led onto the terrace of the curved portico, Mirabilis threw them open. He moved with such directness and assurance that Emily felt safe enough to peer out from behind him at the scene below.
Two dozen soldiers on horseback were ranged in the Institute’s bluestone courtyard, and at their head was Captain Caul atop a sleekly groomed chestnut stallion. But Emily had to stare at him for a long moment before her eyes could accept that it was the same man she’d last seen at Cutter’s Rise. There, he’d been an implacable monolith, menacing in his stillness. Now he was like a giant marionette in the hands of a deranged puppeteer—every muscle of his body jerked and twitched, moving without meaning or purpose. His head bobbed strangely, down and to the left, as if an invisible string threaded through his shoulder was tugging on his ear.
“Dreadnought told me you Sundered the beast,” Miss Pendennis whispered in Emily’s ear with gruesome relish. “Ravaged every nerve in his body, by the look of it. Serves him right!”
Explosions shuddered all around them. The Maelstrom soldiers were a picture of intense focus. Each time one lifted his alembic, another booming retort shook the air. Heedless, Mirabilis strode out onto the portico. Planting his hands on his hips, he thrust out his chest and looked down at Caul from within a shimmering sphere of power; the soldiers’ attacks glittered around him, falling away in bright harmless showers of sparks.
“Come on out, Miss Edwards,” Mirabilis said loudly, gesturing to Emily. “There’s nothing to fear from this pack of little tin soldiers.”
Caul stared up as Emily emerged. First, he lifted a trembling fist—a silent signal to the soldiers surrounding him. They lowered their alembics, and the explosions subsided. With a sharp wrench of his head, Caul managed to tip his hat, his uncontrolled shaking making the crossed sabers glint.
“H-h-hello again, Miss Edwards.” He spoke slowly, laboring over each word. “What has h-h-happened to your hand?”
“I’ve got it locked away where you will never get it,” Mirabilis jabbed a triumphant finger at him. “It is mine, and it will remain so.”
“I have c-c-come to claim it, Mirabilis. For the p-p-public—”
“For the public good,” Emily cut him off. “I didn’t believe it when you could say it straight, and I don’t believe it now.”
A spasm of fury kindled on Caul’s face, but did not stop there; it spread through his whole body, twisting him in his saddle. His poor confused horse shifted nervously beneath him, Caul’s heels tapping against its sides at odds with the big hands pulling on the reins as if they were a drummer boy’s sticks.
“Insolent t-t-tramp,” he muttered into his own chest. When he spoke again, it was to one of the men standing behind him. “S-S-Sergeant Booth. I n-n-need your help to speak to these s-s-subversives.”
An ardent-looking young man presented himself at the captain’s side, giving Mirabilis a proud glare before quickly shedding his blue coat, revealing pale bare arms. He reached up and clasped the captain’s hand in a firm, steadying grip. Caul gave the young man a barely perceptible nod. Then he drew the silver knife from his belt and slashed the sergeant’s inner arm from elbow to wrist. The young man flinched slightly, but squeezed his commander’s hand so his blood would flow more quickly. This was not necessary; his blood was already spurting in great arcing gouts, dripping through Caul’s fingers as he clutched the sergeant’s forearm in his fists. Caul closed his eyes and spoke low jagged words. Power massed around his fingers. The young man doubled over as if punched in the gut.
Mirabilis looked away, his face a mask of disgust. But Emily watched; she could not tear her eyes from the horrifying display. She watched the young man’s face twist in agony as magic enveloped him. She watched as his knees buckled, until finally it was only the strength in Caul’s grip that kept him upright. All the while, power whipped around them both—power the color of bruises and clots and contusions. Finally, Caul opened his hands, and Sergeant Booth slid to the ground, twitching like a butchered chicken.
Caul took a deep breath and released it slowly. He now looked more like Emily remembered him. Only a lazily spasming eyelid hinted at his previous debility.
“How many enlisted men do you go through a day?” Mirabilis asked when he could finally bring himself to speak again. By that time, Sergeant Booth had stopped twitching, his body contorted in a