Time seemed to slow for Hallie. The weapon was a silver-coloured, old-fashioned, manual pistol with a round chamber that would hold up to six bullets, unlike the more modern, matte black guns that she and Girard carried, with ready-filled magazines that would fire many more rounds. All the same,the pistol was a lethal weapon, pointing directly at Girard, with Nicholas’ finger on the trigger.
Girard moved, almost too fast for Hallie to see. He surged forward, one hand going up, grabbing hold of Nicholas’ wrist, twisting, the other hand balling into a fist that struck Nicholas under his chin. With a howl of pain and outrage, Nicholas dropped the gun and staggered back, thudding into the wall next to the door.
The pistol landed on the ground and went off, the sound of the shot deafening in the enclosed space. One of the armed men cried out and clutched his leg, blood blooming under his hand. The other three men surged forward, heading for Girard.
With a brief mental apology to the housekeeper for destroying her good work, Hallie grabbed up the heavy tea tray, spilling the delicate china onto the floor where most of it bounced on the thick rug. Holding the tray with both hands, she used it as a club, smashing it into the back of the nearest gunner’s head. He went down, crumpled in a heap across one of the velvet sofas. The other two men who’d been trying to grab Girard turned towards her. She swung the tray again, smacking the closest one across his face and wincing at the sound of the heavy wood against his exposed skin. He made a low sound of pain and fury combined and staggered back, into the other man.
The gunner who’d been shot had recovered a little, raising his weapon, aiming between Girard and Hallie as if he wasn’t sure who was the greatest threat.
Nicholas charged forward with a cry of fury, barrelling into Girard, and the pair went down onto the floor, on top of the china. Hallie winced again at the sound of the fragile tea set breaking into a million pieces, but trusted Girard would deal with Nicholas. She launched herself forward with the tray again, heading for the man with the injured leg.
He fired. His aim was even worse than hers. Even in close quarters, the bullet missed, whipping through the air next to her head. Before he could fire again, she used the tray as a club, this time smashing it against his weapon hand, then kicked forward, aiming for the knee of his wounded leg, sending him off his feet and staggering back into the window, howling in pain. The sound of breaking glass was bright and hard after the crushing of the china.
Spinning around, Hallie found the final gunner on his feet, weapon aimed at her. He was white-faced, hands trembling so badly that the muzzle of his shotgun was making odd patterns in the air.
“Put it down,” Hallie ordered him, copying Girard’s hard and flat tone. “You’re interfering in Conclave business, and that’s not somewhere you want to be.”
“Kill her,” Nicholas shouted from the floor. He was still wrestling with Girard.
The gunner’s eyes widened, skin paling, and he swallowed hard but didn’t pull the trigger.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Hallie said. She still had the tea tray, but it wasn’t going to stop a shotgun blast, and she had a terrible recent memory of just what a shotgun could do to a person’s head.
The man was still hesitating. Used to obeying orders, but not a killer by nature, Hallie realised, and took advantage, rushing forward, side-stepping the wavering muzzle of the shotgun, slamming her shoulder into him, following it up with a blow from the edge of the tea tray to the back of his knees, sending him off his feet.
Breathing hard, Hallie looked around the room. Girard was getting to his feet, a bruise on his face suggesting that Nicholas had got at least one punch in. He took a look around, too, at the four gunners all injured or unconscious, mouth lifting in a grimsmile as he turned back to Nicholas, still on the ground. The principal was struggling to sit up, his breath coming in horrible, noisy gasps. Not used to doing his own fighting any longer, Hallie guessed.
“You’re dead, you hear me. Dead,” Nicholas said, snarling. There was blood seeping from his nose and one of his eyes was swelling shut. “You won’t make it off the island alive.” He meant it. The truth of his words and intent slithered over Hallie’s skin, fear drying her mouth. Her brain and body froze for a heartbeat. She was used to violence and threats, but rarely from someone who had the power to do exactly what they had promised.
