explosion reached Kit like a slap in the face. Giles was carried headlong and thrown to the dirt by the force of the blow. The horse reared at the sound, jerking the reins free from his grasp.
Kit saw a flash behind the struggling Giles as the slap of another report reached him. The glint of steel in Burleigh’s hand warned Kit that another blast was coming. “Stay down!” he cried. “He’s got a gun!”
A third shot ripped the dirt at his feet, and Kit skidded to a halt.
“Run!” cried Giles, waving Kit away.
Burleigh was on his feet now and moving forward, arm raised, hand extended.
Kit, caught between helping Giles and fleeing, hesitated.
“Mina will see to me,” shouted Giles. “Go!”
A fourth shot decided the issue. As the bullet whizzed past Kit’s head and the report split the air, Kit spun and ducked, instinctively heading back into the brush at the side of the road. He ran blindly, his only thought to lose himself in the lightly wooded roadside margin. Behind him he heard Burleigh calling, but ran on, heedless of all but the need to escape.
When the first fury of desperation had passed, he paused to catch his breath and collect his wits. The river was to his back; before him lay a field of grain. He considered diving into it, but the prospect of escaping on hands and knees through the barley held little appeal. He held his breath to listen. Above the sound of his own rapid heartbeat he could hear voices on the road and assumed that the townsfolk had met up with Burleigh and the pursuit would now resume.
A hasty estimate determined that he was still a little less than halfway to the lane that marked the ley line described by Wilhelmina, which he reckoned was now his best chance of escape. Keeping the road and river to his right, he proceeded through the wood in the direction of the lane. Behind him, he could hear voices and sounds of men thrashing through the undergrowth, searching for his trail. Others remained on the road; he could hear them, too, soon overtaking him and moving on ahead.
Kit, grim and determined as death, worked steadily along, dodging the boles and branches of trees and shrubs, trying to remain silent and invisible in the dying light. All at once, a clear, loud voice sang out—urgent, confident, assured—it rang loud in the silence and was quickly joined by others. Kit knew his trail had been found.
Fighting down the urge to bolt blindly into the darkening wood, he doubled his pace. But despite his best efforts, the voices behind him grew louder by degrees. When next he paused to catch his breath, he glanced back to see pale globes of glimmering light wavering through the trees: someone had brought torches.
Realising he only had scant minutes before he was seen and captured, he snaked a hand into his pocket and brought out the brass homing device that Wilhelmina had given him. The little curved row of holes on the top were dark. Still running towards the line, he held the thing before him, urging it mentally. Work, you blasted thing! Work!
To his amazement, the small oval object began to glow—a faint fitful flicker through the tiny holes. But as he waved the curious instrument before him, the gently wavering lights strengthened and took hold with an increasingly bright blue glow. Clutching the ley lamp, Kit drove on, flying through the brush, dodging branches as he went.
The chase was getting closer. His movement through the brush alerted the pursuit, and soon the surrounding wood was echoing with cries of the townsfolk. Amongst the shouts and sounds of crashing feet he thought he heard Burleigh’s voice raised above the tumult, urging his search party to greater speed.
Every now and then, Kit glanced down at the homing device, and saw the little row of lights still lit and shining ever more brightly. It’s got to be here somewhere, Kit told himself. It’s close.
There came a loud crash behind him, and he looked back to see Burleigh, back in the saddle, burst through an opening in the trees a hundred paces or so away. The earl saw him in the same instant and with a swift, assured motion drew the pistol from his belt. Holding the reins in one hand, he extended his arm to fire. Kit did not wait for him to pull the trigger, but ducked low and dived into the brake. A second later