“Then do we go for the left arm?”
“Or one of the legs?”
“Or go straight for the head?”
“Or the heart. He won’t be Heart-of-Peace, he’ll be Heart-in-Pieces!”
“You’re not serious,” said Norton.
“We—” said one of them.
“—are,” continued the other one, “totally—”
“—serious.”
The long black blades were more like swords than knives, and Norton’s tormentors took turns swinging them in front of his face, every sweep coming closer and closer. He was frightened, very frightened. When he shut his eyes, he could feel the draft as the swords sliced through the air.
“You’re going to kill me?”
“Yes.”
“Eventually.”
“What have I done? I don’t know anything. I’ve done nothing. I’m innocent.”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“Innocent? This isn’t a law court, boy.”
“It’s your death cell.”
“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
“You said you didn’t know anything.”
“I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll work for you.”
“Pouring drinks?”
“Anything. Everything.”
“We don’t want anything.”
“Nothing you can give us, sweetie.”
“Can I say my prayers?”
“You want to pray?”
“If I’m going to die—”
“You are.”
“—you should grant me one final request.”
“Why?”
“He’s right. It’s traditional.”
“What’s your final request? Not to be killed? Refused.”
“If he wants to pray, we must let him. He’s already on his knees.”
“What religion is he? It could take hours.”
“We’ll give him one minute.”
“One minute till we start cutting pieces off, or one minute till we kill him?”
Norton suddenly reared up, trying to break free. It was as if his right hand was nailed to the ground. He raised his head a few inches before it was slammed down again, his face grinding into the floor, and he yelled in pain.
Then he heard an echoing screech, and another, both very close, which blended together and mixed with a chilling yell from the other side of the room.
He caught a glimpse of a shrieking figure hurling itself across the cabin. His captors fell away and he was free.
As Norton rolled aside, he glanced up and saw someone attacking the two old women.
Diana.
She was armed with a short-handled axe. Against two opponents with swords.
All three of them were screaming.
Diana’s roar was a battle cry, but the other two were howling in pain, each of them wounded by the knives Diana had already thrown. Silver had a blade embedded in her thigh, Gold had one sticking out of her sword-arm.
Gold dropped her weapon and grabbed the knife handle, yanking it free.
Silver swept her sword at Diana, who ducked aside and brought up her axe, arcing it toward Silver’s face, whose blade swung back to parry the blow.
Gold grunted as the blood spurted from her arm, then she sprang toward Diana, the knife aimed at her back.
“Watch out!” shouted Norton.
Diana twisted away, avoiding Gold’s knife and Silver’s sword, and her opponents collided with each other.
“Are you hurt?” she asked Norton.
“No,” he said, as he sat up and crashed his head against the table, knocking it over. “Ah! Look out! Oh!”
Diana side-stepped a sword thrust, slamming her axe shaft against Silver’s blade, then swerved to dodge the knife stabbing toward her neck.
“It’s a throwing knife,” she said to Gold.
Gold threw the knife, Diana ducked, and then Gold was unarmed.
Diana turned and went for Silver, who defended herself with the black blade. Silver’s weapon had a longer reach, but Diana kept dancing out of range. Wounded by the knife buried hilt-deep in her thigh, Silver couldn’t follow through fast enough.
Gold reached for the sword she had dropped.
“No!” warned Norton, who was still sprawled on the floor, rubbing his head. He took his hand away, his right hand, and pointed his index finger at the woman.
Gold had seized the sword in her left hand. She was two yards away from Norton.
Two paces, one quick thrust, less than a second, and the sword would be in his chest.
He stared at his finger, willing it to fire.
“I surrender,” said Gold, and she dropped her blade and raised her arms.
Keeping his finger aimed, Norton stood up. As he did, his foot became entangled with the fallen table. He tripped and was down on the floor again. Gold made a break and dashed to the door.
“Get—” yelled Diana, as she twisted to avoid being disembowelled—“her!”
Norton jumped to his feet, one of which came down on a liqueur bottle, and he slipped, lost his balance, regained his footing, then started running toward the cabin door.
“Ah-ah-ah!” he yelled, as the pain shot up his leg.
He must have twisted his ankle, and he stumbled, lurching forward, almost fell again, kept upright, but had to limp toward the doorway, where he could only watch as Gold sprinted away along the passage. For an old woman, she was very light on her feet. There was no way Norton could chase after her. He couldn’t hop fast enough.
“Stop or I fire!” he shouted, pointing at her.
He knocked into something leaning against the corridor wall, which fell and nearly tripped him, and he stumbled back against the wall. When he looked down he saw a bow, its string stretched taut, and a quiver of arrows on the ground next to it.
“Shoot her!” called Diana.
He picked up the bow, took one of the arrows, notched it, drew back the string.
As a kid, he and his friends used to make their own bows and arrows from bamboo and sticks. Sometimes the sticks had been sharpened, with glued cardboard flights, and they had fired them at targets—and each other. Norton had never hit anything—or anyone.
He sighted the arrow at Gold’s vanishing back, then let fly. A moment later, she raced around a corner.
“Darn!” said Norton.
The arrow sped along the corridor. And turned the corner.
There was a distant scream.
“I’ll be darned,” he muttered.
He glanced into the cabin, where Diana had Silver backed against the wall. Picking up the quiver and slinging it over his shoulder, he took out one of the arrows and notched it into the bowstring, then hobbled along the corridor and around the corner.
Gold lay motionless on the ground. The arrow jutting from below her left shoulder blade must have pierced her heart.
“Get up,” he ordered. “Stop pretending. I know you’re not dead.”
But he knew she was.
He made his way back along the passageway toward the stateroom. Everything was silent. He peered inside the cabin.
Over on the far side lay a motionless figure. In the centre of the room was someone else, someone moving, someone with silver hair…
Norton drew back the bowstring, took aim.
“What a mess,” said Diana, as she picked up the bottles from the floor and put them back on the table. “I hate this job.”
Diana with silver hair.
Norton unnotched the arrow.
“Did you shoot her?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said.
“Didn’t I tell you passengers were the enemy?”
“Er… yeah… but…”
“Next time, listen to me. I know what I’m talking about.”
“Yeah… er… yeah… and… you know… er…”
“Is that an expression of gratitude?”
“Er…”
“I’ll assume that’s a ‘yes.’ ” She took off her silver hair and showed it to Norton. “Look, a wig! Not even a proper scalp. Was yours the same?”