Page 63 of The Hood and his Thief

Before Rhosyn could follow Mr. Gower and the second man to the main garden, the third man turned on his heel and marched from the side garden, motions as mechanical as a tin soldier. He strode quickly in the direction of the manor house, and Rhosyn frowned.

Something about the oddity of his behavior called to her instincts. She hovered for a split second of indecision before trailing him in the direction of the house. Ansel was still at the party, where he could keep an eye on Mr. Gower.

On light feet, Rhosyn followed the servant out of the side garden towards the manor. She held her wrists with her opposite hands to keep her bangles from jangling and giving her away. The servant ducked in a side door, and she waited for a moment before following suit.

She thanked luck for hinges kept well-oiled by the royal housekeepers as it shut silently behind her. The quiet in the empty hallway lay heavily after the liveliness of the party. Rhosyn took short steps, afraid even the quiet swish of her skirts would alert the man to her pursuit, but he didn’t react.

In fact, he seemed blind to all around him, marching with purpose towards his unknown destination. He led Rhosyn up a flight of stairs, out of what appeared to be the servants’ quarters and into the manor proper.

The halls here were richly appointed, paintings in gilded frames decorating every wall and elegant furniture upholstered in brocades and velvets. The man clearly wasn’t here to steal, for he easily would have been able to pocket a fortune, unattended as they were. He instead made a beeline for the stairs.

Up on the second floor, they passed several closed doors that Rhosyn assumed concealed bedrooms, until the man opened one and strode inside. There was nothing marking this door as distinct from the others, and Rhosyn might have thought it was chosen at random if not for the purposefulness of his stride.

Rhosyn stopped outside the closed door, weighing her options. Looking up and down the hallway for anybody who might be watching, Rhosyn found the place deserted, everybody apparently at the party. She leaned forward and pressed her ear to the door. Only a faint shuffling greeted her, the absence of voices indicating he had not come up here for a surreptitious rendezvous.

In a rustle of skirts, Rhosyn fell down onto her belly so she could peer through the slight gap under the door. She squinted, as she tried to concentrate her vision through the narrow slit. As the man’s silhouette came into focus, her stomach dropped.

In his hands was the long, thin length of a repeating rifle. A metallic click told Rhosyn he was loading it.

The time for secrecy was at an end.

She sprang to her feet and grabbed the door handle, only to curse when it didn’t turn. He had locked the door behind him. Bending over to get a better look at the lock, she was momentarily distracted by a distant cheering from the party.

Something told her she didn’t have much time. Rhosyn didn’t know what the man planned to do with the rifle, but she doubted he was using it as a back scratcher. With a grimace, she took a step back. Then she drew her knee up into her chest and kicked out, foot hitting the door firmly, just above the handle. The blow rattled her teeth, and a shock ran from the sole of her foot up to the top of her head, the slippers she wore not offering nearly as much protection as her usual boots.

Still, it was enough for the lock to give way, and the door crashed inwards.

The sight that greeted her left her with no time to think about the jolt echoing through her. Seemingly unperturbed by the interruption, the man stood in the window, back to her with the rifle raised. He stared down the sights through the open window, which offered a clear view of the garden where the party was being held.

At the near end of the garden was a small platform, erected by Ansel for some of his performers, and standing on it, with his arms raised as if in speech, was King Byron.

The safety on the gun clicked, the sound echoing as time stretched. Rhosyn bounded across the room in three long strides. The man’s finger was already tightening on the trigger by the time she reached him, giving her only enough time to crash into him. She grabbed him around the chest, forcing his arm up as the gun fired.

The volume of the shot shattered through her, leaving both her and the gunman momentarily frozen. The ringing in her ears quickly gave way to screams from the party. Over the gunman’s shoulder, she spotted Nate hustling King Byron off the stage, both seemingly uninjured.

Before she could process anything else, the man lurched back into her, trying to throw her off. The motion loosened her grip just enough for him to spin in her grasp. He tried to lower the gun to point it at her, but the close quarters gave him very little room to maneuver. Rhosyn grabbed the rifle, keeping the barrel pointed at the ceiling and trying to wrest it from his grip.

He was deceptively strong and tugged back. Rhosyn grit her teeth and held on with all her might, knowing that her chances for survival were infinitesimal if he controlled the weapon. She kicked out savagely, foot catching him in the shin.

He grunted in pain, and she gained the advantage. As she tried to get a better grip on the gun, her finger slipped onto the trigger.

A blast echoed through the room as the gun discharged, so loud and so close that Rhosyn’s vision swam. Stunned, she staggered back, letting go of the gun.

A heavy object plummeted past her, missing her by inches as she stumbled away. The gunman wasn’t so fortunate, a heavy light fixture dropping from the ceiling, knocked loose by the accidental shot.

One of the wrought metal arms caught him square in the forehead, and he crumpled like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Rhosyn took the opportunity to lunge across the destroyed light fixture to where he lay on the floor. She pinned him to the ground and wrenched the rifle from his slack fingers as he blinked dazedly.

In the few seconds of relative calm, shouts drifted in through the open window.

“—tried to kill the King!”

“On the third floor!”

Slamming doors and pounding footsteps accompanied the voices.

Rhosyn’s attention was drawn away from the commotion by gunman’s expression going from dazed, to confused, and finally settling on horrified.

“What happened?” he gasped.