Blameless

window of the other cable cabin.

Alexia pulled down on the freight-release lever with all her might.

The overrides screamed in protest.

Floote came over to help her, and together they managed to muscle it down.

Their rail car shuddered once, and seconds later they heard a loud crash and multiple thuds as the load of lumber fell down to the mountain below. Mere moments after that, there was a lurch as their cabin climbed its buglike way over the oncoming coach, swaying in a most alarming fashion from side to side, ending with one additional shudder as it settled back onto the rails on the other side.

They did not have much time to appreciate their victory, for the pinging sound of bullets on metal heralded the return of their pursuers.

Floote ran to look out a side window. “Revolvers, madam. They’re pacing us by foot.”

“Doesn’t this thing go any faster?” Alexia asked Madame Lefoux.

“Not that I can make it.” The Frenchwoman issued Alexia a demonic dimpled grin. “We shall just have to take the cable as far as it goes and then run for the border.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

The grin only widened. Alexia was beginning to suspect Madame Lefoux of being a rather reckless young woman.

“Italy makes for a strange refuge, madam.” Floote sounded almost philosophical. He began a stately tour of the interior of the carrier, looking for any loose objects that might serve as projectile weaponry.

“You do not like Italy, do you, Floote?”

“Beautiful country, madam.”

“Oh?”

“It took Mr. Tarabotti quite a bit of bother to extract himself. He had to marry an Englishwoman in the end.”

“My mother? I can’t think of a worse fate.”

“Precisely, madam.” Floote used a large wrench to break one of the side windows and stuck his head out. He received a near miss from a bullet for his pains.

“What exactly was he extracting himself from, Floote?”

“The past.” Hoisting some kind of large metal tool, Floote chucked it hopefully out the window. There was a cry of alarm from below, and the young men drew slightly back, out of detritus range.

“Shame we did not eliminate any of them when we dropped the lumber.”

“Indeed, madam.”

“What past, Floote?” Alexia pressed.

“A not very nice one, madam.”

Alexia huffed in frustration. “Did anyone ever tell you, you are entirely insufferable?” Alexia went to shove more coal into the stoke hole.

“Frequently, madam.” Floote waited for the men to gain courage and catch up again, and then threw a few more items out the window. Floote and the drones proceeded in this vein for about a half hour while the sun set slowly, turning the trees to long shadows and the snow to gray. A full moon rose up above the mountaintops.

“End of the cable just ahead.” Madame Lefoux gestured briefly with one hand before returning it to the controls.

Alexia left off stoking and went to the front to see what their dismount looked like.

The ending area was a wide U of platforms atop multiple poles, with cables running down to the ground, presumably used for the lumber. There was also some kind of passenger-unloading arrangement, built to accommodate the anticipated tourists. It was a basic pulley system with a couple of windlass machines.

“Think those will work to get us down?”

Madame Lefoux glanced over. “We had better hope so.”

Alexia nodded and went to devise a means of strapping her dispatch case and her parasol on to her body; she’d need both hands free.

The rail cabin came to a bumpy halt, and Alexia, Floote, and Madame Lefoux climbed out the broken window as fast as possible. Madame Lefoux went first, grabbing one of the pulley straps and dropping with it over to the edge of the platform without a second thought. Definitely reckless.

The pulley emitted a loud ticking noise but carried her down the cable at a pace only mildly dangerous. The inventor landed at the bottom in a graceful forward roll, bouncing out of it onto her stockinged feet with a shout of well-being.

With a deep breath of resignation, Alexia followed. She clutched the heavy leather strap in both hands and eased off the edge of the platform, zipping down the line far faster than the lean Frenchwoman. She landed at the bottom with a terrific jolt, ankles screaming, and collapsed into a graceless heap, taking a wicked hit to the shoulder from the corner of her dispatch case. She rolled to her side and looked down; the parasol seemed to have survived better than she.

Madame Lefoux helped her up and out of the way just as Floote let go of a strap and landed gracefully, stopping his own forward momentum by bending one knee, managing to make his dismount look like a bow. Show-off.

They heard shouts behind them from the oncoming drones.

It was getting dark but they could still make out a track heading farther up the mountain toward what they could only hope was a customhouse and the Italian border.

They took off running again.

Alexia figured she might be getting enough exercise to last a lifetime in the space of one afternoon. She was actually sweating—so very improper.

Something whizzed by her shoulder. The drones were firing their guns once more. Their aim was, of course, affected detrimentally by their pace and the rough terrain, but they were gaining ground.

Up ahead, Alexia could make out a square structure among the dark trees to one side of the road—a shed, really—but there was a large sign on the other side of the road that appeared to have something threatening written on it in Italian. There was no other gate or barrier, nothing on the track to mark that they were about to go from one country to another, just a little mounded hillock of dirt.

So it was that they crossed the border into Italy.

The drones were still following them.

“Wonderful. Now what do we do?” panted Alexia. Somehow she had thought once they entered Italy, everything would change.

“Keep running,” advised Madame Lefoux unhelpfully.

As if in answer to her question, the deserted pass, now heading down the other side of the mountain, suddenly was not quite so deserted after all.

Out of the shadows of the trees to either side materialized a whole host of men. Alexia only had time to register the utter absurdity of their dress before she, Madame Lefoux, and Floote found themselves surrounded. A single, rapidly lyrical utterance revealed that these were, in fact, Italians.

Each man wore what appeared to be entirely pedestrian country dress—bowler, jacket, and knickerbockers —but over this, each had also donned what looked like female sleeping attire with a massive red cross embroidered across the front. It greatly resembled an expensive silk nightgown Conall had purchased for Alexia shortly after their marriage. The comedic effect of this outfit was moderated by the fact that each man also wore a belt that housed a large sword with medieval inclinations and carried a chubby revolver. Alexia had seen that type of gun before—a Galand Tue Tue—probably the sundowner model. It is a strange world, she ruminated, wherein one finds oneself surrounded by Italians in nightgowns carrying French guns modified by the English to kill supernaturals.

The outlandishly garbed group seemed unflustered by Alexia’s party, closing in around them in a manner that managed to be both protective and threatening. They then turned to face down the panting gaggle of drones who drew to a surprised stop just on the other side of the border.

One of the white-clad men spoke in French. “I would not cross into our territory if I were you. In Italy, drones are considered vampires by choice and are treated as such.”

“And how would you prove we are drones?” yelled one of the young men.