An itch between my shoulder blades told me that someone else had decided to take up where he left off. I managed to get my sword up in time, but the force of the attack drove me to one knee. Then I kept on falling because Louis-Cesare took the bend in the road on what felt like two wheels, barely missing the front row in the bleachers. I managed to grab hold of a skull to keep from being slung across the deck, and got a close-up look at the tourists’ expressions as the crisped bunting dusted their tennis shoes black. Luckily, the sudden movement had also caused my opponent to stumble. He went down on hands and knees as I rolled and got my feet back under me.
Unlike the human, this one knew damn well what a sword was for, probably because he’d wielded one for centuries. Our weapons clashed together, high over our heads, as we both vied to trap the other’s under our own. I was outclassed strengthwise, and my overtaxed shoulder failed me. The vamp grinned as he twisted my sword downward, and I accepted the inevitable with a grimace. Damn, this was going to hurt. A jarring shock traveled up my arm to my abused shoulder as I buried the stake in his ribs. He stared at me in shock, apparently surprised to discover that I had two hands. He died before the grin faded from his face, little bubbles of blood on his lower lip.
Casanova staggered by, the human attached to his back making a damn good try to saw his head off, while a vamp tried to skewer him from in front. “I thought you’d deserted!” I yelled, as another sailor lunged at me.
“Not for lack of trying,” Casanova gasped, prizing the human off his neck and tossing him half a dozen feet at my opponent. The two men lurched around the deck for a few seconds before falling backward off the float. “And I thought you said that maniac could drive!”
I shrugged. “Compared to me…” A human jumped me, and had time to see my grin before doubling over in agony as I forcefully kneed him in the groin. I kicked his sword away before he could remember he had one, and followed up with a blow to his temple, rendering him unconscious. I’d had to kick him, because my shoulder was threatening to go on strike if I lifted that cutlass one more time. I stood watching Casanova battle half a dozen crew members, my chest heaving from exertion, and accepted the fact that I couldn’t help him.
I pulled up the trapdoor and dropped down beside Louis-Cesare. “Change places,” I said, trying to push his butt out of the driver’s seat.
“Quoi?” He looked up from frantically shifting gears. “What is it? What is happening?”
“Casanova needs help, and I’m in no shape to provide it. Move!”
To my surprise, Louis-Cesare moved. He launched himself up on deck while I tried to figure out the mess of gears. He’d gotten us turned, but I was left with keeping us from plowing into the flag-waving, bunting-covered mass ahead. I stomped on the brakes and discovered that they were a lot more sensitive than I’d thought. A crew member who must have been standing too close to the prow went sailing past my small peephole into the road. I’d practically stood the float on its head, but at least we’d stopped.
I poked my head out cautiously, in time to see most of the crew go over the side for the second time that night. Several of the rest were down, and judging by their condition, they weren’t going to be getting up again. A trio of vamps were more resilient, and had ganged up on Louis-Cesare. They were busy regretting that decision. The damn man was annoying, but there was a slight chance that he deserved his reputation.
He pinned one vamp to the mainmast by running him through with a sword, until it came out the other side of the wooden post. He took the vamp’s own weapon from his thrashing hand to throw at the second. It didn’t take him out, but even a vamp will be slowed down by a cutlass sticking out of his midsection. The third he knocked into the rigging with a savage elbow to the neck. The vamp in question had been behind him at the time, but his aim was perfect. I made a mental note not to try sneaking up on the guy.
Casanova had apparently decided that his backup had things well in hand, and had located a spot where the bunting had all burnt off, allowing him a flame-free zone to drop to the road. I leapt after him and grabbed his hair, only to have the long black wig come off in my hands. I threw it to the asphalt and got a grip on his shirt instead. “Where are you going?”
He shot me an evil glance and retrieved his wig. “Elsewhere.”
“Not until I get what I came for! You owe me.”
“Then I’ll have to keep on owing you. The Circle raided Dante’s this morning and confiscated the lot. You want weapons? I suggest you see them.”
“The dark wouldn’t dare—”
“It wasn’t the dark.” He began making rude gestures at the float behind us, the crew of which had started yelling for us to get a move on. “Although it’s getting a little hard to tell the difference these days.”
An angry George Washington hopped down from the next float in line and came stomping over to see what the holdup was. Casanova moved toward him, obviously spoiling for a fight with someone he could actually beat up, but I grabbed his arm. “But that goes against the treaty! The Senate will—”
“Swallow the insult. We’re at war, and the Silver Circle is the Senate’s ally, in case you’ve forgotten. They reminded me of that fact at length when I very politely requested reparations. ‘We’ll address that after the war,’ ” he mimicked bitterly.