Hex and Percy slunk into the carriage and peered out the window, watching the clash between man and bird. Corvus narrowly escaped the man''s grasp and soared toward the prison tower, circling for another approach.


    The man stepped down and began walking toward their carriage. Percy''s eye caught the man’s cane—it was thick, menacing, and clearly not intended for polite society. It spoke of violence, not gentility. His stomach tightened in dread. He lowered himself to the floor, his heart racing.


    "Hex, he''s coming, and I don''t think he''s up for a chat. We need to step out. Now."


    Percy reached for the far door, but Hex grabbed his arm.


    "It''s two against one, Percy—we can take him."


    “Bloody hell, Hex!” Percy hissed, panic sharpening his voice. “Last night you could barely walk, and you’re still hobbling about. We’re no match—let’s get out of here while we still can!”


    "Wait—Corvus is back."


    Percy lifted his head. Sure enough, Corvus had caught the man in the open, and bird and brute were locked in combat. The man had the upper hand, standing firm on both feet and using his cane to keep the bird at bay.


    Percy opened the door and dropped to the street. It was the perfect time to slip into the shadows—Corvus had the man distracted, the streets were poorly lit, and the buildings along the row offered alcoves and entrances that would make perfect hiding spots.


    “Abandon ship?”


    Percy glared at Hex, waving him forward.


    When Hex stood on the street, still favoring his injured leg, he eased the door closed with a soft click. Percy gestured toward the deep shadow of a doorway. They crept forward and hid in the darkness, watching the man straighten his coat, his hat still lying in the street. The bird was nowhere to be seen.


    A low growl emanated from the darkness as he stooped to pick up his hat. Percy searched in the direction of the sound and made out Harrow''s dark form crouched about twenty feet from the driver. Relief washed over him. Harrow would be difficult for anyone to contend with. Now, if it came to blows, they might have a fair fight.


    When the man pulled a gun from inside his jacket, Percy''s relief evaporated. They were sitting ducks. Gooses cooked. In the dark, empty streets with no witnesses, killing them would be the simple solution. He fought to suppress the panic rising in his gut. While he could run, Hex—with his injured leg—couldn''t outpace the man or his bullets.


    The man raised the gun in the direction of Harrow. His aim lacked confidence, and the gun moved back and forth, searching for whatever menace had made the threat. Then it stopped, locking in on the dog as it made careful steps forward, gaining momentum for an attack.


    Harrow getting shot would be as devastating as Hex taking a bullet. Though a dog, Harrow was Cordelia''s beloved companion. Hex was also a dog—but that was only Percy''s opinion of him, which carried little weight in the grand scheme of things. The math was simple, even for him. Cordelia loved the dog; he thought he might love Cordelia. Hex was annoying but not expendable.


    With a grimace, Percy darted from the shadows of the doorway, streaked from behind the carriage, and ran for his life towards the tree-lined path along the prison wall on the opposite side of the street.


    His heart pounded as he sprinted. He was the fox, hunted, doomed to feel the hot sting of a bullet. Was this what bravery felt like? If so, he wanted no part of it.


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    When the shot rang out, he assumed he''d been hit. Though he felt nothing, he was sure this was his end. His lungs burned and his breath came heavy as he hugged the tree, too terrified to look back toward the street. The tinkle of glass told him what had happened. The bullet had smashed the carriage window, its trajectory nowhere near where he’d been.


    He glanced around the tree. The man still stood in the street, the gun pointed in Percy''s direction. His cane extended in his left hand to ward off Harrow. When the gun fired again, Percy flinched as the bullet struck the tree. He had now been shot at twice, and he was doubly sure this wasn''t something he would ever get used to.


    His eyes searched for the closest cover. He needed to get further away—tonight, the darkness was his friend.


    Then, from the direction of the prison, hurried footsteps followed by the man''s growl.


    "Hurry the hell up. We''re being watched."


    The man slid the gun back into his coat and, keeping a wary eye on Harrow, climbed into the seat with reins at ready. The back door of the Black Maria opened, and three men he''d seen enter the prison clambered into the wagon. The doors closed, and the carriage lurched forward.


    Percy slid to the ground, his back against the tree, breathing heavily. His only thought: he was happy to be alive.


    Cordelia and Elsbeth hurried through the halls, but their inability to see each other hampered their progress. They repeatedly collided, each bump stalling their momentum and drawing squeaks of annoyance. It was a flaw of the stones, which otherwise served their purpose well.


    When the first shot rang out, Cordelia froze on the stairs leading to the first floor. Elsbeth''s reaction was to lunge forward—colliding with her friend and sending them both tumbling down the remaining steps to land in a heap at the bottom.


    Between Elsbeth''s grunts and gasps, the stone beneath her tongue came loose and lodged near the back of her throat. She gagged and leaned over, spitting it onto the floor. The thought of swallowing it had been frightening enough, but she had nearly choked to death—another flaw of the stones, this one potentially fatal.


    Cordelia groaned. The distorted sound, more like a stomach growl than a person, came from somewhere nearby.


    “Go,” Elsbeth said. I’ll wait five seconds and then be right behind you.”


    She saw a flicker of shadow, then nothing.


    She counted to five, reluctant to put the stone back into her mouth. Not only had it almost asphyxiated her, but it lay on the dirty floor—covered in germs. When the second shot rang out, she grabbed the stone, wiped it on her dress, and placed it under her tongue.


    The stone was still a plague waiting to happen, but she couldn''t afford to be seen. A man lay dead, Henry Wright had been kidnapped, and now two gunshots had rung out.


    By cruel coincidence, two people waited for them at the carriage: Hex and Percy. A wave of regret washed over her. Why had she listened to Cordelia? It seemed her only luck was bad luck. Her plans always went wrong, and tonight was no exception. If Hex or Percy were hurt, she knew it would break her. It would ruin everything—especially her love for Cordelia. She would never be able to forgive her.


    She ran out the door into the yard and rushed up the path toward the wide-open gate. She sprinted into the street, fell to her knees, removed the stone, and panted for breath. A soft moan escaped her when she saw Hex emerge from the shadows—still favoring his injured leg but walking better than he had any right to. Thank you, God. She whispered it over and over as Hex helped her to her feet. She threw her arms around him and held him tight, feeling more relieved than she ever had before.


    "Into the carriage, Els—they''re getting away," Hex said.


    Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Percy approaching. She tilted her head toward the sky. Thank you, thank you, thank you.


    She heard the gate clink shut, and Cordelia appeared, barking orders.


    "Hex, take the reins—I''ll ride up front with you. Percy, you''re in the carriage with Els. This could get bumpy."


    Cordelia held out her hand, her stone resting in her palm.


    Elsbeth looked her in the eye and let her stone fall to the ground. She turned and climbed into the carriage without looking back.


    “Fussy,” was Cordelia''s response.


    Hex extended a hand, helping Cordelia climb into her seat. “What was that all about?”


    “Oh, you know. Things didn’t go exactly how I said they would, so now her knickers are riding her cracks.”


    Hex laughed. “Her knickers are always wedged. But I wasn’t asking about Els; cranky is her nature. Who the hell were those men, and what were they doing here?”


    Cordelia grabbed the reins and gave them a snap. “We need to get going,” she said, handing the reins back, “they’ve got Henry Wright.”


    “Hah! Who’s chasing who now? It looks like the boot''s on the other foot, you blimey bastards.”


    Cordelia wasn’t sure what he meant, but she liked his enthusiasm.


    The carriage jolted forward, and the chase began.