I hold out my hand. They have chased us onto a path of chaos; if I want to live, I have no choice but to walk it. Falco places a pistol in my palm.

As we round the stairs, gunfire lights the darkness; the bright flashes of charges, the duller flare and thunk of old metal bullets. The windows are already smashed, as are most of the bottles behind the bar, where Esterházy, Bebe and Thrip shelter.

‘Out the back!’ the bartend yells. ‘We’ll cover you!’

‘Pec!’ Falco cries.

The old woman looks up. In the fitful light her face is that of a younger woman, the tattoo stark on her skin, her eyes like scorched metal. She smiles.

Then there’s a scream, and a smoke grenade arches in through one of the windows.

‘Go!’ she orders.

We run, smoke billowing at our heels. And yet it works in our favour, because in the confusion of dust and smoke the posse doesn’t see us stagger around the corner and onto the road behind them.

Two of the Peacekeepers kick at the saloon’s doors. With a horrible clatter, they give way, the metal bent inwards. A rifle shot rings out, and one Peacekeeper staggers back, holding their middle.

Vehicles block the road ahead of us; a dozen buzzards and mules and mares ridden by the posse.

‘We’ll never make it to the ship,’ Silas gasps, staring at the distance between the town and the port, a stretch of darkness with no cover, nothing but empty dirt. Pegeen sags, clutching Falco’s shoulder and breathing heavily.

‘We will,’ Falco retorts. ‘Get ready to run. Peg?’

‘Ready.’

As the gunfire and the shouts from Esterházy’s place increase, I meet Falco’s gaze. She nods.

Lowering my head, I sprint out into the middle of the road, to draw the Peacekeepers’ fire. The wind is with me as I run, as I raise the pistol and fire once, striking a Peacekeeper in her shoulder. Across the road, I see Falco push the others on.

Four Peacekeepers open fire on me; I scramble behind a parked mule, sparks flying as charges smash into the metal. Reaching up, I fumble for the ignition, praying it’s still engaged. It is – I jam the lever, punch the accelerator with my fist and leap away as the vehicle shoots forwards, straight at the posse.

I sprint, Silas’s jacket whipping behind me. Gunfire spits dust at my heels. Ahead, I see the others, heads bent against flying charges. If we can just make it out of range…