“Are you unharmed, sir? And the lady?”
Ianira had fallen to her knees beside Jenna, weeping and touching her shoulder, her arm, her blood-smeared face. “I . . .” Jenna had to gulp back nausea. “I think I’m okay.”
The stranger offered a hand, calmly putting away his pistol in a capacious coat pocket. Jenna levered herself up with help. Once on her feet, she gently lifted Ianira and checked her pulse. Jenna didn’t like the look of shock in the Cassondra’s eyes or the desperate pallor of her skin, which was clammy and cold under her touch.
The stranger’s brows rose. “Are you a doctor, sir?”
Jenna shook her head. “No. But I know enough to test a pulse point.”
“Ah . . . As it happens, I am a medical doctor. Allow me.”
The down-timer physician took Ianira’s wrist to test her pulse, himself. And the Prophetess snapped rigid, eyes wide with shock. The Cassondra of Ephesus uttered a single choked sound that defied interpretation. She lifted both hands—gasped out something in Greek. The doctor stared sharply at Ianira and spoke even more sharply—also in Greek. While Jenna was struggling to recall a snatch of history lesson, that wealthy men of society had learned Greek and Latin as part of a gentleman’s education, the physician snarled out something that sounded ugly. Naked shock had detonated through his eyes and twisted his face.
The next moment, Jenna found herself staring down the wrong end of his gun barrel. “Sorry, old chap. Nothing personal, you know.”
He’s going to kill me!
Jenna flung herself sideways just as the gun discharged. Pain caught her head brutally and slammed her to the street. As the world went dark, she heard shouts and running footsteps, saw Ianira’s knees buckle in a dead faint, saw the stranger simply scoop her up and walk off with her, disappearing into the yellow drizzle.