But no—that he could not do. Without him on board, the cart would be totally out of control. The horses would run roughshod over anyone who stood in their way. He couldn’t live with the notion of someone being hurt because he had to get away from the castle in a hurry. Fighting the pain of his wound and the red haze that filmed his eyes, Croy dragged himself back up onto the cart as both wheels crashed back onto the pavement. Heaving and grunting, he pulled himself into the seat, and looked forward to see where he was headed.

Ahead in the street men and women went racing in a panic to get out of the way of the runaway cart. Croy shouted out to warn them and waved his hands, but the only way he could avoid catastrophe was to get the cart back under control. Wounded as he was, that would take some doing.

Prosper Street ran down the length of the Golden Slope at a steep grade that only added to the horses’ headlong speed. It traveled straight as an arrow’s flight down into the Smoke, where it lost itself among a maze of byways. If he didn’t slow the horses before they reached that district, the cart would surely crash. As the maddened beasts threw themselves downhill, Croy stepped out onto the tongue between them and then threw himself over the back of the left-hand horse, the leader of the team.

“Whoa, whoa, easy there,” he said, trying to soothe the animal. He clutched to its mane and did his best not to be bucked off. The horse turned one wild eye to stare at him and bit at the air with its massive teeth. “All’s well, be at ease,” Croy crooned, but the horse merely redoubled its efforts to shake him free. This was no destrier, bred for war and trained by a horsemaster. It was a simple dray animal that had never known such excitement.

The horse on the right, the wheel horse, perhaps thinking its mate was under attack, nipped at Croy’s shoulder. He pulled back to avoid it and nearly fell off.

Clearly the horses had no intention of obeying his commands. By giving them a common enemy to face he had slowed them a trifle, but there was still great danger of a crash. To save his own life he might leap off the horse’s back—but at this speed he would hit the cobbles like a catapult stone.

He looked ahead and saw that the horses were only a few seconds from reaching the Smoke. The street there curved around a tanner’s yard. It would be impossible for the cart to turn at speed and follow the road.