Behind them, an ape barreled through a long wrought-iron fence. It scattered panicked dignitaries and gawking commoners alike across the thoroughfare. With frightening intent, the brute paused in its rampage and plunged a mighty arm into the tumbled crowd. It grabbed up Prime Minister North in a crushing grip.
Kate started at a run, fumbling for a vial to load into her crossbow. By the time she fought her way across the yard, close enough for even a desperate shot, the prime minister had stopped screaming and was dangling limp in the ape’s large hand. The gorilla poised to strike at the slender figure of Mrs. North, who watched the scene of horror. The ape’s loud roar fluttered Grace North’s hair and satin dress. To Kate’s amazement, the woman didn’t flinch. She simply stood staring at her husband. She must be in shock, Kate thought, and ran all the harder, dodging people and debris. Then Grace’s hands lifted from her sides, palms open in what appeared to be supplication before the great beast. Her head cocked, as if she were studying the murderous animal with scientific curiosity.
The gorilla suddenly shuddered and, before Kate’s eyes, withered. It seemed to shrink in size and muscle mass, hunching to the ground as if it lacked the strength to hold itself upright. The distinctive silver tinge on its furry back spread to cover the rest of its dark hair until it looked old and feeble. The prime minister slipped from the quivering grip of the collapsed ape. He crumpled at the feet of his wife, who knelt slowly beside him. His face was still and bloodless. Her delicate hand rested on his motionless chest.
Kate ran up and fell to her knees, reaching for a vial of her elixir vitae, although she doubted it would be of any help now. Before she could administer it, the prime minister gasped and shot up into the embrace of his wife. Grace North looked neither distressed nor ecstatic over his abrupt recovery from what Kate had perceived as near death. Kate glanced back at the ape. It was alive, but barely. Its dark brown eyes were watching them with fear and confusion. It no longer was a terrifying monster but a sad, decrepit creature. Kate actually felt sorry for it.
Her attention returned to Grace North and her husband. The woman was cooing over him and telling him how brave he was. Then Grace flashed a radiant smile at Kate. “Thank you. He would have died without your heroic intervention. England owes you much.”
Kate stared at her, not sure how to respond.
Inside Westminster, wooden pews burned like seats in Perdition. Flames flew from the bare hands of the enraged Irishman. Malcolm crouched behind a colossal column at the foot of the choir as liquid fire rushed around him, singeing his skin and hair. He took the moment to reload his weapon.
Malcolm looked above him at the stone arches coated in flame. Penny wasn’t visible through the smoke and fire. He hoped she had gotten out and was angling for a better position to blow this elemental bastard to kingdom come.
The wave of fire that had swept around Malcolm ceased. All magic users, whether magicians like Simon had once been or elementals like the Irishman, used aether. Ferghus had used it wastefully, spending far too much of it in a single attack. Malcolm now had precious seconds to take him out before the aether recharged. He braved the terrible heat, feeling it soak into his face. He spun toward the choir and emptied his pistols. They roared in a rhythmic song, as the self-ratcheting gears aligned the quad barrels one after the other. The Irishman couldn’t form another heat shield so he dropped to the ground as bullets peppered stone memorials behind him. Malcolm holstered his guns and rushed forward, leaping onto the Irishman. His fists pummeled the man’s head, hoping to keep him disoriented.
“Come on, you bloody Paddy,” Malcolm shouted into his opponent’s face. “Or don’t you have the bollocks to take me on?”
Ferghus’s temper consumed him as quick as his flames. He surged up and they fell against the ornate choir screen, rolling under the organ loft. Malcolm felt Ferghus’s fingers starting to burn as they dug into his face. The fire elemental’s power was coming back. Malcolm fumbled for one of his spent pistols and slammed the thick barrel against Ferghus’s head. The man reeled and his grip weakened. Malcolm kicked out from under the elemental as flames started to coat the man’s face and hands in a blazing drape. Malcolm’s trousers caught fire, but he had no time to put them out. He ran toward a column to get behind it. Heat surged at his back and he knew he wasn’t going to make it in time.
A boom sounded from the top of the choir and a shell exploded where Ferghus stood. It rocked the church. The organ loft shimmied, then settled. Dust fell through the shafts of colored light. Penny lowered her smoking blunderbuss. Soot covered her triumphant face. She pushed ash-coated goggles above her eyes to see the damage she had wrought. She let out a low whistle of amazement.
“Jesus Christ, woman!” shouted Malcolm, extracting himself from beneath an iron candlestick that had shaken loose from a column.
“Would you rather be roasted, you ill-tempered Scotsman?” she shot back.