The torches were blinding in the darkness as the few light sleepers squinted through the curtains at the sight of the McClintock gang taking up positions outside the Kelly house. Mothers tried to keep their children from waking, their babies from crying. Men stayed ready at their doors, not sure if they would fight off intruders, or plead their innocence.
Roland handed his torch to a lieutenant, standing squarely in front of the door, and bellowed: “Oi Mrs Kelly! Time t’come out!”
He checked around himself, at the other McClintock men blocking any exit anyone might take, and laughed. “Nowhere left t’run! Come on out now!”
///
Émile peeked through the crack in the wall at the edge of the door, trying to get a better view. “Six, seven…maybe more,” he cursed. “There is no back door to this place?”
“No,” said Maggie. “This is it.”
“Oui, this is it,” he muttered, and started looking around the room for something to defend them with. “You have nothing here at all? No weapons? No knives?”
Maggie shuddered at the word, retreating back into the corner. Her eyes darted left to right, left to right like she was trying to formulate an escape from her own mind.
Émile took the sack off her shoulder and dumped its contents on the floor, spreading them out with his foot. Clothes, tea pot, cups…nothing sharp or dangerous at all. He cursed again, made another sweep of the room in the desperate hope of finding—
Bang! Something hit the wall so hard, it made them both jump.
\\
“Oh come now, Billy boy, ye can do better than that!” laughed Roland, as one of his men wound back and threw a chunk of ice at the house with all the force he could muster.
It made a thunderous noise and sprayed glassy shards everywhere, but the wooden wall didn’t seem much worse for the experience. Roland grinned at his lieutenant.
“Ice cannae do the trick. Let’s think bigger.”
///
Bang! went another blast against the wall, and Émile ducked, instinctively, covering his head. He could see where he was, what he was doing…but he still tasted salt water in his mouth, felt the searing mist whipping his cheeks as the ground heaved back and forth beneath him.
He stumbled, falling sideways onto the broken pieces of Maggie’s life, trying to regain his balance as the—
Bang!
—as the cannons fired and the mast came apart in a cascade of splinters and ash. He crawled for the hatch, to get out of the chaos, but when he finally reached the gap in the floor, all he saw was thick black water, bubbling up so fast it was about to—
Bang!
He plunged a hand in, trying to reach, trying to find—
Maggie grabbed him by the shoulders, and he recoiled, knocking her over and gasping for air as the world came back into focus. Maggie’s house. Trapped. Men outside, and—
“The walls…” Maggie gasped, and he followed her gaze to see piercing orange lines cutting through the slabs of wood all along the front…
\\
McClintock took the torch back, holding it lightly in his hand as he watched the wall of the Kelly house burn. “It’s a bounty either way, lassie! Your choice!”
And then he wound back and threw the torch onto the roof and—
///
Maggie and Émile heard it land, staring up at the rickety ceiling in horror.
“We need to get out of here,” gasped Maggie.
Émile just cursed some more, and went to work.
Liam screamed in agony as the bindings tightened, throwing his head back to let out as big a roar as he could manage, like it would make the pain any less. Adam tied the cloth nice and snug, feeling the wooden braces to be sure they were in place.
“I can’t stop the bleeding,” he said, eyeing the shiny red patch on Liam’s leg. “But this should keep it from getting any worse.”
“Good,” said Liam, reaching out a hand for a hoist back to his feet. “Let’s go.”
“But Kelly,” said Adam, not taking the hand. “Jesus, man, if you don’t get that tended to, and quick, it’s damn near over for you. You’re not good to anyone—”
“Just help me up,” said Liam, gesturing angrily.
Adam took a step back. “To see a doctor?”
“After Maggie.”
Adam fought with himself for a moment before putting his hands up. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry, I can’t let you kill yourself over—”
Liam rolled to his side, gasping in pain, and then pushed himself up as far as his arms could take him. “She…needs…me…” he grunted, trying to angle his ascent so he could—
He fell back into the snow, face-first. His leg was a cacophony of pain, but nowhere near as bad as the fear in his gut, in his conscience. He toppled to the side, gasping for air…only to find Adam’s hand held out for him. He took it, and was dragged upright again.
