While it was in motion.
She ran into traffic, her trajectory curved, ignoring the shouts of the drivers behind them and the horses protesting the sudden yank of their reins. And then she leaped, Jin on her heels, the pair of them grabbing the handhold on either side of the carriage frame.
Jin placed a finger over his lips.
“What was that?” the carriage driver shouted. Jin and Arthie ducked as the curtain inside the carriage swept open and a woman’s face peered out, looking everywhere but straight below.
“What about her?” Jin hissed, but Arthie was already eyeing another carriage. Was she—
She was. She leaped for the next one without hesitation, almost missing the hold. One second too late and she would have tumbled to the street, trampled by the horses stomping ahead.
Vampire or not, that would hurt.
Jin clenched his jaw, readied his footing, and leaped after her, windrushing through his hair and nearly stealing his hat. He landed on the carriage’s foothold and nearly yanked open the door in the process before slowly sidestepping to the front, where a pair of men with rifles were having a heated conversation.
“Oi!” they yelled in unison.
“Sorry, lads, don’t mean to interrupt,” Jin said over the hot, roaring air. He hooked the end of his umbrella around the first man’s neck and threw him off. The man rolled off the street and leaped to his feet with a snarl the wind greedily snatched up. Jin almost felt sorry for the fellow.
But then he remembered he had no sympathy for colonizers.
The remaining man was frozen, unsure of what to do. His rifle leaned against his shoulder, the reins clutched in his hands.
“Let me help you with that,” Jin said, waiting until they neared a patch of grass before he yanked the reins from him and kicked him and his rifle off. The carriage teetered, the horses whinnying, as they trundled toward the carts parked on the side of the road. “Whoa now.”
Jin plopped down on the seat and steered them back to the road as Arthie climbed up beside him, her hair a tangled mess.
“The carriage,” she shouted over the wind. He followed her line of sight. The Horned Guard carriage carrying Matteo was turning up ahead. Jin spurred the horses faster, cutting off another carriage and then a smaller cart. “Get me closer.”
Jin caught up to the Horned Guard carriage, glancing over at the wild glaze in her eyes. “You’re not going to jump, Arthie.” Too late. “Arthie!”
She jumped, gripping the door handle. The curtain inside swept open, Matteo’s eyes widening when he saw Arthie hanging off the edge, the wind ruffling her clothes and her hair; it was a wonder it hadn’t snatched her away.
Jin kept one eye on the road and one eye on her as she carefully made her way to the captain at the front.
“Who are you?” he heard the captain sputter.
“Whatever you call a thief who steals from another one,” she said, and Jin watched her slam the butt of her pistol against the captain’s skull. He slumped forward. The reins fell from his hands and the horses stumbled, screaming without direction, excited at the chance of freedom.
Arthie pitched forward, grabbing the reins and regaining control at the last moment. Jin should have trusted her to do what needed to be done. He should have kept his eyes on the road.
And maybe then he wouldn’t have crashed.
17FLICK
Flick did her best to keep silent and listen well, but the scratchy, thick cloth over her head made it near impossible to hear the men and potentially track where they were taking her. It almost felt as though she was walking in circles, heading in one direction before moving in the other. She laughed at herself—quietly, of course. Who was she trying to trick, acting as though she knew the streets? Who did she think she was? Arthie? Jin?Chester?
The Linden girl, the men called her. She didn’t dare dip her hand into her pocket, but she pressed her wrist against it, the ridges of the brass knuckles reassuring her. They hadn’t thought to search her, or perhaps they expected little of Lady Linden’s sheltered adopted daughter.
Flick needed to use that to her benefit.
The men slowed and the one holding her released her, only to pat her down. Flick held her breath, hoping he would dismiss her brass knuckles for a fancy part of her coat. He paused at her pocket, then patted it again.
“What, you think she can fit the ledger in there?” one of the other men asked.
He snorted. “You’re right.”
Flick exhaled when he stood up with a grunt, and she struggled to keep her breathing neutral when he dragged her by the arm again. She stumbled and nearly tripped on the threshold of a doorway. Itcouldn’t have been more than five minutes since she was caught. Where was she? One of the posh and ornate offices that looked like houses? The palace? No, it was neither of those places. Wherever she was, it was large, judging by the echoes, with a bone-chilling cold. Like a tomb.
