lay in the creeping shadow of his own blood. He was not yet dead, and already he was healing; he pushed himself up on his elbows as if to crawl, then fell again. He still made no intelligible sound. Liv’s hair had fallen soaked with sweat in her face, and when she pushed it back, she covered it with blood—which appalled her—so she took the knife and sliced away great handfuls of bloody hair—until the whole notion began to seem absurd, and she dropped the knife and laughed, and then sobbed, and then with great effort controlled herself. She could not straighten her clothes or her hair, because her hands were wet with blood, and she could not quite stop them fluttering idly at her side; but close enough, close enough.
Beneath her, Creedmoor was healing rapidly, but she no longer had the will to hurt him further. The moment had passed. She could not and would not do it again. Her heart pounded and her legs were unsteady. She went sliding down the slope to retrieve the General.
The General lay tangled in the wet ash. His shirt was torn and soaked with blood. There was a neat tiny bullet wound in his side. His breathing was labored, and there was a little blood in his eyes.
“. . . How?” she said. Then she remembered how the Gun had fired as it fell, and she’d thought nothing of it at the time.
Now the weapon lay a little way away, and it was still.
Creedmoor moaned, wrestled his torn and broken arm back into its socket, and sighed with deep satisfaction. He held up his hand as if testing the fingers; they spasmed. He tried to sit up but failed and coughed blood.
“I’m sorry, Liv,” he said. “But what did you think would happen? What did you think my master would do? If we cannot have the General, no one will.”
“He is not dead yet, Mr. Creedmoor. The bullet passed through. He may live.”
Creedmoor rolled his head to see the body. “He won’t.” He looked away again, up at the sky. “I’m sorry.” Creedmoor attempted to sit up again. It seemed to Liv that something important in the muscles of his back or belly had been damaged and not yet mended, because he only twisted and fell and swallowed ash.
Liv sat by the General’s side. She brushed his forehead and made it bloody.
Creedmoor spat the ash out; he said, “The murder was well done, Liv.”
“Thank you, Mr. Creedmoor.”
“You’re not finished yet, though.”
“I have lost the taste for it. I cannot and will not do it again. I refuse. Are you not in the most tremendous pain, Mr. Creedmoor?”
“I’m used to it.” He laughed and gurgled blood. “Oh, Liv, that’s a lie, of course; my master takes the pain from me. I am a terrible coward.”
“I know.”
The General stared up into the clouded sky. His breathing came loud and painful. He seemed to be trying to form words.
Creedmoor spoke again. “What was your plan, Liv, if I may ask?”
“I thought I would kill you, Creedmoor, and take the General away from you. Perhaps we might find survivors in New Design, who would help us back east into the world. We could bring his secret back, if he ever had one, and . . . I think I began to have heroic notions.”
“I know how that is, Liv, I know how that is.”
“If we couldn’t go back, I thought we might walk together into the west, into the sea, and be unmade together. No one would have him; not you, not the Line.”
“A good plan. Better. Simple, decisive, wise. Suicide is often the best course of action. If I tell you how much I sympathize with you, you will not believe me. And now no one will have the General’s secret, because he is dead.”
“Not yet.”
“Soon. What will you do now?”
“I am not brave enough to go into the sea alone, Mr. Creedmoor. What will you do?”
“I don’t know. I’m healing, which means my masters have not yet decided to dispose of me, despite this debacle. Maybe they’ve gone to their Lodge to debate what tortures to visit upon me.”
He grunted as he twisted his left leg back into place, and held a hand to the ragged tendons at the back of the knee. Pain, despair, relief mingled on his face.
“More likely they’ll forgive me. The Great War goes on. With Fanshawe gone, and Abban, there aren’t many of us old dogs left. I’ll go