Kara came back to David, holding a shoe. “You might need this,” she said, gently. “I took it from her, from the Dawn.”
He looked at it hungrily. Not everything was different about him. He lifted it from her hands, and gently slid back the heel. All of the Carnival was there. Saliva built in his mouth, here was an end to pain. He pulled the paper containing the drug free from its hidey-hole, then walked to the gondola's door, opened it a moment, and threw the drug out. It fell away into the dark.
Kara was watching him.
“If I live through this. If we live through this, then I am going to need a clear head.” He winced again, another burst of pain.
Kara reached out to him, and David gently pushed her away.
“Things are going to get much worse, and quickly,” he said, quietly.
No one tried to tell him otherwise.
CHAPTER 53
And the Engine turned and the snow and the ice came, and we all fell down. Those were dark days. But there was some that got back up again. There always are. Praise the mad bastards, or none of you would be here looking out at the unfamiliar constellations.
THE FAR NORTH
The iron ship had landed on its roof. Margaret's ears rang, the wound in her stomach burned. She crawled around the ship, looking for a way out.
She wasn't the only survivor. Anderson lay by the door, hands clenching and releasing. His breath rattled in his chest. He looked at her, tried to speak, but couldn't: all that came was a wet-sounding cough.
Margaret slid over to him, across buckled metal, and held his hand. He squeezed hers back; she could feel his life leaving him. But she knew that she didn't have long for this world, either. She felt a sharp sliver of bitterness. Who'd hold her hand?
The ship shuddered, there was a muffled bang, either rocks falling on the craft, or an engine exploding. The iron ship lifted a few feet, and fell, windows shattering, and was still. Explosion, she guessed. Snow melted and trickled through the broken glass. She could smell gasoline: the ship might go up any minute. A quick death, what was wrong with a quick death? They'd won, hadn't they?
Anderson sighed, eyes still trained on her. A look that Margaret recognised, a brief stare, wavering but so strong.
“Mother-”
Anderson squeezed her hand again; hard enough that it almost hurt.
And that was it.
His eyes did not close, but dulled. His fingers no longer gripped hers back. Gently, ever so gently, she laid his arm across his chest. “You can rest now,” she said.
Margaret stared through one of the cracked windows at the falling snow. There were mountains out there and caves. She circled the ship again, and found a cabinet filled with blankets. She wondered if they had been brought for her. There were also several sheets in there. These she pulled out, ripped into long strips, and tied around her wound — not that it would do much. She knew she was dying. She grabbed a pair of blankets, wrapped them around her shoulders and walked to the doorway. She turned the handle, and put her weight against it.
The door swung open and she fell out onto the ice and snow. The contact was hard enough and painful enough that she blacked out briefly. But, cruelly, that wasn't the end. Her eyes flicked open, she gasped with the pain. The cold began to numb her, a small mercy, that. What was she thinking? Where could she possibly escape to?
She considered crawling back into the ship. But it contained enough death already. She couldn't bear to add to it, and already the ship was cooling, she would freeze just as easily within it as without.
And she would bleed to death before that.
Her teeth began to chatter. She was going to die in a few minutes at best. There were worst things than death, she had seen them, but that didn't mean she wanted an ending now.
Then she saw the gasoline dripping down the side of the craft. It took her several attempts to free a lighter from her belt, another couple of fumbles to actually light it. She threw it at the ship and the gasoline caught in a sudden rush of flame.
She'd half expected it to explode, but she was spared that for now: just fire and warmth.
She hunkered down, blankets around her shoulders, and watched the iron ship burn.
The winds had died down a little, though dark clouds building on the horizon suggesting they would be back soon. David looked down from the gondola and pointed towards the smoke.
“See,” he said. “I told you. She's down there.”
The ship jutted out of the snow, steam and smoke gusting into the air. The Collard Green approached slowly, dropping anchors when they were within a few hundred yards.
“Perhaps you should let us look,” Buchan said.
“And spare me what?” David asked, and there was the ghost of Cadell's irritability there. “I've seen too much already to be spared anything.”
He clambered down the ropes, falling the last few steps to the snow. But he was back up on his feet at once and wading through snow towards the iron ship.
And yet, when the time came, David hung back, and it was Buchan, face masked, that looked through the open doorway.
“There's dead here,” he said. “But she's not among them. Though I did find this.” He lifted up one of Margaret's rime blades.
“Maybe she's back in the city,” Kara said.
“No,” David said, “if she was I would have known. She's here, and nearby.”
It was Buchan that found her, half buried in the snow. “Too late,” he said. “We were too late.” Kara and David ran to her side.
Margaret opened her eyes, just once. She might have even smiled.
“Get her into the Collard Green,” Kara said. “Get her inside now.”
They lifted her into the airship, careful as they could in the rising winds, and warmed her. She woke as Buchan looked her over, declaring that he knew a little of doctoring; he stopped the moment he came to the bullet wound, frowned and slid the sheets and blanket back up to her neck.
“You were lucky you didn't lose your fingers to the cold.” Buchan smiled, though he couldn't conceal the worry in his eyes. “So are we friends now?”
Margaret smiled thinly. “I think you can say that, you bastard.” Buchan laughed.
Margaret reached up and brushed his hand.
David looked down at her. Her lips were bloodless, eyes strained as though she were sick.
“You're alive!” Margaret said. “But what have they done to you?”
“Nothing,” David said. “Nothing. I did that to myself.”
“What do we do now?” Margaret asked.
David sat down on the bunk next to her and told her and Kara what he thought had to be done. Buchan listened at a distance, but the man was subdued; he’d hardly spoken since he’d looked over Margaret.
“So,” Margaret said. “If that is what you think is right, and I agree with you. Then we must go to the Underground. But if you could please hurry, Buchan’s skills at doctoring don’t extend this far, I think.” And then she showed them the extent of her wounds, and David realised that he could smell her death. There was still enough of Cadell within him to recognise it for what it was.
