Two shots into the air, and the area around the kidnappers was magically cleared.
P. J. caught a glimpse of red and scarlet at the platform entrance as he fought a surge of panicked onlookers. "Guardsmen!" he called. "Kidnappers! They're taking the princess!"
The young Texan finally fought free of the crowd as the kidnappers unceremoniously bundled Megan onto the parlor car. Then they began leaping in themselves. P. J. loped along the now-empty platform, tearing open his long coat. Underneath, a bright red sash was wrapped round his waist-and the butt of one of his Army Colts stuck out from where the gun was tucked into the sash.
But where was his target? The abductors were now aboard. Gun in hand, P. J. ran to try and catch up with the departing parlor car.
From the front of the train, the engineer leaned out of the locomotive, aiming a pistol. P. J. snapped a shot. The trainman's gun clattered to the platform as he clapped both hands to his face, lurching backwards. P. J. thought he'd taken the man out, but the train suddenly shot forward, moving at a speed that had to threaten the old Civil War-era locomotive's boiler.
"Mr. Texas!" a semifamiliar voice cried. P. J. turned to see Sergei Chernevsky running toward him. The young hussar's half-cape streamed in the wind. He held a saber in one hand, a horse pistol in the other. More soldiers clustered around the downed bodyguards.
"The prime minister had us stationed outside in case of trouble," Chernevsky said. "This is far worse than we imagined."
"They're escaping!" P. J. interrupted. "We need horses!"
They headed outside to the street, where the cavalry mounts were tied up. But Sergei didn't seem very hopeful. "That's the spur line to the mines on Mount Doom," he said, pointing to a craggy peak in the distance. 'The tracks go back and forth-"
"Switchbacks," P. J. said.
"And trains must slow down for them," Sergei finished. "But the trainman-when you shot him, he fell across the locomotive's throttle-it will not slow!"
P. J. was already untying the reins of the two fastest- looking horses. "Then climb aboard!" he said, swinging into the saddle. "We've got a runaway train to catch!"
Megan O'Malley didn't get to see much of her abduction. One moment she'd been waving goodbye, the next-darkness surrounded her as the cloak was thrown over her. She'd been wrapped up like a mummy, but to judge from the quiet groans on either side of her, both bodyguards had been taken out.
She got to feel what happened next-three, maybe four sets of strong hands manhandling her along while she tried to wriggle free of the enclosing woolen folds.
Megan heard P. J. yell, and then a couple of gunshots. Then she was unceremoniously heaved into the air to land with a thump on a metal floor.
The other train, she thought. They're making their getaway on the other train!
The clatter of feet around her told Megan that her abductors were boarding as well. Then she was half- dragged, half-rolled through a doorway and onto a carpeted floor.
We must be inside the parlor car, she thought.
Her bundled form was heaved up again, then dumped onto something that felt like a cross between a bench and a settee.
Megan immediately set to work trying to get free of the heavy cloak that enwrapped her. She managed to get her head free of the stifling folds, losing her hat and veil in the process. The inside of the railroad car looked like one of the more opulent sitting rooms in the palace. Patterned red silk covered the walls, broken by purple velvet drapes at the windows. Costly oriental carpets were spread across the floors. Several large armchairs were scattered about, besides the bench-style settee by the door where she'd been dumped. A large mahogany table dominated the center of the room, with two hurricane lamps to give light. The faceted crystal ornaments dangling from the lamps tinkled together as the train began to pick up speed and sent little refracted rainbows of light scattering through the car.
Three of her abductors stood by the table, where the apparent leader was shouting into a speaking tube. "We're aboard, Zoltan. What? Running after? Well, shoot him, you fool!"
The fourth kidnapper loomed over her, looking like the villain in an old-time play in his black suit and tall hat. He was even twirling his long, black, waxed mustache.
"Now, my pretty-" the kidnapper began.
While he'd been preening, Megan had continued to work at getting free. Now she had one arm loose. She made a fist-and rammed it full-force into an area where no male likes to be punched.
"OOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWUUUGGGGGHr The kidnapper made a horrible noise, folding at the middle. He completely forgot about his mustache, clutching at a more personal part of his anatomy.
Megan was almost free of the cape, now. Her hand shot forward, snatching the hilt of the sword at the kidnapper's waist as he sank to the carpeted floor. Rising up as he went down, she unsheathed a splendid straight- bladed saber. A Wilkinson British cavalry saber-a pair were displayed on the wall of the virtual training room in Alan's salle.
The trio around the table turned to her as she kicked the cape away and stepped around her incapacitated captor, who was now groaning and pounding the floor.
Now the nearest of the three-big, blond, and cleanshaven-stepped forward, his hand on the hilt of his own sword. "Don't be foolish, Princess," he began. "It's three against one-"
But he was the foolish one, advancing into attack range with only a foot of his blade showing out of the scabbard. Megan lunged forward, her blade slicing into the muscles of his thigh.
Blondie collapsed with a surprisingly high-pitched cry, trying desperately to stop the flow of blood.
The remaining two had to get past the big mahogany table to come at her. They came round on opposite sides, swords drawn and ready.
To Megan's left was a short, wiry guy with dark, intense features. She'd seen him around the salle sometimes, with Alan and the more advanced saber students. On the right was a beefy, red-haired guy with a huge handlebar mustache. He held his sword in his left hand and looked as if he knew how to use it.
"Frack this chivalry stuff," Big Red growled, coming forward as the train lurched into greater speed. He brought his sword up and around in a swooping cut.
It was a frankly murderous blow that would have split Megan's head like a melon-if it had landed. But the left-handed swordsman's wide swing tangled his blade in the velvet drapes. And as he tried to pull free, Megan moved in a reverse lunge, stepping back to gain the room to thrust straight at Big Red's shoulder.
Her saber pierced flesh and then grated into bone. Megan realized that her point was actually in the joint. She twisted, popping the shoulder the way she'd disjointed the legs on last Thanksgiving's turkey.
That realization made her a little queasy as she faced the final kidnapper. Maybe it made her careless, as well. She never saw the guy she'd sucker-punched until he was right behind her, going for a tackle to sweep her feet out from under her.
Megan made an undignified landing, right on her butt. She managed to kick the sneak attacker right in the face.
But the last swordsman was looming over her, his sword upraised….
P. J. Farris rode crouched over his cavalry mount, urging the animal to greater speed as they galloped along the track right of way with Sergei close behind. They quickly passed through Herzen's tiny manufacturing district and then were out of town. The train was well ahead, screeching through a mild curve in the tracks.
If they hit anything sharper at that speed, they'll definitely derail P. J. thought unhappily. Unless the boiler blows up first.