“That should do it,” Lizanne said, slipping from Anatol’s grasp and tossing the rifle back to its owner. She drew her revolver and caught the Electress’s eye. “Unless you would rather lie here and wait for them to recover their wits.”
She moved on without waiting for a response, draining all three vials of her remaining product before accelerating into a Green-powered run towards the disrupted regiment. A dozen or so troopers fired at her but she was moving too fast, the bullets whipping harmlessly at her back. She made for the cannon on the right flank, now fully unlimbered but still unfired as the crew dithered over what to do. Deciding not to allow them the time to reach a decision, Lizanne sprinted to within thirty yards of the cannon and leapt, unleashing a blast of Red as she sailed over the battery. The intense wave of heat ignited the crew’s powder store, blasting them and their twelve-pounder apart in a bright orange fire-ball. The explosion had the added benefit of finally overturning what reserves of courage remained to the cavalrymen. The entire regiment broke as one, their line fragmenting as they turned and ran for their tethered horses.
Lizanne came to earth amid a party of stragglers, most of whom wisely kept running, although she was forced to shoot an overly dutiful corporal who felt obligated to aim his carbine at her. A growing, angry murmur drew her gaze back to the parade-ground. The escapees were rising, their ranks swollen by a steady tide of convicts still streaming through the gate. The mob’s previous angry roar had changed now, the sound concentrated into a simmering, hungry growl. Dust rose as the horde cleared the parade-ground and swept over the dry grass beyond. It mingled with the drifting gunsmoke to obscure the dreadful spectacle as the citizens of Scorazin reached the milling ranks of Imperial troops, however the screams were ample evidence of vengeance being enthusiastically slaked.
Lizanne staggered a little as the last of Julesin’s sub-standard product faded from her veins, leaving a residual nausea and weariness. She wandered back to the remnants of the cannon she had destroyed, slumping against an upturned gun-carriage. She knew she should be looking for Tinkerer amidst all this chaos but her fatigue was suddenly undeniable.
“Emperor’s balls, but you look terrible.”
She raised her gaze to regard a tall figure reining in a horse a few yards away. Arberus slid his bloody sabre into its scabbard before leaping from the horse’s saddle. He rushed to her side, reaching out a steadying hand as a wave of fatigue threatened to topple her to the ground.
“You always say the sweetest things,” Lizanne replied, raising a hand to brush away a patch of bloody grime on his chin. “Please don’t feel compelled to apologise for your tardiness, otherwise I might find myself quite undone by your abundance of affection.”
“Can’t account for bad luck,” he said, his gaze betraying a certain guilty defensiveness. “Seems the Thirty-eighth Imperial Light Horse stops by every few months to drop off their prisoners. They arrived just as we started our charge.”
Lizanne cast a gaze around at the carnage revealed by the thinning smoke. Many convicts were either busily looting the troopers’ bodies or squabbling over the spoils. Others could be seen rushing off in all directions, keen to put as much distance between themselves and Scorazin as possible. Most, however, stood around in loose groups, faces writ with confusion or fear. These were the gang members and veteran inmates, those who had spent years behind the walls and now had either no notion of what to do with their sudden liberty or a grimly realistic understanding of their situation. Winning freedom was one thing, keeping it was another.
“How bad was it?” Arberus asked, casting a dark glance at the city before moving closer to clasp her forearms.
He thinks I might have been raped, Lizanne realised with a pang of bitterness as she detected the reluctance in his tone. How terrible for him. “I achieved my objective,” she said, disentangling herself. “Now I have to secure him. Do you have it?” She held out her hand, ignoring the hurt that passed over Arberus’s face.
“Loaded with the finest product the Brotherhood could find,” he said, reaching into his pocket to extract the Spider.
“I should hope so.” Lizanne took the device and strapped it on, groaning in relief as she injected a dose of good-quality Green. “We need to gather the Brotherhood,” she said, straightening and striding off. “I suspect a difficult negotiation awaits us.”
? ? ?
“You can fuck right off, my dear.”
The Electress stood amidst a pile of gathered weapons, barrels and sundry valuables looted from the battle-field and the guard-house. The surviving Furies were arranged at her back, each now sporting a rifle or cavalryman’s carbine. Anatol had taken up position on Atalina’s left whilst between them stood the notably less substantial person of Tinkerer. The assembled ranks of the Brotherhood were drawn up behind Lizanne, along with Makario, who remained understandably nervous of placing himself in proximity to his erstwhile employer. Thanks to the losses inflicted by the constables and Imperial soldiery, the ranks of the Furies were somewhat thinner than Lizanne might have expected, meaning the two groups were roughly even in numbers.
“If this one’s such a prize,” Atalina went on, drumming her stubby fingers on Tinkerer’s head, “it’d be awful foolish of me to just hand him over to you, don’t you think?”
“The Ironship Syndicate will ensure you receive a substantial reward,” Lizanne replied.
“Your syndicate isn’t here,” the Electress pointed out then nodded at the assembled Brotherhood. “All you have is this pack of rebels and it’s sound odds they haven’t got a pot worth pissing in. Besides which, what use is gold now?”
The Electress raised her thick arms, gesturing at the corpse-littered field and the guard-house, which the former prisoners had been quick to set ablaze after a thorough looting. “You said it yourself, they can’t let this go unanswered. Right now there’ll be messengers galloping to the nearest garrison. Within a week there’ll be an army sweeping this province.”
“Then hadn’t you best be on your way?” Korian said, stepping to Lizanne’s side. A freshly stitched cut leaked blood on the Brotherhood leader’s cheek as he glared at the Electress. The injury and the comrades lost in the battle apparently left him in no mood for negotiating with those he plainly considered unworthy of his brand of liberty. “I’m sure there are plenty of farm-steads to pillage near by.”