But there was the matter of the loaded guns pointed at them, fingers already wrapping the triggers, reflexively pulled on a flinch.
Patrick glanced once at his father.
“Drop your weapons!” shouted one of the men, his voice carrying, probably in hopes it would reach his comrades.
“They can’t hear you,” Patrick said. “They’re dead.”
The men looked at one another. “Bullshit.”
Theo stumbled up then, sweating and panting. Every breath seemed to pain him. Patrick didn’t spare him a glance. “Get ’em all, Teddy?”
“Y—yes,” he said shakily. He was likely moments from vomiting.
“Well, there you have it, boys,” Patrick said. “Last ones standin’. That’s got to be worth a medal, eh? Let us pass, and you might just collect it.”
“She’s Artisan,” one soldier said suddenly, his eyes landing on Polly, whose forearm hosted a red, puckered brand on her dark skin. The soldier regripped his weapon, looking through the scope of his rifle, muzzle trained on John.
“And that one…” the other soldier was looking over Patrick’s shoulder at Nina, eyes narrowing. Patrick moved in front of her.
“The Alchemist?” Patrick said. “That’d be me.”
That served to draw their attention, at least.
“Patrick Colson,” he said, empty gun still lifted. “It’s a pleasure.”
Likely this contingent had come through the cold expecting a fightless raid. Perhaps a few bottles of whiskey on someone’s shelf to pilfer. Home by morning.
“How would you two like an even bigger medal, eh?” Patrick felt for Nina behind him and pushed her toward Theo. He stepped forward, let hisgun swing loose on his finger. He held his hands up in surrender. “You can take me right up to National House yourselves.”
It was their only choice. That, or shoot him, which would get them hanged. They weren’t Artisans, after all.
Patrick saw opportunity gleam in their eyes. But still, their guns didn’t move. “Can’t take us all in yourselves, though,” he pointed out. “We’d outmuscle you, wouldn’t we? Better odds if there’s two on one. Tell my friends to be on their way.” Patrick dropped his revolver to the snow and waited for them to deliberate. He prayed they were fools.
Eventually, the one closest to Patrick nodded to himself, readjusted his footing and stood taller. “Yeah,” he said, his shoulders rolling back. “Yeah, all right. We’ll take just you.” He jutted his chin at the others. The log waiting over his head hovered precariously. “The rest of you, get walkin’.”
Slowly, they did so, Theo with Nina behind him, John with Polly in front, and Patrick would wait until the bayonets were drawn away from their group and trained only on him. John would let them fall. Patrick would duck the bullets.
“Patrick?” Nina said, edging away from Theo, ignoring his insistent tugs.
Patrick groaned internally.Keep walkin’, Scurry girl.
“Hang on,” grunted the second soldier, recognition dawning. He looked between Patrick and Nina, some uncompromised part of his mind quicker than the rest of him. “Wait. Is that… That’s the earth Charmer!” he said, jaw swinging open. His bayonet lifted at her torso.
And Patrick was too far away.
The logs fell.
A shot rang out.
The soldiers struck the snow, knees first, then faces. The backs of their skulls caved in.
And next to Patrick lay another body, its stomach blooming red beneath clothing.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVETHEO
When Theo had first arrived in Kenton Hill, a man had aimed a shotgun at his stomach outside the Coal Works. Called him a swank. Told him to go back to the city or be sent back in a box.
Theo had wondered then, with a sort of detached curiosity, what it would feel like to have a bullet sink into his skin. Whether he would feel anything at first, or if the pain would seep in slower, like melting ice.
