Horwood was running, but no matter how hard he tried, it wasn’t fast enough.
He pushed himself harder, his feet striking the paving stones until they hurt, until he was sure he was wearing them down to bloody stumps. Yet still he ran, and still he could hear it behind him—the roar of the biplane coming in at a dive, the burr of its propeller, so close that he could feel it stirring his hair.
He cried out, throwing himself forward, just as the biplane struck the ground behind him, lifting him from his feet…
He sat bolt upright on the sofa, dripping with sweat. For a moment, he had no idea where he was. He licked his gummy lips, wiped his forehead on the back of his sleeve. The front of his shirt was damp. He took a deep breath.
He was in his living room. He was home. It was over.
He swallowed, but his mouth was dry. He was desperate for a drink. On the floor before him was an overturned bottle of red wine. It was almost empty, but there were still dregs in the bottom, enough to wet his palate. He grabbed for it and gulped it down thirstily, then discarded the bottle. Perhaps he’d be better off fetching some water.
Slowly, he got to his feet. His back was still agony, and his hand went involuntarily to the wound. He’d have to get the bandages changed soon. The piece of shrapnel he’d had removed at the hospital was the size of his thumb, and he’d been lucky it had missed his vital organs.
His left eye was still swollen shut too, from the trauma he’d received to his head during the fall. Flora Donovan had told him afterwards he’d been caught full force from behind by a Koschei, tossing him almost ten feet up the road. He’d been knocked unconscious in the fall, and the Koschei had left him for dead. Flora had come to his aid as soon as the coast was clear, dragging him to safety. She’d sat with him for nearly two hours, taking pot shots with her pistol at anyone who came close.
He’d woken briefly in the ambulance, and again just before surgery, but all he remembered was the stuttering of bright lights and Flora’s worried face.
Now, he was home. He was supposed to be getting some rest, but every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was the biplane coming tumbling out of the sky, heading directly for him.
There was a rap at the door. He sighed, massaging his temples. He was in no fit state for visitors. He’d had a stream of telephone calls demanding statements and interviews, from the police, the Secret Service, even a newspaper journalist who’d somehow managed to get hold of his details. He’d told them all they’d have to wait. And now one of them had found out where he lived.
“I’m not here,” he called. “You’re wasting your time.”
“Roland? Open the door. It’s Flora. I’ve brought the others to see you.”
“Flora?” Bemused, he crossed to the door and opened it. There she was, standing on the step. She was smiling. Behind her were Donovan, Gabriel and Ginny. “Why are you here?”
“We came to see how you were doing,” said Flora.
He frowned at her for a moment.
“Well, are you going to show us in?”
“Oh, yes, sorry,” he said. He turned and wandered back into the living room, leaving the door open behind him. “I wasn’t expecting guests.”
“And you weren’t expecting to have a biplane dropped on you, either,” said Gabriel. “We just wanted to say thanks, and see if you needed anything.”
Horwood smiled. “I don’t know… I mean, I haven’t really thought about it. I haven’t thought about anything much, to be honest.” He started for the kitchen. “I’ll put the kettle on.”
“I’ll see to that,” said Donovan. “You sit down. You’re supposed to be resting.” He disappeared into the kitchen. Moments later, there was a clatter of mugs.
“What you did,” said Gabriel. “It made a difference.”
“If it hadn’t been for you, the Koscheis might have won,” added Ginny.
Horwood shrugged. “I couldn’t let them destroy it. Without it… well, I hate to think.”
“What happened to it?” said Gabriel. “By the time I’d come out of the Fixer’s operating theater, it was gone. We passed by there earlier today, too. They’ve already burned away all evidence of the vines. There’s nothing to say it was ever there, save for the terrified accounts of a few locals.”
Horwood grinned. “It came home,” he said.
“Home?”
He nodded. “Come on, I’ll show you.” He beckoned them down the hall, and out through the rear door into the garden. The cool air felt fresh and welcome, clearing his head of the alcohol fug. He led them to the hollow at the bottom of the garden.
“Here,” he said, indicating what remained of the avatar, nestled amongst the trees. It had already begun to break apart, its limbs unraveling and turning to mulch. The light had gone out of its eyes, and the rose that had served as its heart had withered and dried, petals flaking. It was returning to the soil, just as it always had; ready to grow anew when it was needed.
“It was here all along?” said Ginny.
“Yes. I’m sorry I kept it from you. I didn’t know if I could trust you. Not at first,” said Horwood.
“And that’s it,” said Flora. “It’s gone? Just like that.”
“For now,” said Horwood.
They were silent for a moment.
“Come on, let’s go and see about that tea,” said Flora. “I don’t trust Felix in a kitchen.” She looped her arm through Ginny’s, and started off, back up toward the house.
Horwood turned to Gabriel. “You did it. You ended it. I heard about what you did to Rasputin.”
“Oh, I fear it’s only just beginning,” said Gabriel. “There’ll be reprisals. Your queen won’t allow this to pass. It’s the excuse she’s been looking for. I fear another war is brewing.”
“Will you stay? Help out when it comes?” said Horwood.
Gabriel shook his head. “No. I’m needed back in New York. But you should take those calls.” He started up toward the house, following after Flora and Ginny.
“Calls?” Horwood hurried to keep up.
“You know which calls I mean,” said Gabriel. “From the Service. They need good men like you. And if you don’t mind me saying—it might give you the sense of purpose you’re clearly looking for.”
“You mean they want me? To work for them?” Horwood could hardly believe what the American was saying.
“I mean you should take their calls,” said Gabriel, pausing in the doorway. “Talk to them. I meant what I said—you made a difference. Maybe you can do it again.” He ducked into the house.
Horwood stared after him, stunned. “Maybe I could,” he said, quietly. “Maybe I could.”