by Vicky Savage
“Sweet Giza. I’ve never used my gun on anyone before,” she says, a note of panic in her voice.
“Then why do you carry it?”
“We carry them on explorations, in case we run into dangerous situations.”
“Well, this may be a dangerous situation. You can wait in the carriage if you like. Patrick will come with me. I’ll need to borrow the gun, though.”
She rolls her eyes. “Do you even know how to use a handgun?”
“Not really, but it can’t be that hard. Point and click, right?”
She laughs. “I’m coming with you. I said I’d help, and I will. No way I’m turning over my gun to a diva with an itchy trigger-finger. You’d probably shoot yourself in the foot or something. Then Asher would really have my ass.”
We reach the cutoff, and Patrick turns the carriage onto the small, rutted road leading to the abandoned mill.
I lean my head out the window. “Patrick, let’s not announce our arrival. Find a place to pull off to the side.”
After a few yards, he steers the carriage into a small opening in the trees. We’re jostled and bumped around for a time, but when we stop, we’re completely hidden from view of the road. Eve and I climb out while Patrick secures the horses’ reins. He extinguishes the lanterns on the harnesses and removes the lantern on the right side of the carriage.
“Do you know exactly where the Skorplings are being held?” Patrick asks Eve.
“There’s an office on the first floor. They were in there, last I saw them.”
He nods. “Your Highness, allow me to go ahead and assess the situation. We must determine how many men are present.”
The idea of sending him out there alone troubles me. He’ll probably try to play the hero to spare me, and get himself killed in the process. It’s smart to exercise some caution, though.
“All right. Go ahead, but stay hidden. Do not go in alone, Patrick. That’s an order. If you’re not back in five minutes, we’re coming after you.”
He bows and slips stealthily into the woods.
“Patrick’s very protective of you,” Eve whispers.
“Yeah, he took a sacred oath,” I say peering into the darkness.
“He’s also delectably hot in a kick-ass kind of way.”
“Well don’t get any ideas. He’s Domerican, you’re a Transcender. That’s too far for a long distance relationship and, I can tell you from experience, Domericans are not open to ideas like inter-dimensional travel. It would just freak him out.”
“You sure don’t practice what you preach, do you?”
“I haven’t signed up for the whole Transcender program like you have. I may decide to settle down and live life like a normal person—well, semi-normal anyway.”
Several minutes pass, and I’m on the verge of going in myself, when Patrick steps out of the trees.
“I checked the building,” he says. “It is deserted and in total darkness. It’s not clear if the Skorplings are still there.”
My stomach clenches. “God, I hope we’re not too late. If they’ve taken them out of the country, I may never see them again.”
THIRTY-THREE
Patrick leads the way with the lantern. We traipse single file through the forest until we come to the old building. Its hulking, ramshackle carcass crouches black and foreboding against the night sky.
“The office is here,” Patrick whispers. He moves to one side of the building where rickety wooden steps lead to a landing with windows and a door. We creep up the steps, and Patrick shines the lantern in a window. Peering around the edge of the glass, it’s difficult to tell, but it appears empty other than a desk, a few chairs, and some cabinets.
“The door is locked,” he says. “Shall I force it open?”
“Yes,” I say.
Eve and I stand to one side and Patrick slams his boot into the door near the lock. It nearly flies off its rotted hinges, cracking loudly as it smacks against the wall. We cautiously step inside. Holding the lantern high, Patrick makes a slow three-sixty turn around the room. Nothing.
“We’re too late,” I say, deflated. “Still, I suppose we should search the rest of the building before— Arrgh!” Something drops down onto my back. I reach around and grasp a furry little arm.
“Fred, is that you?”
“Jay here. Jay here,” he says excitedly, crawling into my arms.
“Where’s Ethel?” I ask.
“There.” He points to the top of a tall cabinet. Patrick raises the lantern, illuminating Ethel cowering terrified in a corner.
“Ethel, come here, Sweetie. It’s Jay,” I say.
She shrinks further into the crook of the wall, her eyes large and frightened.
“I’ll get you. Stay there.” The cabinet’s too high for me to reach her, even standing on a chair. “Patrick, help me with this desk. Eve take Fred for me.”
Patrick sets the lantern on the dusty desk, and we push it across the floor to the cabinet. Climbing on top, I hold out my arms for Ethel. “Come to Jay, Ethel. Let’s go home.”
“Don’t touch the animal.” The guttural command comes from the direction of the shattered door.
In the lantern light I make out two grimy, thug-types standing in the doorway, swords at the ready. Patrick immediately draws his sword and swings it at the large man in front, who deftly parries the blow. The smaller greaseball slips away from the fight and charges toward Eve.
“Give me that monkey,” he shouts.
Fred jumps from Eve’s arms and scampers to the top of the cabinet. Eve backs away, reaching under her coat.
“Stop!” the man roars.
