She tried to flick a blinder in my face, but I felt the formae building and ducked away when it went off. Behind me I heard Spencer-Talbot screaming and Guleed calling it in on her Airwave. I tried to go over the counter, but Lesley had followed up the blinder with another swing with the frying pan, which hit me on the shoulder with a comical boing sound.
It was a dull blow and, because I maintain it’s always a good idea to disarm a suspect, I wrapped my left arm around her right, rabbit-punched her once in the face and grabbed her collar.
Lesley threw herself backwards and the loose sweatshirt slipped easily over her head. I might have managed a second grab, or at least to tangle her in the sleeves, but she hit me in the chest with her own impello-palma which knocked me flying backwards.
I hit a table, which broke and spilled me sideways amongst the chair legs while I thought that a bit of assistance from Guleed might be quite nice about now. I scrambled up and looked to see that Guleed had jumped up and was staring at something behind me.
I thought it was probably Lesley, but when I turned I found myself face to face with Francisca.
17 Teamwork
We never did figure out how she got in. All the other sudden appearances were heralded by a flash and that bell-like vestigium that seemed so loud it was almost a real sound. Not to mention the halo and the wings of fire.
Certainly it was unlikely she walked through our perimeter, although, truth be told, it did prove a bit more porous than we might have liked.
Our best guess was that she was having a lie-down in the shelter’s women’s dormitory, although Greg swore later that he’d double-checked for malingerers. Perhaps the open reveal of the ring had brought her out, or she’d just finished having a nap and the timing was a coincidence.
One day we may find out. But at that moment I had other things on my mind.
‘Francisca,’ I said. ‘Hi.’
Behind me, I heard Spencer-Talbot yelling at Guleed to get off her – in our risk assessment it was decided that in this eventuality Guleed would grab any civilians while I tried to contain Francisca.
‘How are you doing?’ I asked.
Francisca cocked her head to one side and frowned as if seriously considering an answer.
‘I’m OK,’ she said.
‘Good, good,’ I said, hoping that Nightingale was on his way. ‘Heather was asking after you.’
Her face twisted then. Concern? Pain? Anguish? It was hard to tell. Definitely a strong emotion, though.
‘She was wondering whether you might come see her.’ I said.
Francesca’s face fell back into a puzzled frown, and I thought I might even be able to talk her down, when suddenly her gaze flicked over my shoulder. I had a choice then – keep talking or start the spell. I chose wrong.
‘She misses you,’ I said.
Behind me I felt, rather than heard, the distinctive ripping silk sound of Guleed letting loose and two thwacks in rapid succession. Then Lesley yelping in pain and Spencer-Talbot shouting in surprise.
Sīphōnem is a tricky spell at the best of times, and this was a modified version that I hadn’t had a chance to practise more than once. Even as Francisca tensed and prepared to act, I was lining up the formae, but I was rushing it and tripped over one of the inflectentes. Luckily, all that happened was that the spell failed.
Unluckily, Francisca went full Angel of Vengeance mode.
It might have been because I was closer, or because this was not my first angelic manifestation, but this time I actually followed the sequence. And had I been slightly less terrified, I would have been amazed by its beauty. It unfolded like a rose, with petals of pink and white and the smell of incense and orange blossom.
More importantly, I could feel the edges – the boundary between the physical Francisca and the allokosmos that was driving her power. Plus there was a definite suction, as if gravity had twisted through ninety degrees, and if I let go I would plunge into the source of that colour, sensation and power.
I wondered what I would find there.
Fortunately, the sensible part of my brain concluded that it was foolish to stand there gawping and made the command decision for me to throw myself to one side. Unfortunately, I landed face down on a table I hadn’t known was there, and went sliding across it and then head first off the edge.
I distinctly heard Spencer-Talbot shout ‘Oh my God!’ before I smacked into the rough cement floor. I managed to roll clumsily and, using a potted tree to pull myself up, I turned to make a tactical assessment.
Danni was pulling Greg towards the back door, but he was resisting and trying to get back to Spencer-Talbot. She was falling backwards after being pushed hard by Guleed with her left arm as she raised her extendable baton to fend off Lesley, who was trying to duck around her.
And Nightingale had advanced into the canteen area to block Francisca’s advance on Spencer-Talbot.
Francisca herself was in a rage – wings of fire scattering salt and pepper shakers and napkins off the canteen tables, knocking plants out of their hanging baskets. But not – I noticed – setting things on fire.
I dodged through the tables, trying to take a position behind Francisca – on her blind side.
Nightingale had his left hand extended, palm out, towards Francisca, while his right was tucked into his chest as if he was limbering up for a boxing match. I could feel the tick-tick-tick of his signare, but whatever he was doing, it was too subtle for me to track.
Powerful, though – and complex.
Francisca froze in place, spear raised but not aimed, wings half-furled. For a moment, Nightingale had her, and I took a second to help out Guleed by flicking a water bomb at Lesley’s head. I didn’t wait to see if it landed, because Francisca shuddered and lurched towards Spencer-Talbot, who had crawled under the table and emerged into the clear space between it and the main fight.
She held up both her hands, palms out.
‘I don’t know who you are,’ she said. ‘But all are welcome here.’
For a moment Francisca hesitated – the burning spear raised.
Then the spear lunged forwards, striking at her chest.
But the hesitation had been long enough for Nightingale to pick up one of the trestle tables and impello it between Francisca and her victim. The tip of the spear struck the surface of the table and splinters of wood exploded backwards. I dropped to the floor in time to avoid the shrapnel, but I heard Francisca scream in pain.
The table split in half, but Nightingale held both pieces in place and then sent them flying towards Francisca. I reckoned that since she was distracted, this was my cue to act. I didn’t bother with a spell; instead I swivelled around on my back and kicked at her heel with both feet.
Francisca threw up her spear to guard her face as the table halves slammed into her. The timing couldn’t have been better, as my heel connected with her ankle at exactly the right moment. She went over backwards and landed right on top of me. She was heavier than she looked and the impact knocked out my breath, but I still managed to lock my arms around her, pinning her own arms to her sides.
Francisca wriggled and grunted as she tried to break free. I could feel the power of her wings as a hot breath on my arms. Her physical body was hard and strong in the way some of my cousins, the ones who grew up on subsistence farms in Sierra Leone, were. I didn’t think I could hold her for long, so I looked around for help.