Chapter 27 #3
Nigel felt the searing burn drawing closer and closer to his flesh, and then—
The sound of shattered glass followed by metallic clatters, bursting on all sides like a sudden downpour of large, metal hailstones.
Through the throb of pain in his skull, Nigel couldn’t comprehend what he heard, couldn’t place it.
But with a series of loud bangs! the air abruptly filled with a dense haze of purple gas.
Nigel’s nostrils filled with the stinking sweetness of severmist—an anti-sorcery agent that disintegrated Dire Matter on contact.
Shocked, Mortimer struggled to his feet, losing his balance on his bad leg and nearly falling headlong.
The thick gas filled the massive chamber swiftly, blinding to sorcerous eyes and nearly as confusing to un-sorcerous senses as well.
The atmosphere erupted with shouts, and Nigel heard one gruff voice bark, “It’s the bloody wardsmen! ”
Snarling, Mortimer whipped his head to one side, focusing on Nigel. “You pulled up my wards?” he shrieked.
Nigel grinned.
Then he rolled, escaping into the thick smoke.
He was forced to close his eyes, for the severmist was scalding.
Tears streamed through his squeezed lids, and he feared his eyeballs were even now melting in his skull.
But he ignored this and kept on rolling until he hit something.
A foot. A dainty little foot clad in a relatively-new boot.
Nigel latched hold of Luna’s ankle, an anchor in this chaos-storm.
All around him, wardsmen’s voices shouted things like, “Block ‘em in, boys!” and “Keep those anti-sorcery shields up!” He was almost certain he heard John-blighted Ward’s manly tones among them, sounding particularly heroic. Damn him.
Shaking fingers gripping the fabric of Luna’s skirt, Nigel pulled himself upright.
A shot fired, then another, and he could not help wincing.
The Brute Boys, disoriented by the gas but otherwise unaffected, were more than willing to fight back, and who knew what would happen once the bullets really started flying? He had to get Luna out of here.
Blind, tears pouring down his face, his body throbbing with adrenaline and the aftershocks of torture, Nigel fumbled behind the chair, trying to find Luna’s bindings. His hand touched human flesh, and a familiar voice exclaimed, “Oi! Mr. Grimm! Careful, or I’ll cut you!”
Nigel peered through his lashes. The disreputable face of Tobias Goddard appeared through the stinging haze.
The boy had a pocket knife out and was trying to cut through the ropes securing Luna’s arms. He caught Nigel’s eye and looked ashamed, even in his terror.
“I didn’t mean for nuffin’ bad to happen to her—”
“Never mind that,” Nigel snapped. “Cut her free.”
While Tobias was thus occupied, Nigel pulled out his handkerchief and tied it around his face to filter out the severmist. Better to breathe in as little of the stuff as possible.
He tried to ignore the fact that his handkerchief sported a motif of whimsically dancing mushrooms, wildly incongruous to the moment at hand.
“There!” Tobias declared.
Luna’s hands slumped to her sides, and she began to tilt out of the chair. Nigel caught her, drawing her into his lap. “Miss Talbot?” he said, touching her face. She was very still and pale but, as Mortimer had implied, alive. For the moment, at least.
Nigel got to his feet, cradling Luna against his chest. His body protested, letting him know that it really would much rather keel over now and perhaps twitch a little.
He ignored it and sought out Tobias through the mist. Another gun shot, and both men flinched.
The wardsmen shouted something incoherent to Nigel’s ears just before a bolt of Dire energy erupted at the far end of the warehouse, blasting a hole in the wall.
“Get out that way!” Nigel said, jerking his head in the direction of the hole. “Take the long way home, by Sandpiper and Truelolly. The wardsmen shouldn’t be there.”
“What about her?” Tobias asked shakily.
“I’ll worry about Miss Talbot. Go on! While they’re distracted!”
Tobias swallowed hard, then turned and fled to the newly-created exit. Nigel could only hope he’d somehow make it home to his mother tonight.
Staggering under the weight of his burden, Nigel hastened through the whirling gas to the far wall of the warehouse where a couple of old crates stood beneath a window.
Feeling around with his foot, he located the brick he’d used to break through the window on the fire escape and pushed it aside.
Then he crouched, grasped the invisible folds of Yorik Balthazar’s dressing gown.
Draping it around the two of them, Nigel allowed himself a moment to simply breathe through the mushroom-hankie.
His body shook, trying to remind him that he was in terrible pain, but he didn’t have time for that right now.
Luna’s pale face lay against his shoulder. He could not let her down.
Surging to his feet, he wafted unseen through the mayhem, making for the nearest exit.