Skies of Steel: The Ether Chronicles (17 page)

“Impossible tasks aren’t so impossible, once you get used to them,” she said, eyeing the deep abyss.

He looked offended. “No credit for your partner?”

“Gallons of credit.” Which mollified him somewhat. Had he realized he’d called himself her partner?

They hurried up the rest of the stairs, through the doorway into the corridor with the electrified grid. He nudged the grid with his boot. “Battery’s still drawing power, but it’s nearly full. The shock won’t be as dulled this time across.” He looked at her with a frown of concern. “It’s going to hurt. I’ll carry you.”

“I can handle a jolt or two.” She started across before he could argue to try to stop her. It was a struggle to keep from swearing aloud at each shock. It had to be endured.

Finally, she reached the other end, and felt certain that whatever hair wasn’t confined in her braid now stood straight up. Her bones seemed to jump within her body. But she’d made it across on her own.

He also made his way across, reaching the other end of the corridor. As he passed the battery, he grabbed it.

Mikhail seemed utterly unfazed by the shocks. Naturally. He handed her the battery. “No words once we’re on the other side of the door,” he said. “Any of the guards hear us and fire a weapon, it’ll alert the other bastards.”

“And trigger the locks on the windows and doors, too.”

“Trapping us like whores in church.”

Her brows lifted at the analogy. “We’ve got two options for getting out of here. The fastest way would be straight through the courtyard and out the front door. That entails sneaking past the guard standing sentry, and then finding a way through the door. Doubtless it’s got an even more impenetrable lock than any of the windows on the catwalk.”

“Up the stairs, then.” He cracked open the door. They both peered out, and seeing the top of the stairs to be clear, started up them.

A patrolling guard suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs. The man’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth to shout an alarm. Mikhail became a blur as he leapt up the stairs and tackled the guard. From her position at the bottom of the steps, she couldn’t see everything, but caught glimpses of the guard’s flailing limbs as Mikhail grappled with him. The sentry abruptly stilled, his limbs hanging loosely. But she observed that the man’s chest still rose and fell. Mikhail must have knocked him unconscious. He appeared at the top of the stairs and motioned for her to follow.

Relieved that they’d have a relatively easy route out, Daphne was about to start up the steps, when a voice in Arabic rang out.

“Intruder!”

She swung about to see that the guard in the courtyard had caught sight of her. Barely had she moved when Mikhail jumped down from the catwalk, right into the courtyard. He flung himself at the guard, and they fell to the ground. As the guard went down, he managed to fire a single shot into a column.

Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
In waves, the locks on the door and windows all slid firmly into place. At the sound, her heart sank, too. There’d be no getting out of here.

Mikhail punched the guard in the face, and the man’s eyes rolled back. Despite the fact that the guard was unconscious, the noise of other guards’ boots both inside and outside the vault meant the problem was far from over.

A dozen sentries poured into the courtyard. Without hesitation, Mikhail launched himself at them.

She’d never seen him fight before, nor had she ever witnessed a Man O’ War in the middle of combat, but the sight was mesmerizing. He was all action, strength, and purpose. No matter how many guards came at him, he met them all unwaveringly. She saw then how a Man O’ War truly was a weapon, for as the guards attacked him with their clubs and knives, he parried every move. He used the sentries against themselves, dodging their blows with remarkable speed so that the guards wounded one another. Everything was chaos, and yet he was in complete control, playing several moves ahead. They were mere mortals, but he was a mythological warrior.

All of the guards focused their attention on Mikhail, but three more sentries came running, right at Daphne. Burdened with the battery, she couldn’t draw her revolver to hold them back. Spotting the extendable ladder on the ground, she used all of her strength to kick it toward the advancing guards. The ladder swiveled on its wheels, right into the feet of the oncoming guards. Tripping, they toppled like ninepins.

Shouting came from outside the vault’s walls. More guards. She and Mikhail would be trapped if they didn’t get out, and now.

“Mikhail!” she shouted.

