The weather had made a turn for the worse right around noon, sending down rain from a clear sky before it darkened into a proper shower. All the better for their plans. Lucia knew how dangerous gunpowder could be, and a safe blanket of rain would make things go more smoothly.
That was the only part of her current situation that was, in fact, smooth. She clung to the reins of a madly galloping horse, feeling every single staccato hoofbeat punch through the center of her chest. Beside her, Richmond, Cleft, and—who else?—Gallow and Prow sat astride horses galloping just as furiously.
They rode hard through the open country north of Cavaline. Ahead, their goal awaited: a road Cleft spoke of, one used only in secret by the most dedicated soldiers of the Commonwealth.
Part of her rued her insistence on accompanying the party. The rest of her was holding on for dear life.
Even as all her focus was spent on staying atop her horse, she knew she had to be there. She had to see this through, in all particulars. Nothing could stay her from fulfilling her promise to Talia.
Lucia’s promise. That’s what it was, was it not? The dry contract had shifted, transformed into a single, final connection she still had with the Duke. The distinction might not mean much to a demonologist, but it meant the world to her.
As the minutes passed, Richmond pulled ahead, and finally he raised his fist to the sky to call a halt. Lucia sawed the reins, pulling her horse down to a slow canter in line with the rest of the party.
Ahead, she could see a copse of trees, and beyond, the glimmer of rain upon cobblestone. They had reached their goal, and perhaps a little early, too.
“The one day we get the biggest job we’ve ever run,” said Gallow testily as he reined in his own horse. “The one day, just two weeks before midsummer, in the middle of the hottest, driest season you ever get in these damned islands, with nary a cloud in the sky for months … that one day, it rains.”
“Be grateful for the rain, my friend,” Cleft said. “For, if we are unlucky, shots will be fired, and there is nothing more dangerous to our cause than a stray ball catching black powder alight.”
“Too true.” Richmond dismounted. The rest of the crew followed suit.
They turned the horses loose; they would not need them any longer. Lucia hoped the beasts would find themselves back under civilization’s care soon.
“How long will we need to lay in wait?” Lucia turned to the Scarlet Spindle.
“Not long, by my reckoning.” Cleft consulted his pocket watch while the crew moved through the copse silently. “You could, in more than a manner of speaking, set your watch by the Battery’s schedule.”
This was the Parliamentary Battery, the largest stockpile of military matériel on the islands. For the last year, at least, a shipment of arms, and most importantly, gunpowder, was sent weekly north of the Battery to a checkpoint, where it was distributed variously among the military companies, both mercenary and enlisted, of the Commonwealth.
So the Spindle had related to them back in Cavaline, hours before. Lucia crouched in the brush at the edge of the copse, shielding her head from the rain dripping more heavily from the branches above.
“I think I hear ‘em,” Prow offered, and as the demon strained to listen through the rain, she did hear steady hoofbeats and the accompanying trundle of a heavy cart coming up the road. Within a moment, the armored wagon lumbered into view around a nearby bend.
And driving the wagon, spiking hatred afresh in the demon’s heart, was the Butcher. She drew in a sharp breath through her nose, then looked at Cleft.
The Spindle nodded in understanding. “It’s not unheard of for General Hawthorne to accompany these shipments every so often.”
“We’ll have to move quickly,” Richmond added. “I know of the General’s prowess on the field of battle. This should be little different.”
The wagon moved forward steadily, coming closer and closer towards Lucia’s ambush. She counted seven guards walking astride the wagon, in addition to the Butcher. Then, with the slightest of nods from Richmond, the ambush was sprung.
Gallow and Prow both loosed tiny throwing knives from their belts, metal arcing through the air and taking both soldiers in the leg, each with a satisfying thunk. The spindlesilk venom coating the weapons did its work too swiftly for them to react, and both soldiers sank to the ground unconscious at the rear of the wagon.
Thus, as Richmond stepped forward and rushed two of the remaining guards, they were caught utterly by surprise. Lucia herself was stunned by the sheer speed of the man; before she knew it, he had pistol-whipped the first soldier, then swiftly a second, sending them both into unconsciousness like their fellows.
Lucia herself hung back, reaching out with her own power and sensing the emotions of their remaining enemies. Fear hung within each heart save one—and that heart was shielded from her. The Butcher was wearing one of Lindell’s amulets still, she realized.
She stoked the fear within each soldier immediately to a fever pitch. A risky move, but one she knew was necessary.
However, she breathed a short sigh of relief as the remaining three dropped their weapons as the demon’s companions turned upon them. Richmond did not hesitate, knocking one of the remaining soldiers unconscious like his fellows. Gallow and Prow followed suit.
The Butcher pulled the cart to a stop, pulled out his firearm, and without hesitation fired upon Richmond.
Lucia burst from her cover, hatred verging into pure fury in her heart. She had her own firearm at her side, and she trained it on the Butcher as she shouted, “One more shot, and you die where you stand!”
The Butcher straightened, then met Lucia’s gaze. “Ah, the traitor’s pet, delivered right into my hands. Tell me,” and he lazily trained his gun on her as he licked his lips, utterly unfazed by the demon’s weapon, “did you see the light leave her eyes? I know you were there when she died.”
Lucia screamed, white hot anger coursing through her, and pulled the trigger.
She was thrown back by the sound, and more than sound. Her left shoulder burned in pain, and she realized the Butcher had fired upon her, and his aim had been nearly true. Blinking away the anger that had overcome her sight, she saw the Butcher on the ground, his leg bleeding profusely.
Richmond was there, apparently unscathed by the Butcher’s attack. He clocked the man in the back of the head, naked savageness behind the blow.
But it was done. Lucia breathed in through her nose, telling herself that this man would suffer for his part in taking Talia from her; in taking the life of her lover’s father. She would not deal death to him so easily. No, he still had a part to play in her plans.
Still nursing her bleeding shoulder, she walked over to him, placed a letter in his breast pocket, and looked upon his unconscious face. That letter would seal his fate. After a moment, Richmond loaded him onto the back of the cart.
Cleft leapt up to the driver’s seat and took the reins. “Let’s go. Time’s arrow is flown, and we must chase it.”
That was true enough. Lucia pulled herself up to the side of the wagon, and the rest of the crew followed. The first stage of her plan was complete.
Ahead, just hours away, the second awaited her. An entirely different kind of battle, one that would be waged at the Prime Minister’s High Summer Ball.