circumstances will he be allowed to come with us. The secrets we possess are too deep, too vital, too closely held to risk allowing a Warlock—particularly a Warlock like Mr. Stanton—to learn of them.”
“And what do you mean by that?” Stanton growled.
“You think we don’t know about your background?” Perun exhaled a thin stream of smoke. “Your years at the Erebus Academy? You may call yourself a credomancer now, but that’s not what you were then.” Perun’s jaw rippled with distaste. “There is an old Russian saying. ‘A serpent changes his skin, but not his fangs.’”
“You’re worried about my fangs, but you’re going to let me leave in a twenty-ton biomechanical flying machine?” Stanton balled his fists. “What’s to stop me from flying it right back at you?”
“You are free to do whatever you like, Mr. Stanton. The spider silk we used to bind you can just as easily be used to snarl the wings of that machine and bring you down. Or I will just shoot you between the eyes. I am a very good shot.”
Perun and Stanton looked at each other for a long time.
“Go, Mr. Stanton.” The words caught in Emily’s throat. “I told you, I have to find a different way.”
“No, that’s not what you said …” Stanton took a reluctant step backward, prodded by Rose’s revolvers. He looked at Emily, shaking his head. Hembry was already gone, having scrambled into the Cockatrice and taken refuge within its deep passenger compartment.
“Come on,” Hembry called. “Get in, you durn fool!”
“Emily …” Stanton said.
Emily clenched her fists, the tight leather bindings cutting into her wrists. She stared at the ground.
“Go,” she whispered.
She didn’t see Stanton climb into the Cockatrice; she did not lift her head again until she heard the sound of metal sliding against metal. Then she looked up and saw the Cockatrice beginning to move, silver wings lifting like a glittering sheet, each feather ringing and chiming. The gleaming snakelike tail uncurled sinuously, slithering along the ground. The proud enameled head rose, the beak opened slightly. Red eyes, set deep under a jutting brow, began to glow.
The Cockatrice gathered its two legs under it, lifted its wings high, then brought them down with a mighty flap as it sprang up from the ground in a powerful rush. The smell of hot oil and metal and sweet burning sugar filled the air. The machine soared upward, rising into the pink mist of dawn. Perun watched it go, drew in a deep breath.
“Men,” he sighed. “Prepare yourselves. He will be back.”
“No!” Emily whirled on the Russian, but Rose held her fast, an arm looped through Emily’s bound arms, a gun pressed to the side of her head.
“I have given him the chance for your sake, Miss Edwards.” His tone made Emily’s chest turn to lead. “But I am afraid he will not take it.”
Around them, men began to scramble. They went to where their horses stood waiting, fastened their barrel-shaped weapons tightly to their animals’ saddles with clips and buckles. They drew rifles from saddle holsters, chambered rounds. Perun and Emily watched the Cockatrice swoop up sharply, then bank like a swooping eagle, swinging back in a graceful arc.
“Goddamn it, Mr. Stanton,” Emily whispered through clenched teeth. “No.”
One of the men handed Perun a rifle. The Russian lifted it to his shoulder, sliding the bolt home with a loud clack, and drew a bead on the approaching Cockatrice with its blued-steel barrel.
“No!” Emily screamed, at Stanton and the Russian both. She struggled furiously against Rose’s grip.
“Make another move, Miss Edwards,” Grimaldi whispered in her ear, “and you won’t live to see him die.”
Licked you once, Emily thought, ferocity charging her. Guess I can lick you again.
She dropped to the ground; the pistol blasted by her ear. Bouncing back to her feet, she brought her bound hands down over Rose’s head, jerking the leather tight around the girl’s throat. Rose’s hands flailed, revolvers shining. Emily pulled tighter.
The Cockatrice dived toward them, metal feathers ringing. Emily could see Stanton, leaning out over the edge of the open passenger compartment, his hands outstretched. The men of the Sini Mira dropped to the ground as the Cockatrice plowed over them. Only Emily and Rose remained standing … and Perun, training his rifle on Stanton.
Stanton’s hands came down, clutching at the fabric of Emily’s dress. Emily lurched, her shoulders screaming with pain as her feet left the ground. The leather bindings around her wrists burned as Rose was pulled up with her; there