Patrick steps back and scoops Eve up with his left arm, holding her out of harm’s way while skillfully fending off the two assailants with his sword. Leaping from the desk, I draw my katana. The smaller thief turns toward me, a homicidal glint in his eyes.
“Put that toy away, girlie,” he sneers.
Gripping the katana with both hands, I raise it high, and take a lunging swing at him, while simultaneously screaming my lungs out. He backs away quickly. Fear momentarily flickers through his treacherous eyes. Pointing his sword at me, he makes small circles with the tip. I spring at him again, lashing out with my sword and narrowly missing his arm. His face registers fiery rage, and he foolishly charges me.
Stepping lightly out of his path, I carve a slice across his back, as his momentum carries him past me.
He shrieks in pain and comes at me again, swinging his sword wildly. The man’s obviously a street fighter, relying on strength and aggression, rather than skill. Maneuvering easily out of his way, I land another shallow strike on his thigh, while letting out a blood-curdling war whoop. This seems to undo him completely. Nearly collapsing, he manages to steady himself against the wall. A look of disbelief dulls his eyes, as he swipes at the blood on his leg. Holding my katana high, I shout once again, and make another run toward him. Gripping his injured leg, he dashes for the door and vanishes into the night.
Across the room, Patrick and the larger of the two thieves are locked in a fierce duel. Eve wriggles and twists until she finally manages to break free from Patrick’s grasp, momentarily distracting him. Seizing the opportunity to pounce, the thief skewers him through the right arm. Patrick’s weapon clangs to the floor. His attacker raises his sword for the death blow. I dive across the room, already knowing it’s too late to save him.
A blast echoes through the air, and I watch in horror as the thief’s sword hand explodes into bloody bits of bone and finger. His weapon falls away from its mark. Crying out in agony, the man clutches his bloody arm to his side. Eve holsters her gun and rushes to help Patrick.
The wounded Skorpling thief snatches up his sword with his left hand and points it threateningly at me. I’m not afraid of him in his current condition, but I have no intention of killing the guy either. What I’d like to do is take him back to Warrington Palace and interrogate him to find out who he’s working for. But that’s not really practical,
with Patrick lying bloody on the floor.
Stepping back, I gesture the dirt bag out the door. He darts past me, and disappears into the darkness.
Eve kneels at Patrick’s side, examining his arm.
“Is he all right?” I ask.
“He needs a tourniquet,” she says. “Sorry Jade.” She pulls the black scarf from her head, and winds it around Patrick’s arm. Her arctic-blond hair forms a shimmering halo around her head. Patrick watches her in wonder.
“This is a nasty wound,” she says. “Possibly a nicked artery.” Eve unbuttons her coat and snaps open the pouch on the left side of her holster belt. She withdraws a small rectangular case, and unfastens the lid. The case contains three vials.
“What’s that?” I ask. “What are you doing?”
She pulls out one of the vials, pops off the cap and plunges the tip into Patrick’s arm.”
“Eve! What did you give him?”
“Relax,” she says calmly. “It’s just a mixture of antibiotics, painkillers, and a cool new drug that coagulates the blood, but only at the wound site. State-of-the-art, stuff. But, we’d better get him back to the carriage before the painkiller kicks-in. He’ll be totally out of it for hours.”
She props him up into a sitting position and glares at me. “A little help, please.”
I drape Patrick’s uninjured arm across my shoulders. Eve does the same on the other side. Together we hoist him to his feet. A bit groggy, he’s still able to stand.
“Patrick, can you walk to the carriage?” I ask.
He focuses on me. “Yes, Highness. So sorry.”
“Shhh. Save your strength,” I say. “Fred,” I call into the darkness.
“Jay?” he says timorously from the top of the cabinet.
“I’ll be right back to get you. You and Ethel stay there. All right?”
“All right, Jay.”
Eve and I manage to half-carry, half-drag Patrick back to the carriage. She opens the door and climbs inside. I push from behind while Eve pulls, and somehow we manage to pile Patrick onto one of the bench seats.
“You stay with him,” I say. “I’ll get the Skorplings and be right back.”
“We’ll be fine,” she says brightly, cradling Patrick’s head in her lap. I do a mental eye-roll and trot back for the Skorplings.
Ethel’s more cooperative this time, and readily comes to me. A Skorpling in each arm, I jog to the carriage, and plunk them down on the seat opposite Eve and Patrick. “Watch them,” I tell Eve. “Don’t let them get out.”
“On it, chief.”
Hastily, I clamber into the driver’s seat of the carriage. I’ve never driven one of these things before, but how hard can it be, right? Searching everywhere for the reins, I finally realize they’re still tied to a tree. Hopping down, I unfasten them, remembering to turn on the headlamps hooked to the horses’ harnesses.
Once I climb back up with the reins, it becomes painfully clear that we’re blocked-in by the trees. We can’t go forward. I’m going to have to back this freakin’ thing out. How in the hell do I do that?
