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“You’re my Achilles’ heel. Every time I try to shoot you, I miss.”
“If you want to be mythological, Nellie, say hello to your Nemesis.”
“Her, too. But if you weren’t my Achilles’ heel, you would be dead already. Somehow I could never bring myself to kill you.”
“Too late to change your mind,” said Bell.
Nellie drew her hand from her vest. Her pearl-handled derringer was already cocked. She aimed at Bell’s heart. “Don’t get close.”
“It’s over,” said Bell.
“Get out of the basket before I shoot you. You know I will.”
Bell moved toward her.
Nellie said, “I will pull the trigger this second if you do not sit on the floor. Now! You will die and it won’t change a thing and I’ll still get away.”
“How far do you think you’ll get in a balloon?”
“Last chance, Isaac. You’re bigger and stronger. I can’t let you close.”
He crossed his ankles and lowered himself into a cross-legged sitting position, poised to spring the instant she looked away. She loved to talk. It would not be hard to keep her talking.
“The wind is dead calm,” he said, “you’ll go straight up. When the gas dissipates, you’ll come down within a couple of miles from here.”
“I will go higher and higher until I find the wind. The troposphere. The stratosphere. The exosphere! As high as I have to to catch the wind.”
“You can’t breathe up there. You’ll die.”
“The wind always swings west. My body will be blown out to sea.”
“Do you want to die?”
“How would you like to die in prison or hang, Isaac? Tell me.”
“First tell me something.”
“Anything, Isaac.” She actually seemed on the edge of laughing. “What can I tell you?”
“Whose idea was it to kill for your father? His? Or yours?”
“I volunteered.”
Bell shook his head. He had tried to convince himself that her father had somehow coerced her. “Why did he accept? His own daughter?”
“He knew I could deliver. He’d seen me in action.”
“When you murdered your brother?”
“Stop asking silly questions, Isaac. Ask something important.”
“How did you learn to shoot?”
Nellie answered as if telling a story she had read in a book. “I ran away from home when I was fourteen. Like you. I joined a circus. Like you.”
“Your father told me the same story. The sheriff drove off his mother’s pigs and cows. What’s your excuse?”
She ignored the question. “By the time Father found me, the trick shootist had taught me everything she knew. I had a talent for guns—steady hands and a keen eye. I can see farther than any human being. And I can concentrate; most people can’t.”
