All the hesitation must of gotten burned up, because I slung that chair back up and whaled it at Bantle like I was swinging for a goose’s stretched neck with an ax.
And Tomoatooah stepped right into the swing.
This time he went down — in a heap, and not even on top of Bantle where he might of done some good, but right beside him. Bantle grabbed his throat with the glove, and Tomoatooah arched up like a bronc trying to scrape a saddle off.
I screamed and scrambled back. Merry was still fighting, but now there was three on her, and I could see she was starting to get tired. It hadn’t been that long ago Crispin and Miss Lizzie had cut the bullets out of her, no matter what she wanted to think—
Somebody big and soft bellied with hands like iron straps grabbed my arms from behind. I kicked for his crotch and got thigh. I caught a glimpse when he picked me up and shook me. My old friend Bill. Then Bantle was on his feet, staggering slightly but walking toward me, the glove outstretched.
Those other thugs had gotten their hands on Merry. She kept twisting, fighting silent like a coyote, but she was too outnumbered and outsized for it to do much good. I yanked at Bill, trying to go to her assistance, but he gave my upper arms a squeeze and I quit, gasping in pain.
Bantle sighed theatrically as he inspected me. “You’re that same damned whore that confounded me the other time, aren’t you? I do admit, I hoped you and some of your sisters might get a bit burned up in that fire, but you crawled out pretty well unscathed. Pity, but that can be fixed.”
I tried to remember to breathe, because forgetting was making me dizzy. And was likely to set off another coughing fit, the way my chest was hurting.
“There weren’t no pleasure in that,” Bantle said, jerking his head at Tomoatooah. I didn’t follow his eyes. I was too afraid I would see Tomoatooah dead on the floor. I’d rather look at Bantle, and I didn’t want to look at Bantle at all.
“This, though,” he said, “you ought to be charging me for.”
He snapped his fingers, making a heavy blue spark hang in the air. Then he reached out for me with the glove. I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t of been more scared if he was holding out an angry rattlesnake—
“Wait, Peter.”
I jerked my eyes away from the glove as if somebody had cut a rope. Horaz Standish had his hand on Bantle’s shoulder. He wasn’t holding him back, just … cautioning him, like.
And for a second, Bantle seemed to be listening. He turned toward Horatio.
“There just ain’t time tonight, Peter,” Horaz said. “Not to do a proper job of it. Not with the meeting and all.”
Bantle’s eyes caught the light all slick and gleaming — like they was extra-wet, somehow. “You gotta be fucking kidding.”
“Put her away,” Standish said. “Play with her when we get back. Let her think about it for a while.”
I tried to catch Horaz’s eye, to see if he was trying to do me a favor. But he kept his gaze on Bantle. His expression was all calm and reasonable. Bantle’s hand started to sag.
Then Scarlet stepped up to Merry and without giving no warning at all slugged her in the belly as hard as he could. All his shoulder behind it, and hip. Merry made a sound like a squashed kitten and would of doubled up, except for the side of beef holding on to her arms. Her feet came off the floor, and the side of beef took a half step back.
She wheezed and puked all over the floor. She missed Scarlet, more’s the pity. He’d stepped to the side like a pro.
“Cunt,” he said conversationally. “What were you going to do to my Mesmeric Engine?”
He lifted her head up by the hair — her bowler hat had gone flying. With his other hand he fingered his belt, and I felt a chill. Even if Horatio talked Bantle off me, who was going to step in for Merry? I imagined one of my frail sisters tripping over Merry when she went to take the trash out, and I nearly puked, too.
“Fuck, Scarlet,” Bantle said. “Mind the fucking carpet.”
He turned around and slapped me hard across the face.
Bill must of got a lot of practice, because he let go of my arms and stepped back in the instant before Bantle connected. I ducked — I tried to duck — but it didn’t work. There was a savage light, and the next thing I knew I was flat on my back on the rug, looking up at everyone from right beside the engine.
“Parshiviy!” Scarlet said. “Careful of the tubes!”
My ears rang. I smelled piss. A molar rocked in its socket and I tasted blood. Bantle stalked toward me. I wanted to scramble away, but I couldn’t make my arms or legs twitch. There was a thin soft sound in the room.
I thought, Priya. Run.
Bantle stood over me, wrinkling his nose. “Well, that should lower your prices,” he said. He crouched and grabbed my throat, squeezed. Not enough to make the world swim — just enough to make it go black at the edges. That thin, soft whine cut off. A moment later, I realized I had been making it.
He shocked me again. Not as much as last time, I thought. It hurt, and I smelled something burning, but I didn’t fly across the room. I don’t know how long he kept it up for.
Not long. Because when he let go — my head bounced on the rug — and my vision swam clear, I was looking right at the infernal machine. And from down here, I could see the long fuse on the dynamite Tomoatooah must of shoved up underneath it fizzing along, steady and slow.
I gurgled and tried to point. My hand didn’t move, though my heel kicked feebly against the carpet. A second later, I thought better of it. Because Bantle was going to kill us all anyway. So why not let the dynamite do the job for him? It’d be faster, and it’d take him, too.
“What was that about the rug?” Scarlet scoffed from a long way away.
“My rug,” Bantle answered. He sniffed. “You smell burning?”
“Yeah,” Bill answered. “That little whore you just cooked.”
“No,” Bantle replied. He stood, and I cheered silently. There was no way he was going to spot the dynamite from up there.
Just to be sure, though, I made myself look away from the fuse. I could move my eyes, if not my head. I strained ’em after Bantle.
In time to see Tomoatooah pull his arms under him and get his hands flat on the floor. Nobody else had noticed — nobody else was looking at him. And I felt a horrible surge of hope that was like to bust my chest. I swear it hurt worse than the burns on my face — or the burns on my hands.
They’d all stepped over Tomoatooah. And now nobody was between him and the door.
I willed him to get up, knock over anybody who went for him, grab Merry Lee, and get out. That left me in the soup — dynamite soup — but so be it. There was less than an inch of slow match left.
I made myself look away from Tomoatooah, too. All the interesting things going on, and I didn’t dare look at any of them in case someone should notice. You wouldn’t expect that kind of irritation to get inside a girl’s shoe when she’s making her final peace, but apparently there’s no cease in the world to petty frustrations.
My eye was drawn to Scarlet, anyway. He’d done hurting Merry for the time being, and he was stepping over me — fastidiously, so as not to soil his shoes — in his rush to get to his infernal engine and make sure we hadn’t hurt it none. Don’t crouch down, I prayed. Start looking at the other end.
But damned if he wasn’t headed more or less for that stick of dynamite.
I tried to think of a distraction. I wondered if I could make a noise or heave a limb around to get him to come over and stomp on me some, and buy that fuse a precious few more seconds to burn. And I tried like hell not to look at Tomoatooah, nor the dynamite.