rushed over and peered down the window to see a hooded figure scaling the wall. Grabbing a bronze bust from a nearby pedestal, Max hurled it down. The heavy sculpture smashed into the attacker’s head with a sickening sound, sending him crashing down to the flagstones. Max wheeled to find his friends.
“David!” he shouted, but it was Toby who answered.
“Max, I need your help!”
Dashing across the room, Max found David sprawled unconscious at the base of Madam Petra’s desk. He’d been shot in the thigh and shoulder. At a glance, Max could tell that the shoulder wound was superficial, but the leg was bad. Blood pumped steadily from the wound, spreading over David’s hand where he’d pressed against it.
Max glanced at Toby. “Take the pinlegs and follow Petra out the fireplace,” he ordered. “If we don’t get out, you’re to get that thing to Ms. Richter. Do you understand?”
The smee understood perfectly. In an instant, he changed into a red-capped lutin that snatched up the pinlegs case and raced nimbly across the room to where Madam Petra and Katarina were already escaping up the secret passage. Swinging David onto his shoulder, Max stumbled after through the smoke.
But the staircase was already disappearing, its steps rotating away beneath the mantel as the fireplace revolved back into view. Cursing, Max hastened across, ducking low and scurrying as fast as he could with David. It was only twenty feet away, a dwindling gap no larger than a suitcase.
Panting, Max pulled up. It was no good. There was no way to dive or squeeze through without running the risk of being crushed to pulp between the sliding masonry. The door was on the verge of giving way. Setting David down, Max toppled a heavy bookcase and slid it in front of the door before bracing it with the metal sculpture. It might keep the intruders at bay for another minute, maybe two. Running to the grappling hook, he wrenched it out of the sill. Max leaned as far out of the broken window as he could, swinging the heavy grapple and letting it fly up and over the roof.
Twice the hook came clattering and careening back, but on the third toss, it held. Once he checked that the rope was secure, Max dashed back to retrieve his roommate. Slinging David’s arm around his neck, Max seized hold of the rope and hoisted the two of them up, up to the steep pitched roof. Once he’d navigated the overhang, Max flipped over and dug his heels into the slate tiles, pushing them up the steep incline while he pulled on the rope. From inside, he heard a crash. Smoke billowed out the window below; the door had given way. Gritting his teeth, Max cut away the excess rope and redoubled his efforts. He heard the smee’s voice above, yelling at Madam Petra to wait.
“We’re coming!” Max shouted.
Releasing the rope, he rolled onto his side, gripping David’s collar with one hand and feeling for a handhold with the other. Sliding over to an attic gable, he braced against it and pushed himself up to a crouch. Half dragging, half carrying David, he scrambled up the roof to its peak.
Just beyond the ridge was a landing pad, hidden from below by the house’s many gables. A hot-air balloon was floating there, straining at the tethers that anchored it. Shuffling and sliding down the roof’s back slope, Max took the last few steps at a run and grabbed hold of the balloon’s swaying basket.
Taking David from Max, Madam Petra helped the boy aboard. Max dove in afterward, almost landing on Toby as Madam Petra stood and swiftly cut the cables.
Slowly, the balloon caught the wind and drifted lazily, bumping several chimneys until it was finally free of the house and rose unfettered into the sky. Scrambling to his feet, Max gazed down at the dwindling landscape. Madam Petra’s house was an inferno, flames crackling from every window as a smoky pall settled. Skeedle’s poor mules had dragged the wagon down to the water’s edge and stood braying in the shallows while dark figures raced about the house’s perimeter. One caught sight of them and apparently called out to the others, for they all stopped what they were doing and watched as the balloon carried east over the enormous lake. Max turned his attention back to his injured friend.
David’s pants were sopped with blood, but the flow was diminishing. Feeling about, Max found the exit wound and breathed a sigh of relief; the bullet seemed to have passed through and to have missed both bone and artery. Unfortunately, however, David’s pack and all of their supplies were down in the wagon. Tearing strips of fabric from his tunic, Max bound David’s leg and shoulder to staunch the bleeding.
“How is he?” asked Toby anxiously.
“Okay for now, I think,” Max gasped, realizing his lungs were seared from all the smoke and superheated air. He felt David’s pulse and pushed his hair back from his eyes. His roommate was pale and breathing fitfully, but breathing nonetheless. “Let’s get him warm and keep his feet up. He might be in shock.”
“There are some blankets in that bag,” said Madam Petra, adjusting the burners. “Please put one on Katarina —she’s not dressed for the cold.”
Max glanced at the girl. She was crouched in the corner, huddled in the fetal position and staring dully ahead. Tears streaked her pretty face, pale channels through the soot. Toby retrieved two blankets from a small duffel and draped them over David and the girl. Neither stirred. As the balloon pitched and rocked on the breeze, the pinlegs tube rolled about the basket.
Max picked it up, running his hands over its polished case and inspecting the symbols etched about its periphery. Inside was a part of Prusias’s clicking, crawling war machine. If they could get the pinlegs back to Rowan, perhaps someone could make sense of its purpose and turn it to their advantage. If not, the mission was a failure. He gazed down at the gray waters, listened to the creak of the wicker basket and the low roar of the burners jetting hot air into the balloon. Already Piter’s Folly was far below and far behind—a dwindling trail of smoke in the vast expanse of lake.
Flexing his fingers, Max glanced down to see that his hand had been rubbed raw and bloody from the rope. Shaking his head, he wedged the pinlegs beneath the duffel.
“Your secretary,” he muttered. “He was the one who betrayed us?”
“It must have been,” replied Madam Petra. “I’ve suspected Dmitri for some time.”
But Katarina tried to speak. Closing her eyes, the child clutched at her throat and winced from the pain. She had been downstairs and Max guessed that her lungs were damaged worse than his. When she found her voice, it was barely audible over the wind.
“D-Dmitri’s dead,” she whispered. “They killed him. They killed everyone.”
“Who were
“Most wore masks,” the girl whispered. “I only saw one of their faces.”
“Who was it?” pressed her mother, clutching Katarina’s hand. “What did he look like?”
The girl pointed a shaky, soot-stained finger at Max.
“He looked just like him.”
~ 9 ~
Hunted
The blood drained from Madam Petra’s face. “Are you certain, love?”
Katarina nodded.
“Clones,” said Max quietly. “I fought one in Prusias’s Arena, but there are others.”
“Two others,” said the smuggler knowingly. “I saw them once at a reception. They’re the crown jewels of the Workshop’s genetics program. But the rumor is that things went amiss. The Workshop attempted modifications and something went wrong. The clones became too dangerous, impossible to control. Homicidal. They killed several engineers and destroyed half the creatures in the exotics museum. I’d heard the Workshop had given up and were trying to find a buyer. The Atropos must have acquired one—perhaps the pair.”
“So you know about the Atropos,” said Max.
“Of course I do,” replied Petra coolly. “There’s quite a price on your head, my dear. And if I’d had the good sense to alert someone as soon as I knew you were in my home, I might be sitting on a mountain of gold instead of fleeing from my burning house in this ridiculous balloon. You owe me a new estate, Max McDaniels.”
But Max’s mind was working too quickly to address her lost fortune. That Madam Petra could not be trusted
