offhand, one cradled by the other in tactile reassurance, but they were within range. I did not have any cards to play when the game involved a hostage.
One of the three men took a step.
The tip of my blade carved a bloody circle. The sailor beneath me moaned.
“Tsk,” I told them, my gaze stern on the stocky fellow who’d moved. “If you’d like your mate back, I suggest all three of you come and collect him.” Another smile, all teeth. “Before I do.”
“Bitch,” the sailor growled beneath me.
“Come for the sweet auctions?” I asked cheerfully, steadfastly ignoring Jane’s gaze on me. Ignoring Talitha’s still figure half pooled in the dark. Sweat blossomed across my back, but I felt no cold. Instead, I stared into eyes I could not see the color of in the dim light, feeling every muscle in my legs beginning to strain with the effort.
“Get ’er,” growled the bald, tattooed man with his hand around Jane’s throat. She made a sound like a gurgle, her eyes suddenly much wider as those fingers dug into her neck.
I glanced at the man beneath me. Not the leader, then. Pity. I withdrew the blade, at a slightly sharper angle than strictly necessary. His shoulders jerked beneath my knees. “ Allez, hop! ” I launched backward, pulling my weight into a walkover that surprised everyone but me. It placed distance between us, and with my free hand, I pulled the second knife from the tailored back of the corset.
The blades glinted in the dark. “You want a woman, here I am,” I taunted. “Going once . . .” I tossed one knife up. The lantern picked out its keen edge on a thin line of gold. “Going twice.”
Two sets of eyes traced it, and I flung the second with unerring precision.
“Sold.”
A man’s short scream pierced the grounds, echoed by the rattled shock of the two watching sweets. The man I’d already dropped would not move for the moment; not while my blade pinned one hand to the earth.
It was not a wound that would heal lightly, but neither was it a deathblow. A small courtesy he would not thank me for.
Two of the men disengaged from Jane’s presence. “All right, little girl,” said one, reaching behind him to withdraw a blade that made mine look like children’s toys. I swallowed hard, eased my weight to the balls of my feet. “Rumor ’ad it there were a collector bitch.” I tended toward hound euphemisms. Something about a dog collecting bones; I’m sure I didn’t know. He grinned. “Can’t wait to see what your ’ead costs.”
He charged me.
For a brief, yet seemingly eternal moment, silence reigned. That terrible waiting that always precedes a skirmish; that moment when all parties weigh the odds, and stack them where they could.
I’d done no such thing. I had no need. I’d done all my weighing prior and gave no thought to consequence.
Yet the sailor did not reach me.
A crack shattered the taut moment. Before any could react, myself included, a black snake uncoiled from the shadows and wound around the charging fellow’s thick neck. It snapped tight, jerked him solidly off his feet, left him clawing and struggling for air as his backside slammed into the ground.
I spun, my last knife held at an angle parallel with my wrist, and ducked the wild swing of a second man. I heard a gasp, a shuddering intake of air, and I didn’t know if it was the first bloke or Jane, but I pushed forward with all my strength and jammed my shoulder square into my opponent’s stomach.
He retched, as I knew he would, dropping to the ground, hands and knees. He gasped, heaved; a fancy bit of a trick I’d learned from a Baker ages ago.
That crack came again, that terrible hiss of sound, and I realized where it came from.
I turned, blade at the ready, but I had no need.
As Jane flung herself at Talitha’s side, the last man—the sailor whose voice I readily picked out—fell to his knees. The whip coiled around his neck, one meaty fist curled around it as if it would help
One of the three men took a step.
The tip of my blade carved a bloody circle. The sailor beneath me moaned.
“Tsk,” I told them, my gaze stern on the stocky fellow who’d moved. “If you’d like your mate back, I suggest all three of you come and collect him.” Another smile, all teeth. “Before I do.”
“Bitch,” the sailor growled beneath me.
“Come for the sweet auctions?” I asked cheerfully, steadfastly ignoring Jane’s gaze on me. Ignoring Talitha’s still figure half pooled in the dark. Sweat blossomed across my back, but I felt no cold. Instead, I stared into eyes I could not see the color of in the dim light, feeling every muscle in my legs beginning to strain with the effort.
“Get ’er,” growled the bald, tattooed man with his hand around Jane’s throat. She made a sound like a gurgle, her eyes suddenly much wider as those fingers dug into her neck.
I glanced at the man beneath me. Not the leader, then. Pity. I withdrew the blade, at a slightly sharper angle than strictly necessary. His shoulders jerked beneath my knees. “ Allez, hop! ” I launched backward, pulling my weight into a walkover that surprised everyone but me. It placed distance between us, and with my free hand, I pulled the second knife from the tailored back of the corset.
The blades glinted in the dark. “You want a woman, here I am,” I taunted. “Going once . . .” I tossed one knife up. The lantern picked out its keen edge on a thin line of gold. “Going twice.”
Two sets of eyes traced it, and I flung the second with unerring precision.
“Sold.”
A man’s short scream pierced the grounds, echoed by the rattled shock of the two watching sweets. The man I’d already dropped would not move for the moment; not while my blade pinned one hand to the earth.
It was not a wound that would heal lightly, but neither was it a deathblow. A small courtesy he would not thank me for.
Two of the men disengaged from Jane’s presence. “All right, little girl,” said one, reaching behind him to withdraw a blade that made mine look like children’s toys. I swallowed hard, eased my weight to the balls of my feet. “Rumor ’ad it there were a collector bitch.” I tended toward hound euphemisms. Something about a dog collecting bones; I’m sure I didn’t know. He grinned. “Can’t wait to see what your ’ead costs.”
He charged me.
For a brief, yet seemingly eternal moment, silence reigned. That terrible waiting that always precedes a skirmish; that moment when all parties weigh the odds, and stack them where they could.
I’d done no such thing. I had no need. I’d done all my weighing prior and gave no thought to consequence.
Yet the sailor did not reach me.
A crack shattered the taut moment. Before any could react, myself included, a black snake uncoiled from the shadows and wound around the charging fellow’s thick neck. It snapped tight, jerked him solidly off his feet, left him clawing and struggling for air as his backside slammed into the ground.
I spun, my last knife held at an angle parallel with my wrist, and ducked the wild swing of a second man. I heard a gasp, a shuddering intake of air, and I didn’t know if it was the first bloke or Jane, but I pushed forward with all my strength and jammed my shoulder square into my opponent’s stomach.
He retched, as I knew he would, dropping to the ground, hands and knees. He gasped, heaved; a fancy bit of a trick I’d learned from a Baker ages ago.
That crack came again, that terrible hiss of sound, and I realized where it came from.
I turned, blade at the ready, but I had no need.
As Jane flung herself at Talitha’s side, the last man—the sailor whose voice I readily picked out—fell to his knees. The whip coiled around his neck, one meaty fist curled around it as if it would help
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