Dag dropped to the ground again and buried his head in his arms. Green fire swept over him, searing his legs and buttocks and burning through the leather coat he wore beneath the breastplate. The green fire enveloped his pistol, heating the metal, burning his hand, forcing him to drop the weapon. He picked it up, and was dimly aware of Brother Barnaby kneeling beside him, beating on him frantically, trying to put out the flames. Dag lifted his head.
“Stop hitting me, Brother!” Dag roared.
“But you’re on fire!” Barnaby gasped.
“Never mind! You’re throwing off my aim!”
Brother Barnaby drew back. Dag pulled the trigger. To his horror, green fire raced down the length of the muzzle toward his hand, like fire racing along the length of a fuse attached to a barrel of gunpowder. He flung the pistol away just as the gun exploded. A split second more and the blast would have taken off his hand.
The demon who had fired at Dag was reloading. The other demon was still going after Gythe. Dag reached his hand into his boot for his last weapon-his knife. He could feel the pain of his burns now, and he grimaced and stifled a groan as he pushed himself up off the charred cobblestones. He had no idea if his knife would penetrate the fiendish armor. He took aim with the knife when a large chunk of stone coming from behind him struck the demon, knocking the cannon from his hands. Another rock hit the demon in the head, sending him reeling backward.
Dag looked back to see Brother Barnaby picking up broken chunks of cobblestone and hurling the chunks in rapid fire succession, one after the other, at the demons. Dag watched in admiration. Brother Barnaby was a good shot. The monk kept up the barrage, and the demon could do nothing except try to keep his feet.
Father Jacob had by this time reached the demon closing in on Gythe. Coming up from behind, Father Jacob grabbed hold of the fiend by the shoulder, wrenched the demon around and slammed his fist into the demon’s jaw. The demon went down in a heap. Father Jacob ran to Gythe, who was huddled in the doorway, her arms over her head. He took hold of her, soothing her.
“Dag!” Stephano’s battlefield bellow reverberated through the smoke and darkness.
Dag grinned widely, relief flooding through him.
“Here I am, Captain! I’m still standing!” Dag shouted.
Stephano emerged from the smoke. He aimed his pistol at the demon who was the target of Brother Barnaby’s assault.
“Brother Barnaby!” Dag yelled. “Fall back!”
Barnaby scrambled to get out of the way. Stephano fired, and the demon flopped about and fell to the street, a hole in its chest. Miri was with Gythe and Father Jacob. Rodrigo stood protectively over them, holding a lantern in one hand. His other hand was glowing; presumably he was going to cast some sort of magical spell. Dag hoped Rigo handled his magic better than he handled a gun, and then he had other things to worry about. He caught sight of orange eyes on the roof of the warehouse. The demon was back, training the swivel gun at them.
“Take cover!” Dag yelled, and once more he hugged the pavement.
Stephano dropped to the ground. Brother Barnaby flung himself on top of Sir Ander. Father Jacob shielded Gythe. Miri grabbed hold of Rodrigo, who was standing in the open, staring at the gun with his mouth open. She dragged him down. The gun went off with a shattering boom that shook the buildings. Dag smelled the stench of burning flesh and he looked about in terror, fearing his friends had been caught in the blast.
He stared in shock. The demon hadn’t been aiming at them. The green fireball had struck the bodies of the four demons. The heat of the blazing corpses was so fierce Dag had to avert his face. He was astonished to catch a glimpse of the priest running past him, heading toward the flames.
Father Jacob spoke what sounded like gibberish and made a circle with his hand, opening a hole in the flames, like one opened a door into a room. He reached his hand into the fire to seize hold of something. The object was hot, for Father Jacob said a most unholy word and dropped the charred and blackened object on the ground and wrung his burned fingers.
The swivel gun turned and fired again, blasting apart the bodies of the demons Dag and the stranger had killed. Within moments the flames had gone out, leaving a large gaping gash in the street and piles of black and greasy ash. The demon on the roof mounted a giant bat and flew off in the direction of the Breath. The fiend had left the swivel gun behind and Dag was just thinking he could at last get a look at the weapon when it blew apart.
The night was still. All of them listened intently, but the only sounds were Miri’s soothing voice and Gythe’s sobs.
“We should get out of here before the constables come,” said Stephano.
“Take your time,” said Dag, picking up the pistols, planning to reload. He limped over to inspect what was left of the bodies.
“But someone must have heard the gunshots-” Stephano began.
“Nothing new, around here,” said Dag. “Trust me, the police won’t be in a hurry to investigate.”
Sir Ander had regained consciousness and was sitting up, ignoring Brother Barnaby’s pleas and remonstrations. The knight looked shaken and pale. Stephano walked over to join Dag, shouting for Rodrigo to bring the lantern.
“Turn around,” Stephano ordered Dag.
When the lantern arrived, Stephano inspected Dag’s back. He looked at the leather coat with the large holes burned through it and shook his head. Dag gingerly removed the breastplate, stifling a groan.
“You look as though you’ve been slow roasted,” said Stephano. “You should go back to the boat.”
“And let Miri slather me with yellow goo?” Dag said, grimacing. “No, thank you, Captain. You’re not in much better shape yourself.”
He pointed to the patch of blood staining Stephano’s pants leg.
“I’d say you need more yellow stuff,” Dag observed.
“I’ll keep quiet if you will,” said Stephano.
“A deal. How is Gythe?” Dag asked.
Stephano shook his head gloomily and ran his fingers through his hair. “She’s more scared than hurt. She keeps telling Miri that the demons were talking to her in the Trondler language. Doesn’t make sense to me, though it seems to make sense to him.”
He jerked his thumb at Father Jacob, who was squatting on the pavement, examining the grisly object he had rescued from the flames.
“What is that he’s got there?” Stephano asked.
“Looks like the head of that demon I shot,” said Dag. “He saved it from the fire. Damn near burned his hand off trying to get it.”
“So now he’s a ghoul,” said Stephano, scowling.
Rodrigo raised the lantern. “What do you have against that man?”
“I don’t trust him. He has secrets-”
“So do we,” Rodrigo pointed out.
“You don’t like him because he’s a priest,” said Dag in accusing tones.
“Oh, just shut up, both of you,” Stephano said irritably. “I’ve been stabbed and shot at by demons today. I don’t need to be lectured.”
Father Jacob put the object he’d recovered in Brother Barnaby’s script, first dumping out the contents. This done, the priest gave the script back to Brother Barnaby with orders to handle it gently, keep it safe.
“How is Sir Ander?” Father Jacob asked the monk.
“He says he is all right,” said Brother Barnaby worriedly. “The wraith did not have time to drain his life. He says the green fire from the demons destroyed the wraith.”
“Of course, it would!” said Father Jacob. “The wraith is a creature of blood magic. The contramagic would put an end to it.”
“Your hand, Father,” said Brother Barnaby, as the priest started to walk off. The priest’s knuckles were burst and bleeding and his fingers were burned.
“I’m fine,” said Father Jacob.
“What was that thing you grabbed out of the fire, Father?” Stephano asked, coming over to join them.
“I’m not sure,” said Father Jacob.