Ashes of Twilight (28 page)

“Something hit me,” he gasps as we stumble forward with him between us. “Go on.”

I know what I said and made everyone promise. But I can’t go off and leave him. I barely know him, but I know Lucy and I couldn’t do that to her again. Blood pours from a wound in his stomach and back.

“What happened to him?” Pace asks.

“It looks like something went through him.” I look over my shoulder. The bluecoats are gaining on us, racing the filchers to see who will get to us first. The filchers are driven by the reward and will use any means possible to get it. I know we will never make it. Not as we are now. We dash for the cross street where James and Alcide ran.

“James!” I scream. I see him ahead of me. Alcide turns and sees us. He comes back to us with the third person, who I recognize as Harry. I see James’s mouth move as he shouts at Alcide, then he shakes his head and comes back toward us.

“David,” I say in a low voice. “Pace has got to survive. Do you hear me? Once he’s gone it’s all over for the rest of us.”

“What are you talking about?” he gasps.

“Keep him safe.”

Alcide reaches us. “Get Pace to safety,” I say to him and I slip out from under David’s arm and Alcide slips in. “As long as he’s alive we’ve all got a chance.” I turn to James. “Remember your promise,” I say before I turn and run as hard as I can back out to the street.

The bluecoats are the closest to the intersection. I put my shoulder down and I plow right through them. I yank off my scarf and pull my goggles down around my neck. I run down the middle of the street and I scream at the top of my lungs.

“The sky is blue! There’s a world outside and they don’t want us to know! The sky is blue!” I scream it over and over again as I run right for the main body of workers.

I hear yelling behind me. I know it’s Pace because I hear my name. I can only pray that James has him. That he’ll get him back to safety. If he doesn’t then my sacrifice is meaningless, as was Alex’s and Tom’s and my grandfather’s.

“It’s the girl!” someone says. I know it is the bluecoat behind me. I can feel them on my heels as I run. I’ll never outrun them but I can make sure they get me, instead of the filchers who are coming straight at me from the other side. Hopefully I can buy Pace and the others some time to get David safely away. I can make enough of a commotion that they’ll put all their attention on me. They won’t kill me. Not as long as Pace is free, because they want him the most. They’ll keep me alive until they find him.

I turn away from the filchers, knowing it will put me closer to the bluecoats. Suddenly I pitch forward, flying headfirst toward the cobblestones beneath my feet. I put my hands out to catch myself as I fall. I hit hard, my hands skid and my head crashes forward and blessed darkness fills my vision.

I am caught.

*   *   *

The throbbing in my head wakes me. I’m lying facedown on a wooden floor that is rough, splintered, and covered with dirt. My face is sticky with blood. Someone is beside me. As I open my eyes I see a bent leg. My hands are tied behind my back.

“Pace?” I say, hoping and praying that he doesn’t answer.

“It’s Jon.”

I manage to turn myself around and prop myself up. My head swims and I swallow back what little I’ve had to eat today. Jon is sitting with his back against the wall, facing me. The room is empty except for us and a pile of rags kicked into a corner. “What happened?”

“We turned a corner and walked into a group of filchers. There were about ten of them. They grabbed me and said that we were trespassing and they were hired to make sure no one did. Everyone else got away.”

“The filchers have us?” A sense of dread fills me. At least with the bluecoats I had a chance of staying alive for a while. The filchers are ruthless. There is the reward, but it was offered for Pace, not me.

“What do they want with us?” I convince myself not to panic. I know it won’t help.

“Nothing good, I’m sure,” Jon says. I don’t know him at all but I admire him for staying calm, even though I can tell he’s as frightened as I am. “Are you all right? Your head looks bad.”

I roll my eyes up as if I can see my forehead. “I guess now I have a matching set,” I say. “Does it really look bad?” Not that I’m concerned about my appearance at the moment. Two hard blows to the head in less than a day can’t be good.

“It’s hard to say with all the blood. But it looks like it’s stopped bleeding, so that’s a good sign.”

“If you say so.” I groan in pain as I try to move. “Are we the only ones?”

“As far as I know.”

“Where are we?” I look around and can tell that we are in a small room. There’s a high narrow window that lets in a minimum of light. I can see the shadow of another building close by.