But this happy change of heart died off quickly at the sight of Adam’s expression, staring at something behind Liam. He turned to see, and gasped.
Flames. Flames in Corkstown.
Émile broke the leg off the table, felt the weight of it like it was a sword. It was heavy, true, but nowhere near deadly enough against a crowd of well-armed men intent on killing.
Maggie choked, doubling over as smoke filled more and more of the available air inside the house. Bits of flame were raining down from the ceiling, and the front wall looked like wood drawn out of pure fire, barely visible through the greying haze.
Émile grabbed one of Rían’s old shirts and dipped it into the water pot by the counter. He crawled over to Maggie, wrapping the shirt around her face and over the top of her head, and kept her low.
“Small breaths,” he said. “No standing.”
She stared at the table leg in his hand, eyes wide. “What are you going to do?” she asked.
He glanced at the front door, now traced by shockingly yellow outlines.
“Give you a chance,” he said.
///
Roland’s smile was irrepressible. He laughed at the burning house, calling over his shoulder: “Now I wonder wha’s got ‘em so tied up, they cannae tell their house is afire, hmm?”
But he got no laughter in reply. He turned, frowning, to see half of his men backing toward the exit out of Corkstown.
“Where the hell d’ya think yer all goin’ to?” he shouted.
His lieutenant appeared at his side, speaking quietly and discreetly. “We have to go,” he said. “The fire’s spreading too fast.”
Roland finally let his attention expand beyond the Kelly house, and sure enough, the flames they’d set had made their way from rooftop to ramshackle rooftop. Doors were thrown open, and men, women and children were flowing out into the cold, carrying whatever belongings they could manage as they raced down the narrow pathways toward the only real exit from Corkstown at all—which was looking more and more like a tunnel of flames.
Roland turned around and around, seeing his handiwork at play: the whole Irish village was burning, and he was dead centre in the middle of it.
The lieutenant tried to get his attention back. “Roland, there’s no time. We’ve got to—”
Roland turned back to the Kelly house and smiled. “Not ‘til we know.”
The lieutenant couldn’t bear it. He muttered an excuse to himself and then joined his comrades, running for their lives, as the only safe passage from the inferno closed up behind them.
Roland stepped closer to the house, sliding the long blade from his belt, and used it to tap tap tap at the door.
Then he leaned harder, until the lock cracked and the door swung open— and he stepped inside to find—
—an empty room. There was no one there.
Just a hastily-broken hole in the back wall, leading out into the cold.
Maggie unwound Rían’s shirt from her head and threw it into the snow, gasping for air as she tried her best to keep up with Émile. It wasn’t until they were a good distance from the house that she dared to turn and see…
The whole of Corkstown lit like the pit of a hearth, glowing menacingly as bits and pieces of it crumbled and fell away. Sprays of sparks and embers flew up into the sky, like orange stars trying to escape gravity and be free.
Émile arrived back at her side, panting, leaning on the table leg for support. “Where were you headed?” he wheezed. “Where is Vincent?”
Maggie turned south, down along the canal, squinting into the darkness. “The house with a stable,” she said.
He took her arm, turned her to face him. His face was smeared with soot, eyes so white and fearful. “We get the horses, and we ride, yes?” he said. “To Perth?”
She nodded, but he wasn’t satisfied.
“To Perth?” he said again, and she nodded again and said:
“Yes.”
“Alors,” he said, and pulled her back along the way south, giving her stronger tugs every time she seemed to be turning her head to look back, to see where they’d been. What little they’d left behind.
The house was better than a shack, but not by much. The fence at the perimeter had been built with far more care, but both paled in comparison to the stables. It was clear where the true focus of Vincent’s work had gone.
Émile paused by the gate, checking the ground. Maggie saw it too: footsteps, and hurried footsteps—quick streaks in the snow—out from the front door and back the way they’d come. Toward Corkstown. Off to help fight the fires.