The guards surrounding him flew as he knocked them all back. He emerged from the melee, and she caught her first good view of him since the sentries had begun their attack. Instead of looking angry or beleaguered, he grinned broadly. As if he enjoyed this free-for-all. Which made a strange kind of sense. He was made for combat. All this skulking around must rankle the part of him that wanted nothing more than a stand-up fight. Still, it caught her by surprise, his battle-induced gratification.

“Head for the door,” he called across the courtyard.

“Can you break it down?”

“Absolutely, if I had two other Man O’ Wars with me. Got another idea in this thick head of mine. Run, woman!”

They both sped toward the front door. A large metal bolt barred the way, with a thick lock set atop the bolt. It would take at least ten Man O’ Wars to break through. Yet she and Mikhail were running straight toward it.

“Throw the battery,” he commanded. “Right at the door.”

She had no idea what he intended, but with the fallen guards all getting to their feet behind them, and the impenetrable door ahead of them, this wasn’t the opportune moment to question him.

Mustering as much force as she could, she tossed the battery toward the door. Mikhail lunged in front of her. He drew his ether pistol and fired. With incredible accuracy, the bullet slammed into the battery. There was a spark, and then a massive explosion. Even protected by his solid bulk, she felt the force of it, fighting to stay on her feet.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward what was now a gaping, smoking hole where the vault’s front door once stood.

The sound of gunshots punctured the air. Bullets from the guards’ weapons sped through the air around her and Mikhail as they ran. She crouched low but kept on going. Dear Lord, she’d never been shot at before! There wasn’t time to pull her own revolver and return fire. All she could do was run, her hand clasped in Mikhail’s.

They crossed the threshold of the vault and hurried out into the street. Several dazed sentries lay on the ground, knocked down by the blast to the door.

A dozen more guards sprinted toward them. Mikhail dropped her hand and faced the guard closest to him. He grabbed the man’s rifle and broke the weapon in two, then threw the pieces to the ground. The guard stared in shock at what had been his gun.

Close as she was standing to Mikhail, she could feel his body’s eagerness for battle. He lurched toward the other advancing guards, then he suddenly changed direction. He grabbed her hand again and sprinted down an alley, towing her behind him. The guards shouted and gave chase, more bullets flying.

“You get us out of here,” he growled to her. “I’ll throw a little lead in their path.”

She hurried ahead of him. He shot back at the pursuing sentries. A few men cried out and fell.

With such chaotic noise behind her, Daphne ran as fast as she could, weaving her way through the shadow-strewn maze of the city, hoping to lose their pursuers. She knew the city well enough, but all her mental maps scrambled in the heat of being hunted.

She turned down an alley and cursed. “Dead end,” she snarled. She glanced around them. A balcony was some fifteen feet above them, and a rooftop another ten feet higher, but there were no other doors or ways out.

However, retracing their steps meant they’d come face-to-face with the guards. Mikhail, however, didn’t appear troubled.

“Climb on my back,” he said.

Immediately, she did as he directed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. The pack he wore dug into her stomach, but she paid it no mind. “I’m not exactly light as thistledown.”

He threw her a deadpan glance over his shoulder, letting her know exactly what he thought of her warning.

“Hold tight,” he advised. Then she felt it as he crouched slightly—the astonishing sensation of his powerful body coiling, tensing, as if a steel bow were being drawn. And loosed.

It was indeed like being an arrow shot from a bow. For they flew up straight into the air. Her breath felt knocked from her lungs, her abdomen. She managed to glance down to see the faces of the guards staring up, their mouths all open in wonderment.

Flight stopped as Mikhail grabbed hold of the balcony’s railing and pulled them both up. Yet he wasn’t finished. He balanced on the edge of the railing and jumped to grip the edge of the roof. The guards seemed to come to their senses, for they began shooting. Their bullets punched holes in the walls, clouds of plaster flying.

Mikhail hauled himself and Daphne up onto the roof. Only when he took several steps back from the edge, did he say, “You can let go now.”

And only then did she permit her death grip on his shoulders to loosen. She slid down to stand on the tiled roof, her legs like blancmange. From their vantage, she and Mikhail had a view of Medinat al-Kadib’s skyline, the buildings crowded haphazardly together, jostling for position beneath the night sky.