“Jade, hustle it up. Patrick needs a doctor,” Eve calls from inside.
Resisting the urge to scream, “Shut up,” I shinny down again, hoping to control this thing from the ground until we’re back on the road. Planting my feet firmly in front of the horses, “Back,” I command in my most authoritative voice. “Back!”
They don’t budge.
I flick the reins. “Back.” Leaning forward, I use both hands to push firmly against the chest of the lead horse. “Back up you mangy beast!” Amazingly he begins to back up. “Back. Back. Back,” I chant, shoving against the animal. Miracle of miracles, the carriage eventually makes it out onto the road. Scrambling into the driver’s seat again, I crack the reins and yell, “Hah.” The horses jump into action. Okay, this is good. I urge them into a canter, praying we make it home without any surprises.
As we approach the palace gates, the dumbfounded guards hustle us through, realizing something must be dreadfully wrong if I’m driving. Another small carriage trundles along the lane in front of us. Yanking back hard on the reins, I try to slow the horses, but our momentum propels us forward, and we nearly run the little coach off the road.
The horses come to a halt in front of the palace steps, and the smaller carriage clatters up behind us. I jump down from the driver’s seat as Ralston emerges from the other carriage. He’s dressed in a black overcoat and white silk scarf, as if he’s been to town.
“Princess Jaden, what is the trouble?” He asks bowing. His eyes expand to saucer-size when he notices my blood-spattered clothing.
“It’s Patrick,” I say. “He’s wounded. We found the Skorplings,” I add.
Ralston quickly signals for assistance, and several servants rush to help us. I gently lift Ethel and Fred from their seat, still frightened and quivering, and kiss them both on their furry little heads.
“I’ll take them,” Maria says, descending the stairs in her robe. She gathers them in her arms.
A small crowd has assembled around us, and I recruit two men to help me with Patrick. Eve pushes herself into the corner of the bench, and flips up the collar of her coat attempting to appear as inconspicuous as possible. The men carefully ease Patrick from the carriage.
“Take him to my room,” I say. “And send for the doctor.”
Ralston touches my arm. “Your Highness, perhaps they should take him to my room.”
“Oh, right. Take him to Professor Ralston’s room.”
“Yes, ma’am,” one of the men says. “Does the lady need any help?” he asks nodding toward the carriage.
Oh god. What do I do with Eve? I shake my head. “No. Just see to him, please.”
Ralston pokes his head inside the carriage, and glimpses Eve scrunched in the corner. “Oh my,” he says softly. He pulls the white scarf from his neck. “Perhaps you could use this, my dear,” he says passing the scarf to Eve.
After a moment Eve’s face appears at the carriage door. Ralston extends his hand, helping her descend the steps. Even though the white scarf is draped over her head and around her shoulders, her presence causes a wave of curious chatter to ripple through the crowd. No doubt, everyone is wondering who the mystery woman is, and what the princess has been up to this time.
“Eve, come with me,” I say. “Maria, please see if Cook has something for the Skorplings to eat. Then bring them to my room. They’ll spend the night with me.”
“Yes, Princess.” She sniffs Ethel’s scruff. “They require bathing also, but it shouldn’t take long.” She carries them to the stairs.
“Professor Ralston, I’ll check with you later on Patrick’s condition,” I say.
“Of course. Goodnight, Your Highness.”
Taking Eve’s elbow, I guide her up the palace steps. “Eyes straight ahead,” I whisper, ignoring the inquisitive stares.
We collapse into the chairs in front of the fireplace in my room. Eve uncoils Ralston’s scarf and fluffs out her hair. I extract the bloody katana from my belt and lay it next to my chair, thinking I’ll clean it later.
“Thanks for saving Patrick’s life,” I say. “That was an impressive shot. I thought you said you never used your gun before.”
“I said I never used it on anyone before. I have about a dozen medals for excellence in marksmanship, though.” She wrinkles up her forehead. “Do you think that guy’s going to be okay? The one I shot, I mean.”
“He’ll have to learn how to fight left-handed, but I suspect he’s still fit for a life of crime. Do you want a cup of chamomile tea?” Ralston’s magic tea will be relaxing after our little escapade.
“Got any chai?” she asks shucking off my coat.
“No chai here, but you’ll like this.” I pull cups from the cupboard and put the water on to heat.
“So what was all that yelling you were doing back there?”
“Oh, that’s kiai. In Kendo, you shout to focus and to express your spirit vocally. I
think it’s also supposed to scare the hell out of your opponent.”
“Yeah, well, it’s kind of unnerving to your allies too. I thought you were wounded.”
“That never occurred to me. I probably should’ve warned you before we left.”
“What should I do with these?” she asks holding out my coat and Ralston’s scarf.
“Just lay them over there.” I gesture to the elaborate hope chest.
“What’s all that stuff I saw you put in there?” she asks.
