Everything happened fast.
First, above his head, clunks against the wall made him curse. Wood slivers rained on him. Small eruptions followed his progress down. He was being fired upon!
Second, below him, someone else fired. Eleanor. He hoped she was as good a shot as she was a climber.
Third, a sound like a giant snore swelled to a roar before a ball of white and blue flames shot out of cracks in the lighthouse wall near the rooftop. Yells of pain cut the night. A split second later, the topmost portion of the lighthouse literally disintegrated in a ball of blown glass and wood. Shards and other debris and heat buffeted him. For an awful second, Leeford felt suspended in midair, no longer hanging, but floating.
Then he fell.
Eleanor thought her heart would stop when she saw Leeford plummet the last twenty feet or so. Because he had made such a twisted mess of things, he no longer hung over the prototype and herself, but had moved a few feet to the right. Luckily, he tumbled into the wet grass, rolled head over heels twice before springing to his feet, looking euphoric if a bit stunned as he patted himself down for injuries.
With the violence of the explosion, which had just destroyed the top quarter of the tower, debris both small and large began to fall around them. A body did too. Landed a mere foot from her. She did not hesitate to put a bullet into it—man or woman, hard to tell with the awkward position and torrential rain. Leeford must not have noticed where she aimed as he made quick work of rolling the machine into the grass and out of the way.
“The duo-cycler!” she heard him yell. “Hurry!”
Was he mad? “We cannot fly in these conditions!”
“No, but we can drive!” he shot back.
True, but what a mess it would be.
The explosion was sure to have drawn all kinds of unwanted attention, which forced them to roll the wet machine with their hands and feet, managing for a few rotations to pick it up between themselves and carry it until it slipped out of their grasps. Whatever worked, until they came to the crushed gravel path leading to the small hangar where Leeford kept his duo-cycler. While he rushed ahead and opened the doors, she did what she could to move the heavy piece of machinery forward. She managed a few rotations. Good fortune, the thing was so hopelessly awkward and slippery.
“Look!” he said, pointing back toward the house.
She turned to see several dark forms dangling from lines underneath the airship. The boarding party. One seemed to be in difficulty as he twisted and spun before plummeting down to the roof. He flopped along the ridge before slipping into a recess. Divine Graces. There were at least half a dozen people about to breach Leeford’s house. They would realize it was empty. And with the lighthouse now burning bright, the place would be crawling with them.
Where was the Society?
Her heart in her throat, she helped him move the duo-cycler out of the hangar and onto the path. Good thing his was a custom-made design with twice as much power as regular models. They would need every last iota of speed to make a successful retreat.
“Here!” Leeford yelled to be heard. The airship began maneuvering, rotating and firing the engines to deafening levels. Rain made it a gigantic, slicked, bloated larva. “Help me get it up on the seat!”
At the price of several fingernails, she held the machine on the seat then quickly sat so she could keep it put with her legs while Leeford cranked the lever, started the engine and charged back to sit at the handles. Space was tight but he managed with his long legs to stand on the footrests and lean his back against the condensator.
The sound of pistols momentarily drowned the rest. One hand as a safeguard for the precious machine, she twisted and aimed at the pair of dark forms rushing in their direction.
“Hurry!” she yelled. One bullet too close for comfort created a small eruption of rocks by the duo-cycler’s back wheel. “Hurryyy!
After what felt like an interminable wait, Leeford made the engine roar and tore off the path in the direction of the road. She fired several times to slow their pursuers. One of the forms collapsed but was replaced by two. She fired again. And again. Each bullet one more chance to save Leeford. Two more pursuers down.
Leeford maneuvered the duo-cycler onto the road proper, and after one reckless turn that almost knocked the condensator off the seat, he took them around the first bend, negating the enemy’s line of fire. She could have cheered in triumph. But they still had to make it to Aconia intact since it had become obvious her colleagues would not arrive in time. Once they reached her Society-appointed safe house then and only then would she relax and hug this man hard enough to crack a few ribs.
