Julia found herself thrashing in the dirt, her pistol uselessly flung somewhere several feet ahead of her in the overgrown weeds. The man nearest her grinned. She could see his yellowed teeth in the moonlight. Very unsavory. His eyes fell on her just long enough to realize she was no threat. Mostly his attention was on Rastmoor.
With practiced skill he raised his gun. Julia could already imagine it firing, the bullet lodging somewhere in Rastmoor’s body and sending him to the ground. It was all too obvious what would happen after that.
Unless, of course, she did what she was supposed to have done right from the start. Her fingers dug and clawed at the earth, and somehow she managed to get her feet under her. She hurled herself forward, arms swinging wide, and somehow her hand contacted the cold metal of her pistol.
She grabbed it up. Their assailant was ignoring her, still training his weapon on Rastmoor when she felt the powerful recoil. She had fired.
It hit the man dead in the chest, up high toward the throat. The hideous scarlet stain was instantaneous and heavy. He staggered back, his pistol dropping into the roadway and an odd, gagging gurgle sounding in his throat. It was the most wretched sound Julia had ever heard.
Good God, what had she done? The man stared at her wild-eyed, his arms flailing to his wound and his legs buckling beneath him. He collapsed, but not quickly. The whole dreadful scene was playing out slowly, etching itself in her mind. Those damn yellow teeth were becoming red with blood, and he glared at her as if that in itself could avenge his injury. Perhaps it could. She felt a churning in her gut and the taste of bile.
The woman with the baby shrieked at some point and pulled herself away from the man, covering her child. There was blood on the woman’s clothing, but Julia was fairly certain it was not hers. Or the babe’s. It spattered off the man as he gurgled there, sinking pitifully into the ground. His lungs were full, and bloodied air was escaping through his chest. Lord, it was positively hideous what she had done to another human being!
She put one hand over her mouth and crawled backward, wishing she could get far, far away from this place but unable to take her eyes from the man. He was completely prone now, twitching and still gurgling, but the sounds were getting weaker. The woman in the carriage had reappeared, and she had blood on her face, too. The mother and child rushed to her and they whispered and cried and consoled one another. The baby had been frightened into silence by the sudden gunfire, but now he was howling for all he was worth. Julia took that to be a good sign, all things considered.
The driver of the carriage was moving, groaning, and awkwardly trying to get to his feet. Rastmoor had his quarry firmly under control. Good, because Julia was completely useless now. Dropping the spent pistol back into the weeds, she climbed to her feet and turned her back on the group. The bile finally got the best of her, and she cast up tonight’s dinner. Heavens, it certainly hadn’t felt as if she’d gotten that much soup inside her, but here it was now to prove she had.
The heaves kept coming long after the soup was gone. She dug a handkerchief out of her coat pocket and tried in vain to tidy herself, succeeding only in displacing her mustache. It was no use salvaging it. Between creeping through the forest and now this, the fragile bits of hair Papa had fashioned into this theatrical disguise were ruined.
She fumbled with it but soon realized Rastmoor had come up beside her. All she could do was crumple the wilted thing in her handkerchief and hope she could keep her face averted. Between the loss of mustache and the tears he would obviously see streaming down her cheeks, only a fool could still believe her to be a man.
And Rastmoor was no fool.
“You did what you had to do,” he said from behind.
“I know.”
“Your aim was excellent. He didn’t suffer long,
With practiced skill he raised his gun. Julia could already imagine it firing, the bullet lodging somewhere in Rastmoor’s body and sending him to the ground. It was all too obvious what would happen after that.
Unless, of course, she did what she was supposed to have done right from the start. Her fingers dug and clawed at the earth, and somehow she managed to get her feet under her. She hurled herself forward, arms swinging wide, and somehow her hand contacted the cold metal of her pistol.
She grabbed it up. Their assailant was ignoring her, still training his weapon on Rastmoor when she felt the powerful recoil. She had fired.
It hit the man dead in the chest, up high toward the throat. The hideous scarlet stain was instantaneous and heavy. He staggered back, his pistol dropping into the roadway and an odd, gagging gurgle sounding in his throat. It was the most wretched sound Julia had ever heard.
Good God, what had she done? The man stared at her wild-eyed, his arms flailing to his wound and his legs buckling beneath him. He collapsed, but not quickly. The whole dreadful scene was playing out slowly, etching itself in her mind. Those damn yellow teeth were becoming red with blood, and he glared at her as if that in itself could avenge his injury. Perhaps it could. She felt a churning in her gut and the taste of bile.
The woman with the baby shrieked at some point and pulled herself away from the man, covering her child. There was blood on the woman’s clothing, but Julia was fairly certain it was not hers. Or the babe’s. It spattered off the man as he gurgled there, sinking pitifully into the ground. His lungs were full, and bloodied air was escaping through his chest. Lord, it was positively hideous what she had done to another human being!
She put one hand over her mouth and crawled backward, wishing she could get far, far away from this place but unable to take her eyes from the man. He was completely prone now, twitching and still gurgling, but the sounds were getting weaker. The woman in the carriage had reappeared, and she had blood on her face, too. The mother and child rushed to her and they whispered and cried and consoled one another. The baby had been frightened into silence by the sudden gunfire, but now he was howling for all he was worth. Julia took that to be a good sign, all things considered.
The driver of the carriage was moving, groaning, and awkwardly trying to get to his feet. Rastmoor had his quarry firmly under control. Good, because Julia was completely useless now. Dropping the spent pistol back into the weeds, she climbed to her feet and turned her back on the group. The bile finally got the best of her, and she cast up tonight’s dinner. Heavens, it certainly hadn’t felt as if she’d gotten that much soup inside her, but here it was now to prove she had.
The heaves kept coming long after the soup was gone. She dug a handkerchief out of her coat pocket and tried in vain to tidy herself, succeeding only in displacing her mustache. It was no use salvaging it. Between creeping through the forest and now this, the fragile bits of hair Papa had fashioned into this theatrical disguise were ruined.
She fumbled with it but soon realized Rastmoor had come up beside her. All she could do was crumple the wilted thing in her handkerchief and hope she could keep her face averted. Between the loss of mustache and the tears he would obviously see streaming down her cheeks, only a fool could still believe her to be a man.
And Rastmoor was no fool.
“You did what you had to do,” he said from behind.
“I know.”
“Your aim was excellent. He didn’t suffer long,
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