“I know you will,” the mystif replied, drawing the handshake into an embrace.
“It will be soon,” Scopique said.
“Sooner than I’d wish,” Pie replied; then, leaving Scopique to head back up the cliff face, the mystif joined Gentle, Huzzah, and Aping, who were already ten yards from the shore.
The exchange between Pie and Scopique—with its intimation of a shared agenda hitherto kept secret—had not gone unnoted by Gentle; nor would it go unquestioned. But this was not the time. They had at least half a dozen miles to travel before they reached the peninsula, and there was already a swell of noise from behind them, signaling pursuit. Torch beams raked the shore as the first of N’a-shap’s troops emerged to give chase, and from within the walls of the asylum rose the din of the prisoners, finally giving voice to their rage. That, like the murk, might confound the hounds, but not for long.
The torches had found Scopique, and the beams now scanned the shore he’d been ascending from, each sweep wider than the one that preceded it. Aping was carrying Huzzah, which speeded their progress somewhat, and Gentle was just beginning to think that they might stand a chance of survival when one of the torches caught them. It was weak at such a distance, but strong enough that its light picked them out. Gunfire followed immediately. They were difficult targets, however, and the bullets went well wide.
“They’ll catch us now,” Aping gasped. “We should surrender.” He set his daughter down and threw his gun to the ground, turning to spit his accusations in Gentle’s face. “Why did I ever listen to you? I was crazy,”
“If we stay here they’ll shoot us on the spot,” Gentle replied. “Huzzah as well. Do you want that?”
“They won’t shoot us,” he said, taking hold of Huzzah with one hand and raising the other to catch the beams. “Don’t shoot!” he yelled. “Don’t shoot! Captain? Captain! Sir! We surrender!”
“Fuck this,” Gentle said, and reached to haul Huzzah from her father’s grip.
She went into Gentle’s arms readily, but Aping wasn’t about to relinquish her so easily. He turned to snatch her back, and as he did so a bullet struck the ice at their feet. He let Huzzah go and turned to attempt a second appeal. Two shots cut him short, the first striking his leg, the second his chest. Huzzah let out a shriek and wrenched herself from Gentle’s hold, dropping to the ground at her father’s
head.
The seconds they’d lost in Aping’s surrender and death were the difference between the slimmest hope of escape and none. Any one of the twenty or so troops advancing upon them now could pick them off at this distance. Even N’ashap, who was leading the group, his walk still unsteady, could scarcely have failed to bring them down. “What now?” said Pie,
“We have to stand our ground,” Gentle replied. “We’ve got no choice.”
That very ground, however, was no steadier than N’a-shap’s walk. Though this Dominion’s suns were in another hemisphere and there was only midnight from horizon to horizon, a tremor was moving through the frozen sea that both Pie and Gentle recognized from almost fatal experience. Huzzah felt it too. She raised her head, her sobs quieting.
“The Lady,” she murmured. “What about her?” said Gentle. “She’s near us.”
Gentle put out his hand, and Huzzah took it. As she got up she scanned the ground. So did he. His heart had started to pound furiously, as the memories of the Cradle’s liquifi-cation flooded back.
“Can you stop her?” he murmured to Huzzah. “She’s not come for us,” the girl said, and her gaze went from the still solid ground beneath their feet to the group that N’ashap was still leading in their direction. “Oh, Goddess . . .” Gentle said.
A cry of alarm was rising from the middle of the approaching pack. One of the torch beams went wild, then another, and another, as one by one the soldiers realized their jeopardy. N’ashap let out a shout himself: a demand for order among his troops that went unobeyed. It was difficult to see precisely what was going on, but Gentle could imagine it well enough. The ground was softening, and the Cradle’s silver waters were bubbling up around their feet. One of the men fired into the air as the sea’s shell broke beneath him; another two or three started back towards the island, only to find their panic excited a quicker dissolution. They went down as if snatched by sharks, silver spume fountaining where they’d stood. N’ashap was still attempting to preserve some measure of command, but it was a lost cause. Realizing this, he began to fire towards the trio, but with the ground rocking beneath him, and the beams no longer trained on his targets, he was virtually shooting blind.