by Shana Abe
A few hours in, I realized the land below me had changed from forest and roads to roads and clearings. But these clearings weren’t farmers’ pastures or plowed fields. They were too narrow for that, parallel strips that went on and on, bare of any vegetation. I puzzled over them, slowing some, and by the time I glanced ahead and noticed the aeroplanes stationed at their ends, Armand was already pressing his knees into me and wrenching at my mane.
It was an airfield. I’d never seen one before, of course, but it—
We’d been spotted. An alarm sounded; I heard it clear as the bell Mrs. Westcliffe liked to peal at Iverson to herd students from one room to another, only this was shrill and awful and went on and on and on. Figures of men spilled out from structures I hadn’t even noticed, swarming the aeroplanes. A searchlight flashed on and pinned us in white light.
Bad luck for me—I’d been looking at its tower when it lit. I was blinded. Armand was pulling me left, left, and I veered that way without being able to see what I was doing, if I was getting free of that light or just moving into another one.
I heard the unmistakable sound of gunfire. The tat-tat-tat-tat! that I knew meant machine guns unloading their drums.
I supposed I’d find out the range of their bullets after all.
I climbed. The peaceful silence of before had been devoured, eaten up by the clanging of the alarm and the gunfire and the wind that now scoured me, fighting me. I felt Armand tucked close to my neck and heard him shouting, “Go! Go!” and God help me, I was.
Then came the worst sounds of all: engines sputtering to life. Propellers spinning, hacking the air.
I grimaced, trying not to imagine them hacking me instead.
My vision began to filter back, shapes and colors returning. We’d left the airfield behind and were over roads and pasture once more. I didn’t think the searchlights had caught us again—hopefully we were too far beyond them—although I could still hear that blasted alarm.
And then the aeroplanes taking off.
I looked back. Two, three … five of them right behind us. Armand met my eyes, then twisted to look back, too.
Six. Seven.
And they were getting closer. The wind had turned against us and it made all the difference, but I’d wager it meant nearly nothing to the engines of those planes.
Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!
Bullets strafed by. One zinged off a barb on my tail, sending me into a spin.
I spiraled out of it, ducking and dodging, dipping and soaring. At one point Armand lost his seat entirely and was floating over my back, holding on with just his hands, but I couldn’t stop, because the aeroplanes were roaring closer and closer, and they were relentless.
I should Turn. I should go to smoke. But I didn’t know if Armand would, too—if he could, even, but I didn’t know, and since I didn’t know, I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t leave him and just let him fall and bloody well hope he figured out what I meant for him to do before he ended up a smear on the ground—
There! There was a town up ahead! Surely the pilots wouldn’t continue to fire over their own people?
I slitted my eyes and straightened for speed, the wind screaming now, gunfire puncturing the night in wide-open arcs to the left and right and above.
So I dropped lower, and the dull yellow burn of the streetlights was just there, and the first of the buildings swept into view. I flew over rooftops so close my talons scratched sparks from their shingles. I couldn’t tell if the pilots were still firing, but it didn’t matter; I had to slow, so I opened my wings and fought the rush of the world whipping past us.
Not all the streets were lit. I aimed toward a section of shadows, finding a lane of cobblestones, plowing into them.
More sparks; the lane ripped apart. A brick wall hurtling toward my face, too late to avoid.
I angled my head and took the blow, and everything flashed white like the searchlight, then black.
I opened my eyes, or thought I did. Everything was still black.
Maybe I’d gone blind.
Maybe I was dead.
But someone was holding me. Someone who smelled of pine trees and sea salt and desperation. His lips were pressed to my temple. His breath blew ragged against my hair.
“Wish I’d had a cannon for a tail,” I mumbled, and passed out again.
The next time I regained my senses was much more unpleasant. The world was no longer so opaquely black, but murky and dingy and sickeningly blurry. Somewhere nearby dogs were barking, an entire army of them, with a weirdly jabbering chorus of human voices lacing through. My head felt as if it would split apart.
All of me, all of me, hurt.
Armand was gone. I lay alone on something itchy and hard.
Had we been captured?
I rolled to my side, made my way up to my elbows. Beneath me was a shabby felt blanket spread over a stone floor. A stale breeze swirled by, and I sneezed, cramping my stomach and sending everything even blurrier and more nauseating.
Where was Armand? What were they doing to him?
I tried to stand. The world tipped sideways, and I found myself on my hands and knees with my head hung down, gasping.
Very well. I’d sit first. That seemed … not entirely unreasonable. I leaned back carefully, making it to one hip, and that was when I realized I was wearing the calico dress I’d bought a lifetime ago back in England. Back when I’d been so secretly thrilled to have something as simple as a new dress all my own, and never once really thought for a second about the consequences of what I was about to do next, promises made, lords to save …
I exhaled past my teeth and covered my eyes with one hand. It helped to tamp down the nausea.
Armand was beside me suddenly, supporting me by the shoulders, urging me back to the ground.
“Stay there. Don’t try to stand.” He was speaking in a voice so low it was nearly a hiss. “I don’t think anything’s broken, but I couldn’t be certain, and you took a nasty blow to the head.”