Storm clouds seemed to gather in front for them alone, clustered in tight, roiling fists that dispensed icy rain—shirtless and acting as windjammer, poor Leeford must have been so utterly cold—and slaps of wind that deafened and blinded them. She had no idea how Leeford could drive the duo-cycler in such conditions and without goggles, but he did. Perhaps the Society had sent coaches instead of dragons, which would explain the time lapse. But then again, Leeford was proving to be just as competent and stalwart as any agent she knew.
They came close to disaster on several occasions but he managed to veer them back to safety each time with a brusque tug on the handles or by slamming on the brakes hard enough to make her teeth rattle in her skull. The condensator was so heavy between her legs that she had lost feeling in her feet. The hand she kept on her pistol had long grown numb from cold rain and from keeping unceasing guard. From behind or above would come harm. If it did. That airship could not possibly overtake Leeford’s duo-cycler, but if they hit a snag and slowed, then they would have to either make a stand or try to lose their pursuers. The latter seemed too good to be true. Spark must have realized they had taken the machine with them. Knowing him as she did—in bed but amorous habits provided great insight into a man’s character—he would pursue them without respite. Aloysius was dogged if nothing else.
Just as she was turning back to make sure they were not being pursued too closely, a tiny ball of orange fire burst by the side of the road. Then another—closer. When that one burst, it illuminated the sky in a two-hundred-feet radius. And a pair of small dragons.
“Leeford!” she yelled as she took aim back and high. “They had dragons on that airship!”
She heard a muffled comment she could not interpret.
Eleanor cursed as she fished inside her pack, which she had slung over her shoulder as a messenger would. Most of the weight comprised extra bullets in neat clips of ten. Finding a smooth, disc-shaped item, she pulled it out, kicked a leg over the seat, used Leeford’s shoulder as an anchor to stand and twist back. “Drive steady!”
“Get back down! Eleanor!”
“Drive steady,” she repeated, aiming the pistol at the closer of the dragons.
When a third explosion burst, this time directly in the middle of the road, she took aim and fired a pair of bullets that had only one objective—force her pursuers to dive low and hopefully merge with the horizon. She had been part of enough chases to learn a thing or two about these types of men. They were vicious, sometimes well trained, almost always cunning, but mostly, they were predictable.
She should have gambled a few ecus on her lure for both dragons swerved low to the ground, wide apart to make themselves individual targets. Again predictable.
With her thumb, she pressed on a tiny button in the middle of the disc and threw it as far as she could.
One, two, three.
She could not see it but could imagine the silvery disc bounding along the road a bit slower than Leeford’s duo-cycler.
Five, six, seven.
If she had timed it right. Eleanor squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the telltale blast.
Eight, nine, ten. Now.
Like clockwork, one of her flash grenades, shaped like buttons for ease of concealment, detonated at the precise moment when both pursuers flew overhead, creating a bright ball of white fire throug
h her eyelids, annihilating the pilots’ night vision and giving them a good concussion. She watched, grimly satisfied, as both dragons veered and swerved out of control before they crashed to the ground. No explosion. No sound other than the rain drumming against her skull. She sat back down and grabbed Leeford’s middle.
“What was that?” he yelled out of the corner of his mouth. Rolling hills flattened. The terrain changed. They must have been nearing Aconia.
“A surprise of my own!” she replied through a grin.
All in all, things had not gone too badly considering they had had no backup. And not even a mark to show for their trouble, for which she was grateful. Seeing Leeford plummet to the ground after the lighthouse’s partial destruction had nearly stopped her heart. Horror, fear, abject and all-consuming fear had gripped her throat and not let go until he had snapped back to his feet, looking more surprised than exultant at his little stunt. Good fortune, the thought of losing him still gave her cold sweats.