Émile opened the gate for Maggie and led the way up to the front door, which was open a crack. There was no one inside, but a pair of candles were lit.
“Should we wait?” he asked.
“No time,” said Maggie, and took one of the candles. “Ada will explain. We can’t wait.”
They went back outside, into the stables, where four horses were tied up, snorting and sniffing in the cold. They stomped their feet at the sight of strangers, watching them closely.
“Can you ride?” Émile asked, setting the saddle in place with practiced precision.
She rested a hand on the closer horse’s neck, felt the warmth. “I’m a fast study.”
He wasn’t at all convinced. “You can ride with me,” he said, frozen fingers tightening buckles to get the horse ready to go.
“I said I—”
“And if you can’t, we will be caught,” he said. “You can practice once Aylen is arrested, oui?”
She nodded, meekly, and watched him untie one of the horses. He handed her the reins and opened the gate. “We’ll need food,” he said. “Basic supplies. I’ll check the house.” He rushed back out again.
Maggie patted the horse gently, speaking softly: “Shh, shh. It’s okay. It’s fine. We’re friends.”
The horse snorted, but let her lead it out, down through the middle of the stable toward the door. “That’s right,” she said. “We’re going on a trip.”
She saw Émile just outside, and smiled to show him what she’d accomplished—but froze when she saw the tension in his posture. She looked out to see what he saw, and gasped.
A man, covered in soot, with a long blade hanging down by his side. The second he spoke, she recognized the voice: the one who’d been taunting them as he’d burned down her home.
“Mrs Kelly. At last,” he said. “And the French lover, I presume?”
Émile stood between Roland and Maggie, trying to spot a way to escape.
“You’re worth a pretty penny, you are,” Roland said, resting the blade on his shoulder as he strolled on forward like this was anything other than what it was. “The two of ye. Worth more than tha’ daft fool brother o’ yours ever was.”
“Liam?” Maggie gasped. “What do you mean? Where is he?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry ‘bout that,” grinned Roland. “Ye’ll be seein’ him soon.”
He got too close. Émile snatched up the table leg again, holding it like a club, ready to fight. “One more step, and I will—”
Roland laughed. “You’ll what? Poke me t’death?”
He took another step, and Émile winced and wound back and swung—
—but Roland dodged easily, then bashed Émile’s hand with the hilt of his blade, sending the table leg spiralling into the snow. Émile barely had time to be surprised before Roland’s boot caught him in the gut, knocking him back onto the ground by Maggie’s feet.
She knelt down, checking he was alright.
“I’m sorry,” he coughed. “I couldn’t—”
“It’s alright,” she said, smiling despite her fear. “It’s alright.”
“I’m not much of a fighter,” he said.
Roland laughed, swinging the blade around for another go. A better go. Maybe to Maggie’s neck, or across Émile’s face—or maybe a little of both at once. So many choices, and nothing to stop him.
“Choose your men better, Mrs Kelly,” he said. “Ye need a man with a mean crack o’ the arm.”
“Like me?” said a voice from behind, and Roland turned to see Liam there, barely alive, but with the table leg in his hands.
Roland blinked his confusion just as the leg crashed into the side of his head so hard he flipped off his feet before landing with a crunch on the ground.
Maggie gasped at the sight of Liam. She scrambled back to her feet—but he wasn’t done yet. He pointed the leg at Émile and lurched forward, face twisted in fury.
“You!” he snarled. “You’re next!”
Émile tried to protect Maggie, but she got in front of him this time. “Liam, wait! Stop!”
“It’s alright, Maggie. I’m here now,” he said.
“No, Liam, you don’t understand,” she said. “He’s—”
Liam stormed forward; Maggie shoved Émile back, out of the way.
“Liam, stop!” she shouted. They only had a moment to spare because his leg was so broken and bleeding, he was having trouble maneuvering the deeper snow by the house.
Maggie handed Émile the reins and met his eyes. “Get to Perth,” she said. “Go.”
“But you—”
“I’ll catch up. Just go! Go!”