The guards’ shouts could still be heard below, followed by their footsteps.

“They’re going to look for a way up,” Mikhail said. “We need to keep moving.”

She willed her legs back to stability. The danger hadn’t passed, and she needed to hang on to her courage.

“Afraid of heights?” he asked.

“Not tonight,” she answered.

A flash of admiration glinted in his eyes, and then he turned away. He leapt from rooftop to rooftop, agile as a jaguar. His long coat flew out behind him with each vault. She followed, grateful that the city’s age meant the distance between buildings was minimal. Her own jumps weren’t half as nimble as his, and more than once she had to scrabble for a handhold on a tiled roof, or steady herself to keep from tumbling into nothingness. Whenever she found herself struggling for balance, he was there with a steadying hand and even more steadying presence. But her confidence grew after each jump, as did her stability. Soon, she could vault the narrow space between structures without a stab of panic, and land with confidence.

As she and Mikhail danced across the city’s rooftops, a strange kind of pleasure bloomed in her chest. Far above the streets, she felt herself and Mikhail separate from the world, two secret creatures who lived for flight and movement, drawing strength from the star-strewn sky above. Liberating. Exhilarating. And together, they had solved the riddle of the astrolabe. It had taken both of them to decipher the enigma.

Somehow, it was just right that she should share this experience with him. A man who’d set himself apart from ordinary life.

Yet she
was
an ordinary human, and hadn’t his telumium-enhanced endurance. Her legs ached with weariness, her breath coming in shallow gasps. This had been an extraordinary and long night.

“Need … a break …” she panted.

He immediately stopped, his gaze both sharp and concerned. Tilting his head, he listened intently. “We’ve lost them.”

“They might still be patrolling the streets, looking for us.” She glanced around, taking note of their surroundings. “There’s a cupola on that rooftop. We could have a rest until it’s time to meet al-Zaman.”

“I don’t need much sleep,” he answered, then added with a frown, “but you look ready to collapse.”

There was no use in pretending she was superhuman. “Wouldn’t mind sitting down for a few minutes.”

They headed toward the cupola. Mikhail plucked a few blankets from wash lines along the way. Normally, she didn’t condone thievery, but tonight—indeed, this whole voyage—had already played havoc with her ethics, so she didn’t object. She most certainly didn’t complain when Mikhail leapt over the cupola’s low wall and lay the blankets down upon the dusty floor.

Once she was inside the small structure, she finally allowed her legs to give out from under her, sinking to the blankets with a long exhale. She leaned against the wall and stretched her legs out, debating whether or not to unlace her boots. Better to keep them on, just in case she needed to run. At last, however, she could have a few moments’ respite.

His back to her, Mikhail stood at the wall, hands braced on the stone. With the lights of the city all around, his stance wide and confident, he was an emperor surveying the lands that depended on his protection. Tonight he’d proven himself both physically capable and a strategist. But he wouldn’t have risen in the navy, and wouldn’t have been chosen to be a Man O’ War candidate, if he was merely brawn.

Nor was he simply a mercenary, as he claimed. Again and again, this very night, he’d protected her.

Because he wants his diamonds.

No, it went beyond merely protecting what he thought was his investment. She’d seen it in his gaze, in the way he feared for her, encouraged her. At some point during the night, a boundary between them had been crossed.

Tell him. Tell him now.
He needs to know.

“There’s the waning crescent moon.” He pointed to the sliver hanging in the sky. “In Virgo.”

“Looks like a scimitar,” she said.

He chuckled lowly, and despite her exhaustion, the sound of his laughter sparked her nerves to life. Brilliant little constellations of awareness.

Words formed within her, words she needed to tell him. Yet they couldn’t move past her lips. The connection they had created tonight would be shattered, and she was selfish enough to want to cling to it a little longer.

From her satchel, she pulled out the astrolabe. It was dark in the cupola, so she couldn’t make out much of its detail, but her fingers traced etched lines and ornate plates.

“A wondrous device,” she murmured, “fashioned long before such things as tetrol and telumium.”