Robert caught her and his hand came away bloody. He scrutinized the seeping, bubbling wound on her side. “She needs help.”
Fiona went limp.
Eliot took a step forward, feeling helpless to do anything, forgetting everything he’d ever read in
“Shock,” he said. “Her pulse is strong, though. That’s a good sign, but we’ve got to get her to a doctor.”
A crowd emerged from the church and stared at them.
Eliot called out, pleading, “Is one of you a doctor?
The people gaped, pointed, and they ran away.
How could they not help them after he’d just saved all their lives?
Eliot felt, then heard, subsonic quaking and thunderous crashes behind him. He wheeled and watched every office building for three blocks collapse into dust and rubble-a swath of destruction
Those people in the church might have been grateful, they might have helped. . if they hadn’t been scared out of their minds.[57]
Eliot touched Lady Dawn, ran his bloody fingertips over her fiery wood grain. He smiled. He liked this new incarnation of the violin. She no longer fought him. How much power could they together summon?
He had also enjoyed the destruction and havoc they’d wreaked.
The smile on his face vanished. Fiona was in shock and bleeding to death-what was he thinking?
“Get her into the sidecar,” he told Robert. “I’ll ride on the back. Just go slow until we get on the highway.”
Robert lifted Fiona into his arms. She yelped, but clung to him and let him carry her toward his bike.
The power when Eliot had played was seductive. He had felt glee as he blew the jet apart, rapture at seeing buildings fall at his whim. . and was horrified that he wanted to do it all again.
“Put her down,” someone behind Eliot commanded.
Mr. Ma dropped off the last rung of a fire escape, followed by six upperclassmen Paxington boys. Dante Scalagari was there, and he looked grim, made a move toward Fiona-but Mr. Ma checked his motion with a hand on his shoulder.
“I shall take Miss Post,” Mr. Ma told them. He pointed toward the roof of the building he’d climbed down. A jet helicopter sat there, blades spinning up to full speed.
Robert glared at Mr. Ma and held Fiona tight.
Mr. Ma continued toward him. “You cannot jostle her on a motor bike with a punctured lung,” he said, glancing down at her, “and likely other internal injuries.”
Robert’s glare faded and the color drained from his face.
Mr. Ma stopped before Robert and held out his arms. “We have medical supplies on board. I can stabilize her.”
Robert looked to Eliot.
Eliot wasn’t sure. How much did he trust
But Mr. Ma was right: On the bike they might hurt Fiona more. And if the unthinkable happened. . the League would kill Robert for trying and failing to save her life.
“You won’t hurt her?” Eliot asked.
Mr. Ma blinked. “No.”
Eliot listened with great care. There were no weird echoes or any backward whispers that he detected from the lips of liars.
Eliot nodded to Robert. Robert passed Fiona to Mr. Ma.
Mr. Ma held her as if she weighed no more than a feather.
“I’m going with her,” Eliot told Mr. Ma. “We’re stronger together.” His tone left no room for discussion on the matter.
Mr. Ma looked at him a moment, then nodded.
The Paxington helicopter lifted off the roof, turned, and lit in the courtyard.
As they walked toward the craft, Eliot glanced back at Robert. Worry and helplessness etched his friend’s face, and Eliot understood that pain. He’d felt the same thing for Jezebel. . and he knew at that moment that Robert loved Fiona.
Near the helicopter, Mr. Ma ducked, and held his unconscious sister closer.
Eliot barely made out his whispered words over the noise of the blades. “School rules give me no choice in the matter.” Mr. Ma told her. “You get an F for today’s lesson.”
But then for the first time, Mr. Ma’s craggy features softened, and tiny laugh lines crinkled the corners of his eyes. “And even though I must hate you, young lady, for we appear to be on opposites sides of fate. . for dueling an armored tank to save people that meant nothing to you, you
Henry Mimes tried on the captain’s hat and regarded himself in the mirror bolted to the wall of the guest quarters. The pilfered cap was a tad too big, and the golden fringe and black canvas didn’t look right with his silver hair. Not his colors, alas.
It was just another reminder that he was a mere passenger on this submarine.
He twirled the hat on his finger. It was hard to let go of the rudder, even among friends, when one was used being the Captain.
A fluted speaker whistled to life. “Mr. Mimes?” said a tinny voice. “They’re ready for you, sir.”
“Tell them I’m on my way,” Henry replied.
He left his cramped quarters and entered an equally cramped corridor. Two uniformed ladies bumped into him.
Henry smiled, did his best to bow, and greeted them both.
They returned his salutations. . and his promising smile.
“Would you lieutenants be good enough to take this to the bridge?” He handed the hat to the athletic brunette.
They said they would. There were more smiles and flirtatious glances, and then they went on their way, squeezing past.
Henry watched them go.
Or perhaps such close accommodations did have
And yet the
He ran a hand over the brass pipes that curved along the walls. Every square millimeter was polished and etched with tiny porpoises and sardines and scallops. Still, it was a lovely sinking tin can. Gilbert ran a tight ship.
It was technology millennia ahead of anything else when it had been forged. There was nothing like it in all the seas. In thirty years, however, American or NATO or Russian naval engineers would have the technology to detect her subtle, silent movements through the waters.
Men glimpsing legends.
Which was one of the reasons Henry knew change was coming. “A matter of time” as Cornelius might have said, although he and the other Council members seem determined to ignore that fact as long as they could.
Henry moved through three pressure doors, down a spiral stairs and entered the launch bay. The walls of the cavernous chamber were ribbed for strength, and from the ceiling a variety of small submersibles hung like mechanized insects caught in a web.
The