It took them longer than their first trip, but they reached Aconia, climbed one of the quieter streets and were driving over a metal bridge when they spotted “their” street. The safe house she had been assigned in case of trouble had at one point been a windmill and would be easy to find. And there it was, at the end of a forlorn street that bordered the city proper, a street just wide enough for Leeford’s custom-made duo-cycler. She could detect so sign of occupation. He squeezed into the coach door, waited while she jumped off and searched for a small crevice near the foundation. The brass key gleamed when she pulled it out.
She was about to slip it into the lock when the door opened. She was not quick enough to backpedal and only just managed not to receive one wicked hand-chop aimed for her throat.
“Eleanor!”
She regained her senses just in time to abort the riposte firing her muscles. Mr. Clarence stood in the embrasure, a pistol in one hand.
“Divine Graces, Eleanor! I had not anticipated you would get here so quickly.” He shook his head, stood back from the doorway to make room. “I received your message late this afternoon shortly after our informants reported activity from Spark. Please, come in. Hurry.”
She helped a bewildered Leeford push the duo-cycler into a recess along the wall and followed Mr. Clarence into the dimly lit room. This had to be the humblest safe house she had seen. Maladjusted wood planks for shutters and flaking plaster as walls, coffered ceiling that had seen better days, crooked floor, a narrow bed and a table with a pair of chairs. But in a corner a stove burned bright on fat bowed legs, and its glorious heat helped her forget they had not even a chair each on which to sit. She stood with her back to the stove but made room when Leeford joined her there, his eyes narrowed at Mr. Clarence.
“He is a colleague with the Society. He can be trusted.”
Leeford nodded but said nothing. His reaction surprised her. And bothered her too.
“Mr. Gunn, it is a pleasure to meet you,” Mr. Clarence said, extending his hand.
For a moment, Eleanor thought Leeford would shake it. But he did not. He only stared hard at Mr. Clarence, for the first time since she had known him displaying open animosity.
An uneasy silence lasted for a few seconds before her colleague, looking nonplussed, pulled his hand back. “The journey was a difficult one, I understand your reticence—”
“And I understand why no one made it to my house in time to help.”
“I am sure my colleagues are there by now,” she replied. “Making sure Spark is dealt with.” Something she should have done while he slept in her bed all those years ago.
“Of course,” Mr. Clarence answered. “His hasty departure caught us flatfooted, I am afraid.”
An admission Eleanor had never heard from the wily older man. She wondered at the sudden élan of candor.
“You remind me a lot of my father, Mr. Clarence,” Leeford remarked while crossing his hands behind his back. “The same charming smile and ruthless eyes. I would not shake hands with you if it saved my life.”
“Strong words, Mr. Gunn.”
“No. Honest ones. This would be a new word for you, honesty.”
Eleanor was shocked! Why would he treat their allies so poorly? She cleared her throat and forced her face to remain impassive. Her loyalty belonged to both men. She did not want to betray her emotions and take one’s side and not the other. Still, Leeford’s reaction mystified her. Poor man, he looked so cold and miserable. His lips were blue, his hair wet and clumped, dripped on his naked shoulders. He was quite a mess. She could only imagine how she looked herself.
“My dear,” Mr. Clarence said after a long look at her companion and smoothing his impeccable burgundy velvet jacket. “A word with you.” Lines marred the usually smooth dark brow. What could cause him to show his emotions this way? Eleanor could not remember a single time when Mr. Clarence had not looked the refined older gentleman.
Turning to Leeford, who still stared at her colleague, she acquiesced with a nod.
They left him by the stove. He shivered and turned his back to her. As much as she berated herself for thinking this way, she feared she had just made the wrong choice, given the incorrect answer to a question she had not heard. Failed a test. She shook the silly notion away. Her primary duties lay with the Society. Even if her earnest affection rested somewhere else.
She closed the door and followed Mr. Clarence out and under the small roof where Leeford had pushed the duo-cycler. His condensator gleamed on the seat. Water still pearled on its silvery surface. Her colleague ran a hand over it.