“Where … ,” I began, but couldn’t seem to finish the thought.
“A warehouse. A vacant one, at least so far.” His hands pressed me against the blanket. “We’re a couple of blocks from where we came down. They haven’t searched here yet.”
“We need to …” Why couldn’t I think straight?
“We will. Just—just rest a moment, all right?”
All right.
I lay back and covered my eyes again, listening to him pad away. He was moving swiftly, doing something with the knapsack, I could tell, because I heard the tins clinking around inside it.
A match was struck. I heard it, smelled it. I lowered my hand and turned my head and saw him crouched in a corner far from me, a pile of papers before him writhing with flames.
He was burning the maps.
As soon as the last one crisped to ash he stood, scattering the soot with the sole of his boot. Then he returned to me.
“I’ve stashed the rest of it. We’ll come back for it later. Right now we need to disappear. Do you think you can Turn to smoke?”
I groaned. The sound of the dogs barking grew louder and louder.
“Then, can you stand?”
“I …”
“Come on, Lora. Come on, love. We have to get out of here.”
“Out there?”
“Yes.” He was pulling me to my feet. “They might not know where that dragon machine went, but they heard the crash and they’ll be looking for its pilot. We can’t be discovered hiding.”
“I need … stockings. Shoes.”
He’d dressed me in the frock but had forgotten that part. I wasn’t wearing my chemise, either. If we were going to step out of this place with any hope of blending in, at the very least I shouldn’t be in my bare feet.
He ran back to the knapsack, which he’d stored on a shelf beneath more of the felt blankets, and returned with my shoes.
That was fine. The thought of bending over to slide on stockings made my throat close with sick.
I shoved my feet into my pumps. I leaned against him and we made our way to the door, which was big and rusted and looked like it would squeal to the heavens if jarred. I heard people beyond it, rapid footfalls.
Armand was whispering in my ear as we walked. “You’re my wife. You’re shy, you’re pregnant, and you’re ill, got it?”
“Yes.”
“Ja,” he corrected me.
“Ja.”
“Hell. Your accent is atrocious. Just nod, okay?”
I pushed a lock of hair from my cheek, glancing up at him. He paused, taking me in, then moved behind me. He gathered all my hair past my shoulders and began quickly to braid it.
“If anyone talks to you, asks you questions or anything, you look at me. That’s it. Don’t try to answer. Act like I’ll beat you if you answer.”
I nodded, managing to keep my head in one piece by holding both hands against my temples. I didn’t know where he’d learned to braid a woman’s hair, and right now I didn’t care. All that yanking and pulling; it was as if an elephant was attempting to groom me.
He finished and stepped around to face me again. He clasped his hands around my upper arms and bent at the knees until our eyes were level. He looked disheveled and determined, bruised and mussed. In the half-light of the warehouse, he looked like he felt worse than I did.
“We need to blend in for a while. There’s a crowd gathered out there, and we need to be in it. But if things go bad and you can escape, I want you to. Turn if you can. Whatever it takes.”
“Not without you,” I said.
“Yes, without me! Don’t worry about me! I can Turn, too, remember?”
I rubbed at my scalp. That’s right. I’d forgotten. He could Turn now. Couldn’t he? It had something to do with the stars.…
A dog snuffled up to the door. It caught the scent of us and let out a deep, frightened bark before skittering off.
“Time’s up,” Armand said, and pushed open the door.
He kept her as close to him as he could, their arms linked. She was a featherweight against him, her head to his shoulder, her steps matching his. He tried to walk slowly because he knew that would be better for her, but the people hustling past them weren’t going slowly. They were running. Some sprinting. An enemy aircraft had been downed, right here in their very own town, and everyone wanted to be able to say, Did you see?
A mob of young men—too young to be soldiers yet, still just a shade too young—jostled roughly by, shouting and laughing, deliberately knocking elbows and shoulders. Light as could be, Armand snatched the hat off a straggler and slipped it behind his back, but the fellow didn’t notice. He was calling to the others, hurrying to catch up with his mates.
Mandy settled the hat over his head and pulled the brim low, and the wound above his eyebrow was gone as if it’d never been.
Dawn had arrived in a sweep of green clouds above them, the sky brightening into blue turquoise. If there were any stars left out, he didn’t see them, and he damned well didn’t hear them.
Could use a spot of help right about now, he thought anyway. Bloody Jesse. Wherever you are.
But all he heard were people and dogs. A far-off whine of aeroplanes, likely out searching for their hides, too.
He was hoping for a pub, an inn, someplace where he could take Lora and tuck her away until that mirror-glazed look was gone from her eyes. It was so early in the morning, though. Surely there’d be a coffeehouse. Something.
He’d meant to steer them away from the crowd, but it was proving impossible. It appeared the entire population of the town had emerged from their beds to throng the streets, everyone flowing in the same direction. Before he knew it, they were at the beginning of the lane Lora had ravaged, the very place he had carried her from not an hour past. People were picking up chunks of cobblestone, exclaiming, as men dressed as soldiers and police attempted to keep them back. Dogs shimmied through legs, sniffing and winding toward the wall in the distance, which even from here looked as if it’d been struck by a train.
