten feet from the bottom the rope jerked hard in Leo’s hands. He gritted his teeth and hung on as he began to swing back toward the tower. Rigby slipped out of the harness of his glider and withdrew something from his coat.
The detonator.
No time to spare. Gauging the distance, Leo let go, plummeting onto the unsuspecting Falcon. They tumbled over each other, the detonator skittering across the ground toward a slim figure in the darkness. An elbow smashed Leo in the face, leaving him no time to look. Grabbing Rigby beneath his arms, he rolled them both until he was on top, grinding the man’s face into the cobbles.
His thigh throbbed, blood spilling down his trousers. Leo pinned the bastard, wrenching his gaze toward the detonator. Lark crouched low nearby, as if surprised to see them. Where the hell had she come from? She was supposed to be at the Warren with Charlie, guarding Honoria and the baby.
“Grab it!” Leo yelled. “But be careful with it!”
Rigby smashed his head back into Leo’s face. Pain exploded out from behind his nose, leaving him half-blinded as a pair of blows smashed into his ribs. Then he was on his back, trying to shake off the blow. Damn it. “Lark! Run!”
Noise was everywhere, filling his head and ringing in his ears, but even over the din he heard the sound of a pistol retorting.
It shocked him out of his pain-induced haze. Lark sprinted toward the gates, and as Leo watched, time seemed to slow down. She jerked, her legs giving way beneath her as red bloomed between her shoulder blades. Like a marionette cut from its strings, she hit the ground, the detonator tumbling from her fingers.
She didn’t move.
“No!” Charlie appeared out of nowhere, his eyes blackening in a haze of rage as he saw her go down. Driven by his fury and grief, he started running toward the Falcon, fists pumping at his side. Tin Man tried to grab him, but it was too late.
Leo exploded to his feet. The boy wasn’t good enough for this… Not ready. Christ, he couldn’t—
Rigby lifted his pistol again, flicking the hammer back with contemptuous ease. The distance between them narrowed, but Leo knew he wouldn’t make it in time.
The pistol barked again, just as Tin Man launched himself at Charlie. They somersaulted out of view as Leo barreled into the Falcon. This time he wasn’t going to let anything distract him. A sharp chop of the fist sent the pistol flying.
Blows drove him back, and he swept them aside with his arms and hands, waiting for that one opening.
It came. Smashing a fist into Rigby’s throat, he followed up with another to the face when the man staggered, clutching at his neck and gagging. Rigby went down, breathing through broken teeth, and Leo scrambled for the pistol, his thigh almost going out from under him. He couldn’t even feel the wound now.
Rigby’s body jerked as Leo put a bullet straight through the man’s brain. Not even a blue blood could get up from that, but Leo coldly put another into him, just in case. He was starting to feel a little light-headed.
Sound rushed back in upon him with a roar—men cheering in the distance and chanting the national anthem. Fires licked the stone walls that guarded the Ivory Tower from the rest of the world. Dozens of macabre shadows danced gleefully against the backdrop of the flames, a nightmarish tableau his eyes couldn’t quite make out.
“No! No!” Charlie had Lark in his arms, rocking her gently. Tin Man lay still beside him, his eyes staring blankly at Leo, with half his jaw blown away, where the bullet meant for Charlie had taken him.
“Fix him!” Charlie screamed at him. The boy had a knife out and was trying to cut at his own wrist. “Help me!”
There was no fixing Tin Man. “Don’t.” Leo’s voice came out tight and dry. “You can’t… It’s too late.”
“It’s not!” Charlie squeezed blood from his wound into the bloodied hole in Lark’s back. A whistling sound came from her chest—still alive, but faintly. The bullet had nicked a lung.
Leo fell to his knees beside the boy. “What are you doing here? Where’s Honoria?”
A guilty, furtive look.
“Bloody hell,” Leo snapped. “You didn’t leave her alone?”
“There’s more’n enough men there,” Charlie retorted. “The fighting’s all here and I’m a blue blood. I can help.”
