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He bandaged her as best he could and then, mating her belt with his, improvised a pistol-belt carry. Bent over beneath her weight, he staggered onto the cycle and got it going again. He dared not stay in the path of the mosstroopers, and he would not leave her behind.
Into the dark they rode.
Once, briefly, Je
Shaken, Will said, "I'm sorry if I—"
"Oh, I don't mean that in a bad way." Je
"Hang in there. I'll have you to a medic soon."
Will rode as fast and furious as ever he had before.
Some distance down the tu
Carefully, Will lowered Je
Xylia of Arcadia knelt over Je
Will stared down the corpse. It was a gray and pathetic thing. Je
After a long silence, Tatterwag stooped over the body. "I'll take her pistols for a keepsake." He stuck them in his belt.
"I'll take her boots," Xylia of Arcadia said. "They won't fit me, but I know somebody they will."
One by one they removed Je
"The bird, the warlike bird," said Xylia of Arcadia.
'With whirring wings," said Drumbelo.
"She wishes to change herself," said the Starveling.
"Back to the body of that swift bird," said Tatterwag.
"She throws away her body in battle," Sparrowgrass concluded.
Already, freed of her élan vital and any lingering attachment to her possessions, Je
The staging area, when they finally got there, was in an uproar. The platforms swarmed with haints, feys, and gaunts, carrying crates, barrels, and railroad ties to add to the growing barricades, and moving guns and munitions to hastily improvised emplacements. One leather-winged night-gaunt flew up the tu
Porte Molitor Station had seemed a good base because it was located where the A, C, and E lines split from routes 1, 2, and 3 and was not far downline from the subsurface exit, thus giving easy access to all four potential war zones. But Porte Molitor was a ghost station, built but never used, and so it did not open to the surface. Now, with retreating soldiers converging from every front and scouts reporting that the enemy was advancing through all three tu
"Who's in charge here?" Will shouted. "What are all these soldiers doing on the tracks? Isn't anybody in charge?"
"Lord Weary has placed Captain Hackem in command of the defenses for the left Uptown tu
"Hjördis!" Will cried in astonishment. "You're back."
"Everybody's back. All the johatsu who fled have returned to the tu
"But why?" Earlier, Will had urged the lady-thane not to abandon Lord Weary's cause. Now he knew his counsel had been wrong. She had left and been right to do so. She should have stayed away.
"I don't know " Hjördis looked stricken. "It defies all reason. Perhaps there is a compulsion on us. But if so, it is of a force greater than any I have ever known or heard rumor of, for it drives a multitude."
"Where is Lord Weary? If anybody understands this mystery, it will be he."
"Lord Weary charges you to consult with him before the battle begins. On what matter, he does not say." Hjördis turned away. "Now I must leave. I have a held hospital to oversee."
Will watched her leave. Then he turned to Tatterwag and held out a hand. "Give me your combat knife."
Knife in hand, Will clambered over the barricade and kick-started his bike. Then, though it broke his heart to do so, he plunged the knife into the fuel tank. Gasoline sprayed into the air and drenched the ground. Up and down the tracks he rode. the ties made it a teeth-rattling ride and spread the gasoline from wall to wall before the kawasaki sputtered to a stop.
"There!" he roared when he was done. "Now, when the hellhounds come sniffing after us, this will render them nose-deaf!"
That done, he strode off to confront Lord Weary, Tatterwag in tow.
The Downtown tu
"What the fuck are you doing?" Will demanded.
"What the fuck does it look like I'm doing?'' Little Tommy Redcap lifted his voice: "Yo! I need more primers here!"
"It looks like you're preparing to bring half the buildings in the Bowery crashing down on our heads."
The haint who came ru
"You think I'm afraid of dying?" Little Tommy Redcap laughed and then tapped the ashes from his cigar onto the primers for emphasis. "It's a good day to die!"
"You're crazy, too."
"Maybe so, but i still got things to do. You got any complaints" — Little Tommy Redcap jerked a thumb upward — "take 'em up with the head honcho."
High overhead was a gallery that Will did not remember seeing before, in a wall that was taller than it could possibly be. (The station seemed larger, too — but he had no time to worry on it.) Lord Weary's face was a pale oval afloat in the darkness like an indifferent moon gazing down upon the wickedness of the world. "I will," he said. "How do I get up there?"