He turned the corner and rolled over astreetlamp in the process. It snapped from its cement post withouthindering the sturdy truck. Amaranthe dropped her face into herpalm.
“Oops,” Maldynado said.
Smoke teased Amaranthe’s nostrils,distracting her from a mordant response. She sniffed at the airoutside the window. It did not smell like the coal burning in theirfurnace.
“Uh oh.” Maldynado pointed down thestreet.
Flames licked around the edges of a window ina building a block ahead. A building with an oversized statue inthe shape of a hydrant out front-the old fire brigade.
A sleek black steam carriage trundled up thehill, coming their direction. It was a street model, not one forthe railways, but it had a similar style to the other one. Achauffeur perched on the bench of the carriage, hood drawn toshield him from the rain. Face forward, he avoided looking theirdirection. Lamps burned inside the carriage, but dark curtains hidthe contents.
“Crash into them,” Amaranthe said.
“What?” Maldynado blurted.
“Nobody who lives around here can afford apersonal vehicle, and somebody started that fire.” The carriage wasdrawing even with them, and it would be too late to stop them soon.“Crash into them!” Amaranthe reached toward the controls.
“All right, all right.” Maldynado jerked thevehicle to the left.
The garbage truck rammed into the side of thecarriage. Metal crunched, and the impact threw Amaranthe againstthe back of the cab. That did not keep her from scrambling out,pistol in hand.
She had expected the crash to force thecarriage to stop, but the chauffeur only turned his vehicle away,trying to extricate himself from the garbage truck. The curtainsstirred, and Amaranthe caught a glimpse of red hair. Her heartleaped. Their foreign woman.
Maldynado kept mashing the garbage truck intothe carriage, trying to pin it against the brick wall of theclosest building.
“What are you doing, idiot?” the chauffeurshouted.
Amaranthe sprinted around the garbage truckand jumped onto the driving bench. The carriage lurched andwobbled, rattling the perch like a steam hammer. The chauffeur spuntoward Amaranthe, his hand darting for a weapon.
She pressed the pistol against his temple. “Idon’t recommend that tactic. Why don’t you stop the carriage?”
He snarled at her and did not obey. Sheshoved his hood back with her free hand. He had the olive skin andbrown hair of a Turgonian. A scar ran from his ear to his jaw, amark that would have been memorable if she had seen it before, butshe had not. He did have the short hairstyle soldiers favored.
“Stop the vehicle,” Amaranthe repeated,putting more pressure on the muzzle pressed against his temple.
“Very well.” The man grabbed a lever.
Steam brakes squealed, and the abrupt haltnearly threw Amaranthe from the bench. She gripped the frame andwould have been fine, but the chauffeur took advantage. He launcheda kick at her ribs. She dodged, avoiding the majority of the blow,but it upset her balance. Before she toppled off, she grabbed hisleg and took him over the edge with her.
They tumbled toward the street. Amaranthetwisted in the air and landed on top of him. She caught his wrist,yanked it behind him, and slammed his face into the wet cement. Hegroaned and ceased struggling. With her knee in the chauffeur’sback, she patted him down and found the weapon he had been reachingfor, also a pistol. She stuffed it inside her belt.
Steel squealed behind them.
Amaranthe rolled to the side and jumped toher feet, afraid someone had started the carriage again. Gettingrun over was never a good plan.
Neither it nor Maldynado’s vehicle was movingthough. The noise came from one of the garbage truck’s articulatingarms. It had latched onto a flue on the carriage and was liftingthe back end of the vehicle into the air.
“They’re not going anywhere now,” Maldynadocalled, leaning out of the cab and grinning.
A carriage door opened. Somethingglinted.
“Look out,” Amaranthe called.
A shot rang out.
Maldynado yelped and ducked out of sight.
Not sure if he had been hit or not, Amarantheleft her man and sprinted for the opposite side of the carriage.She grabbed the door handle, thinking to surprise those inside ifthey were watching Maldynado, but it was locked. The dark curtainswere still drawn, and someone had extinguished the lightinside.
Amaranthe was debating about using her pistolto smash through the window when footsteps sounded to the rear. Shepeered around the end of the carriage. Books and Akstyr wererunning toward her, swords drawn.
She waved for them to cover the back of thecarriage, in case the people inside jumped out and ran in thatdirection, then she left the locked door and eased around thefront. The chauffeur was sprinting toward an alley. She ignoredhim, figuring the important people were inside.
Using the front of the carriage for cover,Amaranthe leaned around the corner, her pistol ready. The carriagedoor dangled open.
Books hunkered by the front of the garbagetruck, using it for cover while he pointed a pistol at the opendoor. Akstyr had gone to the far side of the carriage in case theriders tried to escape that way.
“Come out,” Amaranthe said. “We have yousurrounded.”
Something tiny flew out from within, andAmaranthe jumped back. Glass hit the cement and shattered. Smokepoured from a broken vial.
She fired into the few inches of opendoorway. She did not expect to hit anyone, but maybe it would makethem think twice about throwing anything else outside.
“Is that-” Books started.
“Back up,” Amaranthe called over hisquestion. If this was the stuff that knocked peopleunconscious…
Though she backpedalled several meters, thesmoke billowed outward at an alarming rate. It soon smothered thestreet and hid both vehicles. An acrid scent stung her nostrils andeyes. She fumbled to reload the pistol, but had to stop to dashaway tears that blurred her vision. At least she did not feel woozyor sluggish. This was some new concoction with adifferent-horrible-smell from the yellow powder.
She wiped her eyes again.
Movement stirred the smoke. She lifted herpistol, but did not fire, not when it might be one of her men.
Amaranthe listened, expecting telltalefootfalls. Surely, the occupants intended to use the smoke tocamouflage their escape.
Though the vehicles had stopped moving, theirengines still rumbled and clanked. But then she heard somethingdifferent. A clatter. Something hitting the ground.
She dropped to a knee, left arm supportingher right hand to steady it for a shot. She waited, searching thesmoke through bleary eyes.
A boom shattered the night. Its force hurledAmaranthe backward, and her head cracked against the cement street.Pain exploded in her skull, and black dots danced before her eyes.Rain pelted the street around her. No, not rain. Pieces of metaltinkling and clanking to the ground.
A shard gashed her cheek, eliciting new pain,and she rolled over, wrapping her arms over her head. Somethingslammed onto the street inches from her face. She found herselfgaping at a detached portion of the articulating arm.
“Up, girl,” she told herself, forcing hermind into gear.
Pain lanced through her at the change inposition, but she shoved her feet under her anyway, and turnedtoward the crash site. Smoke still hazed the street, and the airstank. Her first thought was that one of the boilers had ruptured,but perhaps the people in the carriage had thrown some sort ofexplosive.
Two tall figures strode toward her, theirfeatures masked by the smoke and night shadows.
Amaranthe had lost her pistol in the fall.She yanked out the one she had taken from the chauffeur.