The dogs were bloodhounds.
Shit.
Lora’s fingers tightened over his arm as the nearest of the hounds fixed on them and began to howl. He pulled her closer and tried to angle them away.
Another dog approached on stiffened legs, hackles raised. It pinned them with wild eyes and joined in the howling. On the left came a third.
Armand swiveled all the way about. With Lora clamped to his side he began to ram his way through the people, as rude and fleet as the gang of boys had been.
“Sir,” called a voice behind them. “Sir! A moment, sir!”
He didn’t stop. He scanned the street for any way out, an alley, a store—but there were no alleys and all the stores were shuttered. The next intersection was a good thirty yards away.
Eleanore was breathing heavily. She staggered against him, losing her balance, and he hauled her upright and kept shoving though.
“Sir! You there, in the leather coat! Young woman! You are commanded to stop!”
All the damned dogs were baying at them now, baying but, thank God, not pursuing.
Animals distrust you, Lora had told him once, when she’d been trying to convince him of what he was. And it was true, they did, they always had; he’d never had an easy time of it learning to ride, he’d never had a pet of any sort, because animals wouldn’t go near him if they had a choice about it, not since he was a lad. These hounds were no different, but by the gods, he wished they’d shut up—
He pushed past the elderly couple in front of them and came up short against a man in the navy blue uniform of a police officer.
Everyone else around them melted back into a circle.
“Good morning,” said the officer pleasantly. He was tall and broad and black-haired, with a fresh nick on his chin from the morning’s shave. He studied them both, from Armand’s white-knuckled grip on Lora to her small, breathy gasps. “Perhaps you’re unaware that my colleague behind you has been attempting to speak with you?”
“Has he?” Armand sent a glance over his shoulder, feigning doubt. “I fear we never heard him. It’s chaos back there. All those dogs.”
“Yes. All the dogs.” Another look, longer, harder, at Eleanore. “If you would both be so good as to come with me?”
Despite the phrasing, Mandy knew it wasn’t a request, and that there wasn’t going to be a quick way out of it, either. There were policemen on all sides of them now, a handful of soldiers sprinkled in. One of the soldiers broke rank and came forward.
“These people need to be interviewed by the major.”
“Certainly, if he wishes,” responded the policeman, amiable. “Right after I’m done with them.”
“Sir, I must insist—”
“Do you imagine this man and woman are the enemies you seek, captain? Do they look like daredevil pilots to you?”
“The dogs,” said the soldier stubbornly.
“Ah, yes. Well, the dogs can interrogate them after the major, I suppose. We like to keep a sense of order around here.”
The crowd broke into laughter.
“This way,” said the policeman to Armand.
Lora was staring into the distance, pale and frowning. She gave a slight, nearly imperceptible shake of her head.
She couldn’t Turn yet. Mandy wasn’t even certain he could. He felt jittery and oddly unfocused. When he thought about smoke, the sensation of dissolving, all that came back to him were the words don’t leave her.
As if he ever would.
One of the onlookers gave him a sharp thump on the back.
They followed the policeman.
The police headquarters seemed nearly deserted. He wondered over that, until he realized most of the force was probably outside searching for mechanical dragon parts. The officer led them to an office with a frosted glass door, waved at them to sit, then took his own seat behind a desk.
He removed his hat, placing it gently upon a corner of the desk. Light from the ope
n balcony doors behind him gleamed off the oil in his hair.
“Your names, please?”
“Karl Abt. This is my wife, Gitta. We’re visiting from Bonn.”
The man smiled at Eleanore. It seemed warm and friendly enough, but something about it struck a chill down Armand’s spine. Something both curdling and familiar.
I know you, he thought, unsettled.
“Your occupation?”
“Bookseller.”
“Bonn is a fair city. Why did you decide to visit us here?”
“We’re on our way to Königsberg. We have family there.”
There was a notepad and pencil in front of him, but the man wasn’t taking notes. He was watching Lora, watching her as a cat would watch a moth trapped against a windowpane.
Like he wanted to creep closer. Lick his lips.
“Your hotel?”
“The Crown Prince.” He’d glimpsed it on the walk here.
“Ah! Then you’ve met my friend Magnus. He works there.”
“I’m afraid we haven’t had an opportunity to mingle with the staff,” Armand said stiffly.
The policeman had eyes the color of gunmetal. Hunting eyes, focused and rapt.
“Mrs. Abt, forgive my poor manners. You seem winded, my dear. Would you enjoy a glass of water?”
Right on cue, Lora looked at Mandy. He returned her gaze, allowed himself a trace of a self-satisfied smile, and answered for her.
“My wife is with child. You know how it goes, she’s always needing this or that. Water would be welcome.”
“Vogler,” said the policeman, not even raising his voice.
“Yes, sir?” Another man appeared at the doorway, standing at attention.
“Escort Mr. Abt to the facilities. Let him fetch a glass of water for his wife.”
“Yes, sir.”
Shit.
Armand remained in the chair, unable to move.
“It’s not far,” said the police officer to him. “Go on.”