The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

Xonck—the women particularly. “Throw down your weapons and—”
    “It really is not possible, Captain.” This was Harald Crabbé. “If we are not in Macklenburg in two days, our entire effort is undone. I do not know what this rabble has told you”—he gestured vaguely to Miss Temple, Svenson, and Chang—“but
I
can tell you they are unscrupulous killers—”
    “Where is Mr. Blenheim?” Smythe interrupted Crabbé without care.
    “Ah! An excellent question!” cried Crabbé. “Mr. Blenheim has been murdered—and by
that
young woman!”
    He pointed an accusing finger at Miss Temple, and she turned her eyes to Smythe, wanting to explain, but before she could get the words from her mouth the Captain tipped his brass helmet toward her in salute. He looked back to the Deputy Minister, whose condemnation clearly had not had the expected result.
    “Then she has saved me the trouble—for Mr. Blenheim murdered one of my men,” answered Smythe, and then he bawled at them with a harshness of command that made Miss Temple jump. “Put
down
your weapons! Get
back
in the house! Your effort is
undone
as of this minute!”

    The crack of the pistol echoed flatly from the roof into the open air, the sound somehow less intrusive than the impact of its bullet, which spun Captain Smythe and knocked him forward to his knees, his helmet bouncing from his head. Miss Temple spun to see Doctor Lorenz, a smoking revolver in his hand, standing underneath the gangway. Without an instant’s hesitation Xonck strode forward and landed a sweeping kick on the Captain’s jaw, knocking him sprawling on his back. He turned back to the men behind and screamed aloud, his eyes disturbingly bright.
    “Kill them!”
    The rooftop exploded into mayhem. Lorenz fired again, bringing down the nearest Dragoon. The two Macklenburg troopers clattered down the gangplank, sabers drawn, with a clotted German war cry. The men in black dashed forward after Xonck, cudgels raised, some with pistols, snapping off shots where they could. The Dragoons, stunned by the attack on their officer and taken wholly wrong-footed, finally leapt to their own ragged defense. Blades swung wickedly through the air and errant bullets whipped past Miss Temple’s ears. She fumbled for the dagger at the same time Chang seized her shoulder and thrust her toward the airship. She caught her footing and turned to see Chang parry a cudgel with one of his blades and bring the other down deep into the shoulder joint of one of the black-coated men.
    He turned to her and shouted,
“Cut the ropes!”
    Of course! If she could shear through the cables, the craft would rise by itself, drifting derelict across the sea—there was no way they could reach Macklenburg inside two
weeks
! She dashed to the nearest mooring and dropped to her knees, sawing away with the dagger. The cable was thick hemp, black and clotted with tar, but the blade was sharp and soon clumps were twisting away, the gap she opened straining wider as the weight of the airship exerted its pull. She looked up, tossing the curls from her eyes, and gasped aloud at the hellish bloody confusion.
    Chang fought one of the Macklenburgers, trying without success to work his shorter blades past the much longer saber. Xonck’s face was spattered in blood as—now with a saber—he traded vicious blows with a Dragoon. Doctor Svenson waved his spear like a madman, keeping his assailant at bay. Then Miss Temple’s eye was drawn to the Comte…and the flickering flash of blue beneath his arm. The Dragoon facing Xonck stumbled and his blade arm sagged, as if it had suddenly become too heavy. In an instant Xonck’s blade flashed forward. A second Dragoon abruptly dropped to his knees—only to take a bullet from Doctor Lorenz. Miss Poole stood in the door, shrouded in her cloak, overwhelming the Dragoons one at a time on the Comte’s instruction. Miss Temple screamed for help and desperately sawed at the cable.
    “Cardinal Chang! Cardinal Chang!”
    Chang did not hear, still dueling with the German soldier and fighting for his life—his cough piercing through the din. Another man went down, dispatched by Xonck. The remaining Dragoons saw what was happening and charged the knot of figures at the door, cutting down two more of the black-coated men in their way. At once the Cabal scattered—Crabbé and Roger stumbling into Caroline and Elöise, the Contessa screaming at Xonck, the Prince and Lydia dropping to their knees,