The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

her back on her seat. She scrambled up and ran at the other cable—but the suddenly tilting airship and careening gangway had alerted the others to her effort. She saw Lorenz take aim and, before she could do a thing, fire—but his gun was empty! He swore and broke it open, knocking out the empty shells and digging for fresh bullets in his coat. A Dragoon loomed up at Lorenz from behind, but Lorenz noticed her look and spun, firing the two shots he’d loaded straight into the soldier’s chest. He snarled with satisfaction and wheeled back to Miss Temple, rushing again to reload. She did not know what to do. She sawed at the cable.
    Lorenz watched her as he deliberately slotted in new shells. He glanced over his shoulder. Xonck had killed another Dragoon—there were only three left on their feet—one running for Xonck, the others charging the Cabal. Svenson and Roger were a kicking knot of bodies on the ground. The cable was coming apart. She looked up at Lorenz. He inserted the final bullet and slapped the pistol closed. He pulled back the hammer and aimed, striding toward her.
    She threw the dagger, end over end—she had seen this done at carnivals—directly at his face. Lorenz flinched and fired the gun harmlessly, squawking as the dagger hilt caught his ear. Miss Temple ran the other way as she threw, back to the others. Another shot cracked out behind her, but she was small and dodging to each side, fervently hoping Lorenz was less interested in shooting a woman than protecting the cable.
    * * *
    Chang wheezed on one knee over the fallen Macklenburg trooper, Svenson held off Roger with his jeweled dagger, Xonck stood, his boot on the neck of a struggling Dragoon, and near the door were the two Dragoons who had charged the Cabal—one with his arm around the Contessa’s neck holding off the Comte and the Prince. The other stood between Elöise and Caroline Stearne, both on their knees. Neither Macklenburger nor any man in black was visible. Everyone was out of breath, panting clouds in the cold air, and all around the fallen groaned. She tried to locate Smythe in the carnage but could not—either he had moved or was covered with another body. Miss Temple felt herself near tears, for she had not accomplished her task, but then saw the relief on Chang’s face—and then as he too turned, on Svenson’s—simply to see her still alive.
    “What do you say, Sir?” called out Doctor Lorenz. “Should I shoot the girl or the men?”
    “Or should I step on this man’s neck,” responded Xonck, as if the Dragoons by the door did not exist. “Issues of etiquette are always so
difficult
… my dear Contessa, what would
you
suggest?”
    The Contessa answered with a shrug toward the Dragoon who seemed to hold her fast. “Well, Francis, … I agree it
is
difficult …”
    “Damned shame about Elspeth.”
    “My thoughts exactly—I must admit to underestimating Doctor Svenson once again.”
    “It cannot work,” called out Chang, his voice hoarse with exertion. “If you kill that man—or if Lorenz shoots us—these Dragoons will not scruple to kill the Contessa and the Comte. You must retreat.”
    “Retreat?” scoffed Xonck. “From you, Cardinal, this comes as a shock—or perhaps it is merely the perspective of a ruffian. I’ve always doubted your courage, man to man.”
    Chang spat painfully. “You can doubt what you like, you insufferable, worm-rotted—”
    Doctor Svenson cut him off, stepping forward. “A great number of these men will die if they are not helped—your men as well as ours—”
    Xonck ignored them both, calling out to the two Dragoons. “Release her, and you’ll live. It is your only chance.”
    They did not answer, so Xonck bore down his foot on the fallen man’s throat, driving out a protesting rattle like air from a balloon.
    “It is your choice …” he taunted them. Still they did not move. At once he wheeled and called to Lorenz. “Shoot someone—whomever you please.”
    “You’re being stupid!” shouted Svenson. “No one need die!”
    “Reason not the
need
, Doctor.” Xonck chuckled, and he very deliberately crushed the man’s windpipe beneath his boot.
    In a blur of movement the Contessa’s hand flew across the face of the Dragoon who held her, its pathway marked by a spurting line of blood—once more she wore her metal spike. Xonck hacked at the final stunned trooper, who could only parry the blow and then disappear beneath a crush of bodies as Caroline