Émile didn’t want to, but knew there was no choice. He leapt up onto the horse and gave it a sharp nudge onward. He raced out past Liam, who seemed shocked and devastated that Maggie had betrayed him so.
She walked forward to meet him, eyes beaming empathy for everything he was feeling. “Maggie,” he wheezed. “Maggie, I don’t—”
She reached a hand out, pressing it against his chest—and it stopped him cold, like her touch had instantly healed whatever pain he felt inside, and brought him a peace he hadn’t thought possible.
“Thank you for saving us,” she said. “Truly.”
“But that man…” Liam said, tears in his eyes.
“A friend,” she said.
“He kidnapped you.”
“No,” she said. “He’s innocent. He had nothing to do with it. With any of it.”
Liam took a step back, trying to understand. “But who—?”
Maggie’s throat caught on the words, but she forced them out with all the bitter fury they deserved: “Peter Aylen,” she said. “Peter Aylen is behind it.” Tears came to her eyes so fast she couldn’t stop them. “He killed Rían.”
Liam gasped, nearly doubled over. “What?”
“Ah,” sighed Adam, sadly. “I wish you hadn’t heard that, Kelly.”
They both turned to see Adam holding Roland’s blade, checking it over as if he’d never quite held one before. And yet his face seemed genuinely sad.
“If you’d just stayed down when I asked you, it might’ve turned out differently.”
“Adam?” Liam said, trying to understand what was happening. “I don’t—”
“Mr Sisk told me to keep you out of it,” he said. “Told me to keep you talkin’, see what you knew. Help the others find ‘er.” He tipped his cap to Maggie. “Ma’am.”
Liam’s hand nearly lost the table leg. “But we—”
“You saved my life,” said Adam. “And I thank you for it. Truly. But Mr Sisk said if she told you the truth, I had to end you, too.”
He raised the blade, coming in to strike.
“Wait!” Liam said, raising the table leg out of instinct. “Adam, please. You don’t have to do this.”
“Don’t have to do this?” laughed Adam. “Cedric Sisk commanded it, Kelly. There’s no choice involved.”
He wound back and swung for Liam’s neck—only to have the blade embed itself in the table leg. Liam was just as surprised at his survival as Adam. They both tried to free their weapons, with no luck.
Adam acted fast: with their weapons locked between them, he shoved Liam back, straight into the side of Vincent’s stables. Liam threw up his other hand, grasping both ends of the table leg, trying to push the blade back…but it wasn’t enough. The wood started to crack from the pressure, the sharp edge inching closer and closer to his throat.
Maggie watched in horror, body gone numb, watching Liam’s last moments slip away like the space between metal and flesh. Her heart stopped, her ears went deafeningly silent, her body frozen in terror.
Liam gasped as the blade grazed his neck, the wood so near to breaking it made a groaning sound. He pleaded with his eyes, pleaded for Adam or God or anyone to just grant him this one mercy, to give him the power to survive just a little longer.
“No!” he said as the knife came ever closer.
Maggie snapped out of her daze, saw Rían standing next to his brother, face twisted in terror as he yelled: “No Maggie no Maggie no Maggie no!” and she leapt at Adam, wrapping herself around his back, pulling at his neck to get him off.
He was so shocked, the blade backed off just enough for Liam to breathe. “Get off!” he snarled, and swung an elbow back, knocking Maggie onto her feet—
—which gave Liam the space he needed to bring his fist back—
—as Maggie threw herself forward again—
—and the blade swung ‘round—
—and crack!
Adam crumpled to the ground. Liam’s fist stung from the impact, his breath sharp and tortured as he looked down at his friend, his eyes staring off into the nighttime sky, unmoving.
Liam recoiled, dropping the table leg into the snow and covering his mouth with a trembling hand. “Maggie…?” he said, feeling violently ill. “I…I…he’s…”
“Murderer!” came a shout from beyond the fence. A small crowd of people were there—including a handful of soldiers down from Barracks Hill to help fight the fire.
Maggie looked from Adam’s body to Liam’s face, took a deep breath and—