BRODIE
The carriage parkat the Mall was lit by dozens of gas lamps spread along the parkway and created shadows over the lines of carriages and coaches from those who had arrived for the reception. He waded through them, searching the direction Conner had told him the man matching Steiner’s description was last seen.
Among those he searched were drivers and attendants clustered about, cigarette smoke curling into the night air as they casually chatted, stomped their feet against the cold, and waited. Steiner, his size and bulk easily recognizable, was not among them.
Another shadow suddenly appeared, the man tall and thickly muscled by the spread of his shoulders beneath a heavy jacket. The same that Brodie had encountered days before.
Steiner. There was no mistaking him as he stepped out from among those parked coaches with purposeful strides toward the palace.
At a glance, Brodie was aware the others, including Conner, were some distance away.
What was Steiner doing there? And wot reason was he moving toward the palace now?
Questions with no answers. At least not as yet.
He retrieved the revolver from the pocket inside the coat and moved along the edge of the carriage park. And then as Steiner stepped off the curb, he shouted his name.
The man’s reaction was immediate as he spun around and scanned the park.
“Stop!” Brodie ordered as he moved toward him.
He’d spare the man and give him a chance to live, in exchange for information he no doubt had about others who might be involved.
Steiner was of a different mind as he lunged back into the shadows of the carriage park.
Brodie went after him as he dodged between coaches. Horses suddenly startled provided the path he took.
The man was surprisingly quick for someone his size, darting past one coach and a surprised driver who cursed at him, then into the shadows of the next row of parked carriages as Brodie followed.
The blow caught him in the shoulders, sending him to the ground and under the legs of a team of horses. He winced with pain from broken ribs as he rolled out from under the horses, then to his feet.
Steiner hadn’t remained, but now ran and climbed onto the seat of a nearby coach. The driver, startled from dozing was shoved from the seat.
“Stop!” Brodie shouted, giving the man every chance as he glanced back over his shoulder, then fought to maneuver the team into the open roadway.
Brodie pulled back the hammer of the revolver as he shouted once more for him to stop. Steiner did not look back.
The shot echoed across the carriage park. Then a second shot.
Steiner slumped, then toppled from the coach as others ran up behind Brodie, including Alex Sinclair and Mr. Conner who calmed the horses, then bent over Steiner.
“You haven’t lost yer touch, old man. Dead,” he told him as they reached Steiner’s body. “I didn’t like him anyway.”
MIKAELA
The tip of his saber sliced the sleeve of my gown, a near miss. He obviously didn’t intend for that to happen again.
I heard the faint popping sound from somewhere beyond the palace walls as I brought that ancient saber up with both hands. It was much heavier than a rapier, shorter, but I adjusted as I drove him back with a startled look.
There were no more questions, no need for them. I needed time, even as I heard another sound, very much like a second gunshot. Shouts, and a woman’s scream rang out as I moved just out of reach of that sword as Sir Smith-Thomas came at me again.
He couldn’t let me escape, nor was I willing to let him escape as I circled again, then lunged, the blade of the ancient sword slicing the front of his coat with those gold buttons.
The skirts of the gown were heavy and awkward as I moved, then moved again refusing to lower the saber for even a moment as he lunged at me. I brought the sword up and blocked his strike.
He cursed and came at me again. Rather than meet that blow, I side-stepped and found that we were where we had begun. Instead of circling away, I raised the sword and drove him back until he was stopped by a display cabinet that prevented any further retreat. I lunged and pinned him with the tip of my saber pressed against his throat.
“How many lives are worth what you’ve done?” I shouted at him. “And for what? What were you promised? More gold for buttons?”
