Page 29 of Tomb of Ancients
“Mary,” I said hurriedly, rummaging in the only bag I had taken into the carriage. “Can you shield us?”
“I’m still weakened, I fear,” she replied with a whimper. “And I doubt I can stop something that bloody big!”
The creature chasing us let loose a high-pitched shriek, an unholy clamor that sounded as if the sky itself had been torn in two. The breath of it rattled the carriages, buffeting us forward a few meters. The carpet bag nearly leapt out of my hands from the constant and violent shaking. There was so little inside. Some bandages for my hand, a tawdry novel, Dalton’s diary, and the dull supper knife I had taken from Lady Thrampton’s ball... I picked up the knife and twisted it in my hand, an idea slowly but steadily forming.
I fumbled toward the window, sticking my head partly out and looking up, finding one of Khent’s hands gripping the wood and canvas edge of the roof.
“Yehu!How is your arm?”
“Mended, silly one, you know that!” His face appearedsuddenly, bouncing back and forth as he struggled to stay flattened to the roof.
“No, I mean... can you aim? Can you throw?” I called.
His eyes lit up, his mouth falling open with eagerness. Perhaps it was unkind, but I could imagine a dog excited over a bone making just such an expression. “Eyteht, I once raced chariots with the god-king himself. I let him win, though he was lousy with a lance.”
“Perfect!” I cried back, then softer to myself. “I think.”
“Louisa, don’t be ridiculous, you can’t go out there.” Mary scuttled across the bench to me, trying to grab my ankle, but the carriage shot forward again, and I dodged out of her grasp.
“Do you have a better idea? Trust me!” I ignored the flash of pain in my hand as I pushed open the carriage door and the wind whipped against me. The rain lashed harder than I expected, and I said a silent prayer that this would work and that I would accomplish it without losing my legs under the wheels.
“Pull me up!” I put the knife between my teeth and grabbed the roof’s edge with both hands, trying to steady myself as the breathlessly fast pace and jumping wheels nearly rattled my bones free of my body. Khent swore, his strong hands closing over my wrists and yanking hard, my feet kicking free.
For a single, terrible, exhilarating, wonderful moment I was hanging there in the air, as weightless as a bird. I heard myself squeak with crazed relief as he hauled me up and onto the roof.But it was harder to find purchase than I expected, and I was forced to lie completely flat, creating as little a target for the wind as I could.
“What are you doing!?” He was furious, his face a finger’s breadth from mine as he dropped down next to me.
“Good God, it’s massive.” I ignored him, transfixed by the hulking beast galloping after us. It had the bulk of a dragon from legends, though its head was that of a mangy lion, its legs thick and stumpy as a bear’s, scales covering it from neck to whipping, barbed tail.
“Dalton said it’s a Tarasque,” I shouted over the wind. “Whatever the hell that means.”
“Fascinating. How do we stop it?”
“With this,” I said, reciting another prayer in my mind. It certainly couldn’t hurt. We would need more than skill and luck to keep that mountain-size lion from gobbling us up. The welts in the muddy earth it left in its wake would soon be ponds. I glanced ahead, wind stinging my eyes, the stretch of road becoming familiar as we neared Coldthistle. Dalton had raced off the road and onto the flat country land to the side, trying to divert the beast’s attention, but the Tarasque remained dogged in its pursuit of our carriage. It had no interest in the fast little phaeton gliding away. The Tarasque gave another shuddering, trilling roar, and its foul breath was close enough to ruffle our hair.
There was no more time.
“With this,” I repeated. “And your arm!”
Closing my eyes, I clutched the supper knife in my fist. I poured all of my concentration into it, focusing so hard on its transformation that I could hear the blood singing in my ears. My breathing raced out of control, but that only helped, the chaos and fear accelerating the dark magicks of my blood until the knife in my hand grew and grew, becoming heavier and longer until I could no longer hold it. Khent caught the idea quickly, ripping the spear out of my hand and crawling to his knees.
I craned my neck to watch him, squinting against the hard-beating rain. He lifted the spear to his shoulder and gave an experimental poke toward the Tarasque, but then he sighed and shook his head.
“Grab my feet, Louisa, and don’t let go. Gods, but this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”
I did as he asked, reaching out for his boots, clamping my hands down over them and throwing myself forward to pin them better with my weight. Khent climbed shakily to his feet, balancing with the tip of the spear on the roof. Inside the carriage, I heard Mary screaming with alarm. I felt it, too. The Tarasque was gaining, tireless, perhaps spurred by seeing a living target appear so clearly. Its breath jerked the carriage forward and back, the rear wheels lifting off the ground for an instant, and its loose and flapping jowls threw spit in every direction. Some of it landed on the carriage roof by my foot,and I watched it sizzle and eat away at the canvas and then the wood, burning clear through.
“Mind your head! The drool is like acid!” I shouted. The hole drilled through and through, then hissed as it hit the cushion just beside Mary. She blinked at me through the opening, covering her mouth with both hands.
“You’ve got an audience, Khent! And one chance at this!”
He thrust the spear over his right shoulder a few times, preparing, the loose edges of his coat flapping behind him like a cloak. His legs were shaking from the force of staying upright, and I pressed down harder, leaning into him, my last breath catching in my throat as he gave a huge grunt of effort and used our one chance, letting the javelin fly.
Chapter Fourteen
Iheard the spear strike its mark before I saw it. The beast’s deafening howl might be heard all the way back to London. That, more than the way it floundered—its shaggy, brown head tossing, its short, thick legs caving in—pierced me to my core. The Tarasque gave two last faltering leaps, fur and scales slick with mud, before it dove forward, jowls shoveling stone and muck, carving a ditch into the road. Khent had struck it in the left eye, but the javelin had traveled deep, only a stub of an end protruding from the bloody ruin of its socket.
Fathom slowed the horses with a cheer, and I lifted my head enough to see Niles and Dalton circle back, bringing their carriage up next to ours from the opposite direction. I pressed one hand to my heart, checking to see if indeed I still breathed. It felt as if pure lightning skittered across my skin. Then I was airborne, lifted clean off the roof and spun, Khent dancing me up and down before he threw his head back and gave his own howl of relief.
