One of the men rushed him, then reeled back, blood spraying from a slash across his arm. The colonel hardly seemed to have moved. The men exchanged glances. Then three of them closed on the colonel. One went down immediately, but the other two forced the colonel back, away from Harriet.
The final man came for her. He was bigger than her, muscled, his face and fists scarred. She retreated, watching him. Distantly, Harriet realized the sounds of the ball had ceased and had been replaced by shouts and screams, but she couldn’t spare any attention. Her attacker lunged. Harriet ducked under his arms and buried a fist in his stomach.
Or at least she tried to.
Ouch. What was he made of? Stone?
He spun, and she danced out of range.
The second of the colonel’s attackers was down now, the sword taking him through the neck, but the final man was more careful and he was keeping the colonel away from Harriet.
Her own attacker darted at her. One meaty hand closed on her close-fitting jacket. She allowed herself to be pulled toward him and followed the motion with a knee between his legs. The tight ball gown almost didn’t allow it, but at the last moment it tore further, exposing an indecent amount of petticoat and leg, and she connected solidly with his groin. The man roared in agony, and Harriet punched him in the throat. She put the whole weight of her body into it, driving through her shoulder, and she felt something in his throat crumple. She stepped away in time to see the last of the colonel’s opponents fall bleeding to the floor.
Slowly, she realized that the screams and shouts weren’t just coming from around her and the colonel. In fact, most of them were coming from the entrance to the ballroom.
Bertrand burst from the crowd.
“Are you all right?” he demanded. “I couldn’t reach you through the press.” He looked at the choking man on the floor in front of her and shook his head.
Reginald Pratt came running up. His voice was panicked. “Someone has sealed the pressure doors from the outside. We’re trapped in the ballroom.”
Harriet frowned. Why seal the doors? What good would it do to trap them all in here? She couldn’t see any more attackers.
The ballroom darkened. Harriet’s head snapped up in time to see something massive come rushing toward them through the water. She saw fins, a long tail, and extended jaws. It hit the dome, and the impact shook the whole ballroom. Metal creaked and protested. Water sprayed into the ballroom, hard enough to knock a grand lady from her feet.
Mosasaurus, Harriet thought, as the shape swam away. Then it turned. Hell! It’s coming back.
“Get that door open,” Harriet said, shoving Reginald towards it.
“It can’t be opened from the inside.”
“Find a way.” That was one of the British-Martian Intelligence Service’s maxims. Find a way. When she had first heard it, she had never imagined a situation like this.
The submersible pilot had told them the mosasaurus had no interest in the hotel or the ruins. Why was it attacking? Was it the lights? This could hardly be the first time the mosasaurus had seen the lights down here. Surely it couldn’t mistake them for its prey. Perhaps the sound of the ball had unsettled it. But it seemed too much of a coincidence that the doors should be locked just as the creature attacked. Perhaps this wasn’t an accident.
And that meant this was her fault. If the smugglers couldn’t get the package off her, they would drown it and her beneath untold tons of water and debris. The package would be destroyed and all evidence with it.
“This isn’t natural,” Colonel Fitzpatrick said.
Harriet agreed. Someone must have persuaded the creature to make this frenzied assault. Even as she thought it, the mosasaurus crashed into the ballroom dome again. More joints buckled, and more water sprayed into the ballroom. It was already an inch deep. Another impact like that and the whole dome might give way.
But how were they forcing the mosasaurus to attack? There must be something here that was attracting it. Something sending a signal.
The mosasaurus began to turn again, readying itself for another attack. Harriet squinted up at the dome. There. Something had been attached half way up the dome. A large box just where the mosasaurus had made contact. Whatever it was must be transmitting a sound through the water that had attracted the creature and driven it mad with fury.
“I need to get up there,” she told Bertrand.
“You think that’s what’s causing the creature to attack?”
Harriet shrugged. “Do you have a better idea?”
“I’m not letting you climb up there. Amy would kill me.”
“She won’t get the chance unless you let me,” Harriet said. “I know what I’m doing, Bertrand.”
I hope.
Bertrand gave her an appraising look. “I don’t know what you’ve been doing at that university, but if you’re just Lady Felchester’s companion, I’ll eat my hat. Um. Although, you know, not my good one.” He shook his head. “You don’t have to tell me. What do you need me to do?”
A week ago, Harriet might have said, “Keep out of the way.” But Bertrand had solved the murder without any help from her, and she knew she’d been underestimating him all her life.
“Help me stack some tables.”
A loud, protesting creak sounded from above, then more screams as the gush of water increased, pouring in like a mini waterfall. People were slipping on the slick marble floor. The dark body of the mosasaurus grew larger and larger.
This ballroom won’t take another hit. She would never get up there in time.
A glittering shape with lights blazing from its front and sides, and almost the size of the mosasaurus, powered into view from behind the ballroom. The submersible. The pilot must have seen what was happening and decided to intervene. The submersible drove into the side of the giant reptile. The mosasaurus flipped, distracted by the new attacker. Its tail smashed into the submersible, sending it into a spin.
The submersible might be fast and made of metal, but this wasn’t a battle it could win. The mosasaurus was bigger, more agile, and faster.
“Come on,” Harriet yelled to Bertrand.
They splashed their way across the ballroom to where tables had been abandoned in the rush to the sealed doors. Along with Colonel Fitzpatrick and a couple of gentlemen who had hurried to help, they dragged the tables over and began to stack them.
“These will never stay up,” Bertrand muttered.
“It’s your job to make sure they do.”
All she had to do was balance. She’d spent hours teetering across poles and along ledges as part of her spy training. Why hadn’t they practiced on stacks of wobbly tables?
The second table rocked as she pulled herself onto it.
“I should be doing this,” one of the gentlemen called. “This is no job for a lady.”
“Do you know how to disarm that?” Harriet nodded toward the device.
“Um…”
“Thought not.”
Colonel Fitzpatrick and Bertrand stretched up, holding the feet of the third table. If it slipped, they wouldn’t be able to stop it.
The submersible and the mosasaurus were still fighting their duel in and out of the Ancient Martian ruins. The submersible was clearly trying to draw the reptile away, but it was equally clearly losing. Most of its lights had been broken and it was maneuvering awkwardly. Even as Harriet watched, one of the photon-emission spotlights shattered in a burst of contained light, which made the reptile shy away and Harriet screw her eyes tight.