“What a marvel of mechanized beauty. You were eloquent and completely correct in your report, Gunn really is a rare genius.”
“Why must we hide from Leeford? He cooperated fully when I apprised him of the situation, and when Spark revealed himself as his sponsor, he aborted the project. His input would be valuable to us.”
She tried to suppress the fire, dull the edge to her tone, but her colleague must have heard it as clearly as a carillon for he looked at her, dark eyes narrowed, full lips pursed. “Emotional detachment is like a vase of exquisite design and great fragility. Once broken, even repaired one can still see the fractures.”
“I am inclined to believe it gives me greater motivation to achieve my goals.”
“I am inclined to believe it puts a blindfold over your reasoning. But I do not wish to lecture you on the merit—or disadvantage—of human character.” He leaned over Leeford’s machine, peered at the many dials and silver embellishments. “The Society finds itself in a very promising position. We have tried for years to approach Spark. And now we can.”
“We have risked our lives to keep it from Spark. And now we should turn it over?”
“No, not turn it over. Merely dangle it in front of him.”
“Spark is much too sly to be taken by such obvious bait.”
Mr. Clarence shook his head. “The Society disagrees. His thirst to possess this machine will override his judgment. We only need to play our hand carefully.”
Eleanor could not shake her head with more emphasis and not cause damage. “I strongly disagree, Mr. Clarence. Spark would never—”
Her colleague planted his gaze on her in a way he had never done before. Anger and frustration blazed like dark suns. “Eleanor, because you have bedded each man does not make you an expert in their character. The Society has weighed the matter with care. Spark is already on his way here.”
“What?”
The sting of his words—how dare he discuss her amorous choices—was soon drowned in worry for Leeford. “You have told Spark about this safe house?”
“Once we realized the purpose and destination of his hurried travel, we decided it was better to set a trap for him than to interfere directly.”
“You mean offer assistance. We barely made it out of Leeford’s house.”
“I had every confidence in your abilities. That is why we have left a trail, so to speak. One that leads here.”
She re
treated by a step. Rain hit the back of her head, cooled her nape and shoulders. She shivered. Rage replaced horror. “How could you?”
To his credit, her colleague looked shocked by her reaction. “It is for the common good—”
“I do not care about the common good!” she yelled.
The door opened and out stepped Leeford. He stood by her side. Clearly lines had been drawn. “What is going on?”
“We have sprung a trap to catch Spark,” Mr. Clarence said, his smooth mask back on. “I fear Eleanor finds our means distasteful.”
“A trap?”
“Spark is on his way here as we speak. The Society wants to bait him with this.” Eleanor pointed at the glistening machine.
“I do not believe this,” Leeford replied. He threw his hands up, spewed a vile curse. “What is wrong with you people?”
“We protect society, oft times from itself,” Mr. Clarence replied in a smooth voice.
“By baiting madmen with something they can use as weapons? Are you out of your mind?”
“My mental processes are not open to discussion, Mr. Gunn. Yours are. How infantile of you to have built it. You must have known someone would make a weapon of it. Yet you did not care enough to stop.”
“Care? As if you care about anything at all?” Leeford shot back. “I will not let you take it.”
“It is already ours.”
“No,” Leeford said, taking a step toward his duo-cycler. “It is not.”
“Agents are taking position right now. You will be surrounded. With nowhere to go. Why do you not rely on our expertise? You have your role, we have ours.”
“What if someone is hurt?” Eleanor asked, knowing full well the answer.
A sad smile pulled at Mr. Clarence’s mouth. “We will have saved countless. What are a few losses?”
In her haste, she had not secured her second pistol at her thigh, but the one hidden in the backing of her corset was. She had it in her hand within a split second. Old habits. She could not let Spark anywhere near Leeford. She would not allow it. What if something happened and Leeford was wounded? Or worse.
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