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Cautiously, he examined her injury. The bul et seemed to have torn directly through her shoulder, leaving a ragged, open exit wound from which blood was gushing freely. "Hold on. Hold on, Veronica. You're going to be all right." He grabbed the lapels of her mauve jacket and wrenched it open, popping the buttons. He took up a fistful of her blouse and used both hands to tear off a long strip, exposing the alabaster-coloured skin of her midriff. He wrapped the strip of fabric around her shoulder and bound it tight, trying to compress the wound. She cried out in pain as he applied pressure, and her eyes blinked open, searching for him frantically.

"I'm here. I'm here, Veronica."

The shock, the pain and the loss of blood were evident in her eyes. She was unable to focus.

"Newbury.." was al she could manage, her voice weak, tiny bubbles of blood forming on her lips as she mouthed the word.

Newbury tried to fight the rising sense of panic that was gripping him, making it harder to breathe. He had recovered a little from the blows he'd received to the head and adrenaline was coursing riotously through his veins, causing his hands to shake. He glanced over his shoulder, trying to get a measure of their situation. Knox had fled. Newbury had heard him scramble up the ladder and out onto the deck a few moments earlier, ditching the sinking vessel. The remnants of the Osiris Ritual were scattered across the floor, disturbed in the scuffle, but the vials of brown liquid were gone. The boat's engines were still roaring. He heard a splintering crack. In the control pit, the fractured glass of the viewing port was splitting open under the pressure of the water. Newbury realised with shock that the Methuselah was nearly completely submerged. The glass would give way soon, al owing the river water to flood in. Not only that, but he guessed that Knox would have left the hatch open as he fled. If the upper deck of the vessel were to dip beneath the surface, there would be no stopping the onslaught of water, and their only route of escape would be blocked.

Newbury put his hand on Veronica's cheek. She was icy cold. "Stay with me, Veronica. Hold on."

Jumping to his feet, Newbury dashed towards the control pit. The vessel's control system made no sense to him whatsoever. Dials, levers, knobs; he had no idea where to start. He grabbed the nearest thing at hand, a lever that had been cranked forward and which he hoped control ed the speed of the dive. He needed to reverse the direction of the ship. He pul ed it back, fully, and felt the Methuselah judder as the engines whined, shifting into reverse. Triumphantly, he stepped back from the controls, only to see his relief dashed almost immediately. The crack in the glass had now extended across the whole of the viewing port, a vast spider's web with a small impact crater at its epicentre, where the stray bul et had struck home. Tiny beads of water were beginning to form along the fracture lines. Beyond, he could see nothing but dirty, swirling river water.

He had to get out of there, had to get Veronica out of there. He dashed back into the main cabin. "Veronica? Miss Hobbes!" He knelt, turning her head from side to side, but it lolled pathetically. "Veronica!" It was no use. She was fading fast. He was going to have to carry her. He bent low and placed his hands under her arms, heaving her up onto his shoulder, careful not to exacerbate her wound. She gave a low moan. The makeshift bandage was holding, but blood was still seeping through, pattering to the floor. He realised his hands were covered in it. He had to get her to a surgeon, quickly. He couldn't lose her. Not Veronica.

There was a loud bang from somewhere up above, the sound of metal striking metal, as something heavy landed on the upper deck of the vessel. The whole ship shook, rocking from side to side with the impact. He heard Knox cry out in dismay, although the words themselves were lost, swallowed by the incessant roar of the engines. The reply was unmistakable, however: the dry, metallic croak of William Ashford, cal ing the name of his eternal opponent. "Knox!"

So, Knox hadn't yet been able to get away. Newbury had lost al sense of time.

He steadied himself with a deep breath. His burden safely secured on his shoulder, Newbury rushed to the ladder in the antechamber. The space was smal, and he had to be sure not to knock Veronica's head against the wall as he mounted the first rung of the ladder. He began to climb, using one hand to haul himself upwards, the other hand wrapped safely around the waist of his unconscious assistant. The going was tough, but he made steady progress, driven on by the sounds of the scuffle from above: a sword striking metal and the grunting of the two men, locked in deadly combat.

Below, the glass pane finally gave way with a splintering crack, and water began to gush into the main cabin. He didn't have long. Newbury knew that. Soon the weight of the water would overwhelm the power of the engines and the Methuselah would resume its slow, ponderous course towards the bottom of the river. He was resolute, however. He would get Veronica to safety. This ship would not become their tomb. He pressed on.

Newbury emerged from the open hatch to find himself grasping at water. It was lapping at the lip of the hatch, about to start streaming over the side, into the vessel itself. The Methuselah had almost completely submerged, its upper deck sloshing in water as it listed from side to side, its paddle engines straining against the sheer weight of the water that was flooding into the main cabin below. Gasping as the cold water slapped him in the face, Newbury struggled to pull himself and Veronica out of the hatch and onto the unstable deck above. He knew he was exposed, but a quick glance reassured him that Knox was already occupied. The doctor had drawn his sabre and was facing off against the hulking figure of Ashford, who had now abandoned his torn, tattered cloak and had his arms outstretched, taking sweeping blows at the other man. The remains of his discarded cloak drifted away lazily with the gentle current of the river, like a puddle of spilt ink.

Knox was grinning foolishly, his once-blind eye twinkling with glee. He was parrying deftly with his blade – and Newbury, stumbling onto the deck and fal ing to his knees, Veronica stil clutched tightly in his arms – winced at the sound of metal striking metal. Rotten flesh, flayed from Ashford's forearms by the constant thrashing of the sabre, spun away in great clods, exposing more of the bizarre, brass skeleton beneath. Ashford barely seemed to register the blows. If he felt any pain, it was lost in the snarl of rage that Newbury could see writ on his face. This was why Ashford had come back. It had all been for this moment. He would have his revenge on Knox, for separating him from his family, for being the catalyst that caused him to be turned into a monster. Newbury thought he caught a glimpse of something else in that expression, too. Sadness. Ashford had reached the end.

He didn't want to live any longer, not the abject half-life he'd been forced to endure for the last five years. He was set on a path of self destruction, and he ful y intended to take Knox down with him when he fel.

The huge, recreated man staggered forward, almost losing his footing near the prow as the Methuselah dipped into the water. He swung at Knox, his feet causing water to spray into the air as he stomped across the half-submerged deck. The fight between the two men was far less elegant than Newbury's earlier encounter with Knox, but in many ways more effective. It was clear that Ashford had the upper hand, if by nothing other than virtue of the fact that he seemed unconcerned by the shower of blows he was al owing Knox to rain down on him as he pushed forward, relentlessly, focused on his goal.

Newbury could hear the ship's engines choking now, and he knew it wouldn't be long until they were all pitched into the cold water. He looked down at Veronica. Her face was pale from loss of blood. Hastily, he tested the tourniquet he had placed around her shoulder. It was stil holding, but she needed surgery, and soon. He needed to get her to the Fixer. But there was no way -off the boat, other than the river. He dared not risk plunging into the cold river with Veronica already so weak. He feared she wouldn't survive the shock. He needed to get past Knox and Ashford. Perhaps then he'd be able to make a jump for the quayside.