The sound of running footsteps, from outside the house, cut off whatever Girard might have said in response. Hallie glanced out the window and her stomach sank at the sight of at least eight, possibly more, armed men charging up the path to the house’s front door. There had been at least two gun shots, which would have been loud enough to be heard across most of the settlement. And now more gunners were responding. Too many to fight. She and Girard had got lucky, to an extent, with the four gunners in the room. Another eight was too many.
“Too many of them,” she told Girard, voice terse. He glanced outside just as the front door of the house opened and boots sounded in the hallway outside.
“I remind you that we are representatives of the Conclave,” Girard said, facing Nicholas. “You’ve already used violence against us. The Conclave will not overlook that.”
Nicholas struggled to his feet, face flushed and furious, blood still trickling from his nose, as the door to the room opened and men poured in. More than eight. Ten. All crowded into the space, eyes going wide and shocked as they looked around at four of their fellow gunners either on the floor or furniture, injured or unconscious, and the principal, glaring at Girard.
The new arrivals all raised their weapons, pointing at Hallie and Girard, and one of them eased forward, removing the gun from the holster at Hallie’s hip then moving to Girard. Hallie kept her eyes on that man as he tucked the guns into his jacket. He was the first one who seemed to have realised that they were armed and a threat. That done, he looked at Nicholas.
“Your orders, sir?” The tone was polite, but not deferential.
Nicholas’ brows lowered as he looked from Hallie back to Girard. He might still be burning with rage and a bit of humiliation, but it seemed that he’d been thinking. Perhaps Girard’s reminder about the Conclave’s interest had done some good. So Nicholas didn’t order his men to kill Hallie and Girard at once, an unpleasant smile pulling up the corners of his mouth. “Shooting you is too obvious. But there are a lot of accidents that could happen to people on this island.” He glanced at the gunner who’d asked for instructions. “Put them with the others while I make the arrangements.”
“Sir,” the gunner nodded, apparently not finding anything wrong with the idea that his boss needed some time to plan for two deaths. The casual acceptance chilled Hallie far more effectively than any bluster or boasting would have. He waved his gun at Hallie and Girard. “Let’s go. Move, now.”
When Hallie didn’t immediately start walking, one of the other gunners put the muzzle of his shotgun in the small of her back and gave her a shove. She moved forward. She didn’t think the gunners would shoot them, not when Nicholas was going to plan something different, but she also didn’t want to take that chance. With a sideways glance at Girard, finding him tense and frowning, she followed the gunners’ directions out of the house and back into the weak daylight.
The gunners surrounded her and Girard. Too close for her to make an escape attempt without risking getting herself, or Girard, shot. Her stomach twisted. She’d been in danger before.Plenty of times. The important thing was not to give in to panic, but to keep thinking.Don’t just accept the situation,she reminded herself.
“Next time Peredur wants to send us on a simple fact-finding mission, we should ask for tactical back-up from day one,” she muttered to Girard.
He gave a muffled laugh in response before one of the gunners used the butt of his gun to smack Hallie’s shoulder.
“No talking,” the gunner said.
Hallie saw Girard twitch, as if he was going to attack the gunner, but she shook her head. The blow had stung but hadn’t broken anything, and there was a serious risk of one or both of them getting killed if they got into a brawl with the men around them. So she kept walking, more irritated than afraid, and tried to get her mind to work. She was still alive, as was Girard. That was good. Although they’d lost their weapons, they were not currently in restraints. On balance, that was also good. On the other hand, the principal of New Hope was currently plotting their deaths. That wasn’t good. Hallie absolutely believed that Nicholas wanted her and Girard dead. She also believed that none of the gunners would stop him. In fact, the gunners might help. And no one was coming to their rescue. Her mouth was dry again, nerves rattling around her stomach. Hallie wasn’t ready to die. Not for a very long time. She had to hope that she and Girard between them could come up with a way to get out of captivity and out of New Hope as well, in one piece. And then find a way back in, with tactical support. She had questions. A lot of questions. Far beyond the scope of their original mission, she wanted to know everything about Nicholas Rigg, about New Hope, and about the island as a whole. And she was determined to get some answers. If she and Girard could find a way to stay alive.
Chapter sixteen