“I don’t know. They put a bag over my head and marched me here. I didn’t even know they had you until they dropped you down beside me. It wasn’t far from where they caught me. And we haven’t been here that long.” He looks at the thick door. “It’s locked,” he says. “With a chain.”

“I would be surprised if it wasn’t. I guess the fact that not much time has passed is a good thing.”

“We’re still alive,” Jon says matter-of-factly. “What happened to you?”

“Bluecoats,” I say. “They did something to David. One minute we were running, in the next he was on the ground. We got him up and he was bleeding from his stomach and back. We caught up with Harry, James, and Alcide. They took him and I provided a distraction.”

“So you think they got away?”

“If they didn’t, then I’m certain we will all be dead soon.” I know it is not what he wanted to hear, but I will not lie to Jon or myself. Being caught by the filchers is almost as bad as Pace being captured. Almost. As long as I know Pace is safe I can handle anything.

Maybe if I say it enough times I will actually believe it.

We hear a door slam. Voices. Footsteps that grow closer. The heavy thump of a chain moving. The creak of the door opening. Four men walk into the room, all of them wearing the masks of the filchers. Hands grab me and jerk me to my feet and my head reels with dizziness. Jon is treated to the same and we’re marched down a hallway and up a flight of steps into a room with dingy windows that let in streaks of light.

Five men stand in the room. They all wear masks except for one, who is short and stout as a keg with arms that look as thick as support beams. His face has a scar that goes from his temple to his neck and one of his ears looks as if it was mangled years ago. His hair is shaved close and he’s missing two bottom teeth in the front.

Jon and I are jerked before him and hands push on the back of our necks until we are both kneeling before the man without the mask. For some reason this angers me more than anything else that has happened so far, and I fight against the hands and the pressure until I have the choice of kneeling or having my neck broken.

A sound of rage slips through my lips. Rage and frustration at the injustice. I am determined to fight them until my last breath. Jon narrows his eyes at me, asking for something that I cannot give. I fear we will both soon be dead. I am certain we will be begging for it to happen.

The stout man grabs my hair and wrenches my head back. “A shiner,” he says. “Are you Wren MacAvoy?”

“I am,” I spit out. There is no need to deny it. If I’m going to die I don’t want to die nameless. There is also the chance that it will give me … us … more time.

He smiles a humorless smile and moves to Jon. He does the same with him, grabbing his hair and pulling his head back so he can look at him. “This ain’t Bratton,” he says.

“Brown hair and blue eyes,” one of the masked filchers replies. It is hard to tell who because their mouths are covered and the words are muffled.

“Bratton is taller and his hair is straight.” He jerks Jon’s head back and forth. “Are you worth anything, boy?”

“More than you’ll ever know,” I say.

“Really?”

I stare him down, daring him to strike me. If I had a weapon I know without a doubt that I would attempt to kill him. I’m not foolish enough to think I’d succeed, but the rage and anger are so great within me that I can taste them. I’d rather have the anger than the cold, dark fear.

He stares at me for a moment. Laughs. And then he swings his leg back and kicks Jon in the side of the face. Jon falls over onto his side with a grunt. Blood pours from his nose and mouth.

“Bastard!” I yell.

Man grabs the front of my jacket and pulls me to my feet. He’s not much taller than me; still, my toes barely touch the ground as he holds me up with his fist. “There’s a bounty on your head.” His face is inches from mine. His breath is disgusting and I fight the urge to retch. “It didn’t say what condition you needed to be in, so I’ll leave your tongue. They want you to be able to talk, is all.”

“Get your hands off of me,” I grind out between my teeth.

“Oh, there will be more than my hands on you. That you can count on.” He drops me and I fall to the floor. Since my hands are tied behind my back I have no way of catching myself or supporting myself. I try to roll and protect my head, which feels like it is about to split in half. He sticks his hand in my hair and half carries, half drags me from the room.

Jon still lies where he dropped. He’s as still as death and I’m afraid he’s gone from the kick to his face.

“What do we do with him?” one of the masked filchers asks.

“See if they’ll trade for him too. If not, kill him and drop him in the fires.”

