The room was brighter than the corridor outside. Jimmy took the situation in with a single flashing glance even as he gave more ground and then lunged with a stop-thrust that nearly spitted the eager Skinny. He backed off in turn and they circled, Skinny on the outside, Jimmy turning on his back leg, left hand on hip, point presented from a turned wrist as the Prince had taught him.
There was a man in a rich coat and breeches standing with a curved knife above a naked young man—who must be Bram. Bram had a red line painted down his centre, shouted too. ‘Five thousand gold crowns if you can keep them off!’ the man screamed. ‘Five thousand—a free pardon, and five thousand!’
Even then, Jimmy felt his eyes grow wider. I could buy this manor house with five thousand.
Skinny thought the same. He bounced forward again, grinning even wider, and a trickle of saliva ran down from one corner of his mouth.
Through it all, the chanting ran like millstones grinding at the foundations of the world.
Flora turned a corner, and shrieked. Lorrie was at the other end of it, limping toward her—and the guard she’d stabbed in the leg was limping after Lorrie!
What to do, what to do? Flora thought. Then she shouted, ‘Lorrie! Turn right at the door in the middle of the corridor!’
They sped toward each other, and the cries of the pursuers rose to a baying eagerness. The two girls almost collided; then they threw their shoulders against the door together, swung through, slammed it closed again.
The room was a sleeping chamber, with four double bunk beds, empty except for a clay lamp burning on a table and a single wooden chair. Flora’s eyes searched frantically. ‘Get me that chair! We can prop it against the door!’
Lorrie tried to dash for it, nearly fell as her leg buckled, grabbed the chair and came back dragging it. Flora was reaching for the chair as the door slammed open and together she and Lorrie tried to hold it closed, but the weight of the guardsmen threw them back with brutal force.
The door swung open, and two men crowded each other as they tried to push through at the same time. Flora staggered back until the table struck her buttocks. She threw her hands back on either side to keep from falling and splinters bit painfully at her palms. The men were raving: mouths spewing hate and frustration, their beards glistening with the flaxseed oil from the jars the children had thrown . . .
Flora’s mind moved quickly, but everything else seemed very slow. She half-turned and picked up the clay lamp, careful not to douse the wick by grabbing it too hard. Then she took two steps forward and threw it, watching as it turned to spray the spirits of wine from its reservoir into the men’s faces.
The oil caught at once: not a flare of flame like pine resin, but quick enough, the flames yellow and thick in their hair and beards. Both men seemed to dance in place, screaming as they beat at their own faces and the fire spread to the oil-soaked cloth and leather on their bodies. Flora stood stock-still, watching with wide eyes.
Lorrie took a step past her, stooped to lift one of the swords the men had dropped, grabbed it in a clumsy two-handed grip and swung it over and over again. Her aim was sure, though.
I suppose she’s helped butcher a lot of pigs, Flora thought.
The men went down, twitching and moaning. Lorrie stood panting, the bloody sword in her hand.
The last mercenary stood watching his friends burn, and the sword dropped from his hand. His mouth worked as he backed away from the two women; then he turned to run.
His shins hit Kay’s back at precisely the right height, and he catapulted forward and struck the flagstones with his face. From behind Kay, Mandy stepped forward, a poker in her hand; behind her Neesa came with a candlestick, and Rip with another, heavier one.
I’m getting tired of this, Jimmy thought.
The twin points glittered as they moved. Skinny had a slight bleeding cut over one knee, but it just seemed to make him madder. ‘My gold,’ he wheezed, as he came forward again.
‘I’ll handle him,’ Jarvis Coe said, stepping in beside him.
Skinny and Jimmy both glanced aside. Rox lay slumped against the wall, legs straight out in front of him, looking down as he clutched at his belly with both hands. Blood flowed out between his fingers.
‘You get the sacrifice free!’ Coe barked. ‘Goddess, this is like trying to block four holes with one plug!’
Skinny screamed something and attacked; Jimmy skipped aside willingly.
It was a big room, and the one beyond it was even bigger. Jimmy needed six paces to reach the magician who stood at the foot of the table, hands raised. There was a crawling nimbus about him, more like darkness in a man’s shape than anything else. He leapt forward in an immaculate long-lunge.
Can’t chant with two feet of steel through his lungs, he reasoned.
One of the upraised hands moved. Light exploded behind Jimmy’s eyes, and he screamed in anguish.
‘No!’ Bram howled, as the lad with the rapier staggered backward. ‘No, no, no!’
The old man raised his curved knife, and the magician chanted.
Bram could feel a wind blowing—a wind of rage, and suddenly of air as well. There was a rushing, a woman’s scream that came from everywhere and nowhere.