Part 10 (1/2)
”All right.” He looked up at Geordie. ”I'm about to shove my hand under your a.s.s and press down on this seat. When I do, you get off, and you run with Anne through those doors, out of the ballroom. Understood?”
Out of breath, the boy only nodded.
”Scarsdale, you help them make it out.”
The man downed his wine, tossed the gla.s.s through the door. ”I'm not leaving you, captain.”
”Get them out, then find a G.o.dd.a.m.n heavy pot to put on this seat.”
”Well, I suppose I'll leave you for that.”
”Anne, you get going.” Rhys met Geordie's eyes. ”Ready, then? You make certain you run.”
When he nodded, Rhys gripped the seat, pushed down. The spring beneath it compressed slightly. ”All right. Go. Go!”
The boy staggered when his feet hit the floor. Scarsdale swept him up, ran. Rhys grabbed the pedal, began turning, keeping the same rhythm the boy had set.
He waited, listening to the clicking discs as they gathered their electrostatic charge. He slowed the pedals; the clicking didn't immediately slow. Once those big discs gathered momentum, it took a few seconds for them to wind down.
A few seconds was all that he would need.
A crowd began to gather outside the doors, watching him crouch, watching him spin. A few cried out his name in dismay. They must have seen Geordie and Anne run out, realized that he'd taken the boy's place. Rhys let them look, let them cry. They'd be running away again soon enough.
Three minutes later, Scarsdale hauled in a wine cask. ”I found the cheapest one. Still, seems a shame to waste it.”
”There are more.” He continued holding down the seat, moving his fingers to the edge while Scarsdale balanced the cask atop it. Rhys let the seat go, continued turning the pedal. They both waited.
They didn't explode.
”Well, then,” Scarsdale said. ”What now, captain? We take turns pedaling?”
”We run for the door.”
”Not a very heroic exit.”
Rhys shook his head and turned the pedal faster, faster. No reason not to give the disks a little more momentum. ”I'm not a hero.”
”You're sure as h.e.l.l not. But tell that to the boy out there.” Scarsdale clapped him on his back. ”How long will we have?”
”Just make it past the doors.” The stone walls would do the rest.
”All right. Ready, then?”
Rhys rose from his crouch, gave the pedal a final hard turn. ”Go!”
He pounded across the ballroom, Scarsdale alongside him. Ahead, the crowd began crying out, turning to run. Pulse racing, he tried to hear the slowing clicks over the noise. Click . . . click . . . Click.
”Down!” he shouted, and leapt for Scarsdale. He caught the man mid-stride, hit the floor with him, s.h.i.+elding his friend's body. The explosion almost knocked him over. Hot pain tore across his side. The ringing in his ears didn't deafen him half as much as the screams from outside.
Beside him, Scarsdale groaned. ”You're the heaviest lout who ever lived.”
True enough. Rhys sat up, looked at the destruction. h.e.l.l. There wouldn't be any dancing in here, but they'd already set up outside.
Anne raced in, stopped on a gasp. Her frantic gaze found Rhys. She threw herself at him, wrapped her arms around his neck. The impact seemed to tear his side open again, but he didn't care. He held her tight.
”All right?” he asked.
”All right,” she said, then drew back. Her brows pulled together in the fiercest expression he'd ever seen. ”Don't ever do that again.”
Rhys grinned. G.o.d, he loved this girl.
”Don't worry, Anne.” Scarsdale's amused gaze fell to the blood pouring down Rhys's side. ”After the inspector is done with him, he won't be able to.”
Perhaps not. All that Rhys knew for certain was that Wilbur the Reacher was d.a.m.n lucky Mina didn't know about this.
Too easy. Sitting in a lorry with the engine idling, Wilbur the Reacher didn't hear the approaching balloon until they were almost on him. Frantically, he threw the valves closed. The lorry jerked forward with a great huff of smoke, rolling along the docks.
Mina sat forward in the rear seat, looking down over the side. Always busy, the docks were filled with carts and crates, laborers hauling on lines. The Reacher wouldn't be able to gain any speed-not that it mattered. He wouldn't be able to outrun the balloon.
”Bring me in closer, Newberry!”
The balloon sank lower, barely ten feet above the Reacher's lorry. A long, skeletal arm suddenly shot upward, almost caught their frame. Newberry shouted, hauled up.
”Avoid those arms, constable!” she shouted.
”It would have never occurred to me, sir!”
Mina grinned, drew her opium gun, and took aim. No good. The balloon frame wasn't steady enough, and the Reacher was weaving all over, avoiding the obstacles on the docks.
”Closer, Newberry!”
”Trying, sir!”
The two-seater dipped lower again, just above the bed of the lorry. The Reacher's broad back made a big target. Mina leaned over the side, fired.
The dart sank into the Reacher's shoulder. He slumped over. The lorry kept going-straight to the edge of the docks.
Oh, blast. Mina scrambled up, threw her leg over the side of the frame, cursing as her skirts caught on the edge. ”Hold steady, constable!”
Worry filled Newberry's shout. ”Sir?”
She leapt. Fabric ripped. The lorry rushed up to meet her, and she landed heavily, sprawled in the bed. Scrambling to her feet-one slipper lost, d.a.m.n it-she climbed into the driver's bench, hauled back the drive lever. Gears shrieked. Instead of stopping, the lorry's engine whined and the vehicle accelerated. Smoking h.e.l.ls. She shoved the lever forward. Nothing. Where were the valves?
Above, Newberry was shouting something. She couldn't make it out over the rumbling and huffing. Dockworkers were shouting, too, sprinting out of the way. She looked up, calculated the distance to the water. Too close-and she couldn't swim.
Grabbing the Reacher's shoulders, she dove off the side. She hit the boards hard, the breath smas.h.i.+ng out of her. Shot full of opium, the Reacher probably wouldn't even feel it. Lucky b.a.s.t.a.r.d.