“Go tell Randall we’ve got the girl,” he says to another one. “And no rush. The reward ain’t going nowhere.” He continues to drag me across the hall. He kicks open the door and pitches me forward onto a pile of blankets. I land face-first on them. The stench is horrible and I gag as I try to flip myself over. I hear the door slam shut behind me and the turn of a key.

I flip over on my back. Stout walks toward me, unbuttoning his pants as he comes. “Oh yeah, we’re going to have a good time before I collect that reward. And maybe, if you’re nice, I’ll let you come stay with me in my new house on Park Front.”

“I’d rather die.” As soon as he gets to the end of the blankets I kick up with all my might. My feet land squarely in his crotch and he flies backward and crashes against the door.

I can see that he’s dazed. His hands go to his crotch and he rolls onto his side. I scramble up and kick him in the face. He swings an arm out toward me but I sidestep it. I feel the squish of his jaw through the soles of my boots as I kick him again. And again. I feel his bones crunch as I keep on kicking. Each time I kick I scream as if I can’t believe what I’m doing.

Finally, I cannot lift my leg to do it again. I look down at what I’ve done. His face is no longer recognizable. I stumble into the corner and throw up.

When I am done I wipe my mouth on my shoulder. My hair is stuck to my face and I am covered with sweat. My hands are numb from the ropes. I lean against the wall and slump to the floor.

I can’t believe the other filchers didn’t hear what I did. Or maybe they thought what they heard was their leader having his way with me. Whatever they think, it won’t be long before I am discovered. I’ve got to get out of here. And I can’t leave Jon behind.

25

Before I can do anything
I’ve got to have the use of my hands. I try to pull them apart. The ropes cut into my wrists and my palms are raw from when I tried to catch myself when I fell on the street. I squirm around until I’m able to loosen the ropes enough to slide my arms under my bottom. From there it is just a matter of bending and stretching enough to get my legs through. Every time I move I feel as if the filchers are listening right outside the door. I wonder how long I have before someone comes to investigate. I pick at the ropes with my teeth until they come loose enough for me to wiggle my hands out.

The door is blocked by the filcher I killed. I stare down at him with the knowledge that I killed a man. I stomped the life from him because I was angry and frustrated and scared. I stand there, looking down at him, and try to justify what I did in my mind. I tell myself he deserved it. I tell myself he was a horrible man and deserved to die.

I know what he wanted to do to me. I am not sorry he is dead. I refuse to be. Yet tears course down my cheeks. I mourn for the innocence I’ve lost. For what he changed me into.

I hear shouts coming from outside. Then strange noises that are sharp and stinging to my ears. I’ve got to get out of here. I’ve got to help Jon, if he can still be helped.

I wipe my eyes and pull the dead man away from the door by his ankles. Before I can open it, it crashes against me and I fly forward. Someone grabs my arm and pulls me around. It’s another filcher and he has a knife at my throat.

He drags me into the hall with one arm around my neck and the other holding the knife against it. “Stop or I’ll kill her!” he yells. Has it come to this? Did I kill a man just so I will be killed myself, nothing more than a pawn in a game of who is mightier, who is more desperate, who wants to win, and who will most definitely lose?

Two bodies lie on the floor, both bleeding from wounds I cannot see. Another lies in the room with Jon, who has crawled into a corner. He holds his hands against his head. I don’t know if he can see me. I take some small comfort in knowing that he is alive for now. Through the open door that leads to the street I see bluecoats, six or more, it’s hard to tell. They hold strange weapons, long and black and made of iron.

“Give her to us,” a bluecoat says.

“I want the reward.” I feel the knife press against my throat and a sting that tells me the skin is broken. Yet more blood trickles from my body. “You promised a reward.”

The bluecoat raises his weapon and a projectile comes out of it, so fast that all I see is a blur. I jerk away and feel the blood splatter my cheek and hair as the filcher falls to the ground. “As if we’d let the likes of you live on Park Front,” I hear the bluecoat say.

As soon as the filcher falls away I run to Jon. “You’re alive.”

“If you say so.” The side of his face is swollen and covered with blood, but his grip is strong as I pull him to his feet. Before we can move, bluecoats surround us. They herd us outside, throw us into a wagon, and slam the door shut.