The carriage, four-wheeled and fully enclosed, sat facing the closed front door, in front of the empty stalls. One door was open, and Marcus could see the three Mierantai women and the two stable boys inside, while the driver sat in front on the box, nervously holding the reins. Uhlan was ramming a charge into a pistol, with another three lined up in front of him on an overturned feeding trough.

“Raesinia, you take the top.” She was the lightest, and Marcus wasn’t at all confident about the carriage’s ability to bear weight on its roof. “Andy and I will take the doors. Uhlan, stay on the box.”

“Yes, sir.” Uhlan handed a pistol to Marcus. Raesinia hopped up on the box and scrambled up to the roof.

“Not much to hang on to,” she said. “If we take a turn too hard I’m going to fall off.”

“Here.” Marcus grabbed a knife from Uhlan’s belt and tossed it up. Raesinia unsheathed it and stabbed into the thin wood as hard as she could, embedding the blade in the carriage’s roof. She gave it a tug, and nodded.

Marcus examined the door. There was a metal rung to help shorter passengers step inside, and that combined with the leather strap that served as a door handle would make for a precarious perch. He climbed on, holding the strap in his left hand and the pistol in his right.

Uhlan handed a pistol to Andy and passed another up to Raesinia. He went to the stable door and tugged it open. The gravel drive was illuminated only by a trickle of light from the house windows.

“Where are we going, sir?” he said as he climbed up on the box and readied his own weapon.

“Oldtown,” Marcus said. Mrs. Felda’s was the obvious place for a bolt-hole. “But not straight to the church, not unless we want to bring the Guard on behind us.”

“Just get us to Oldtown,” Andy said. “I’ll tell you where to go from there. It’s an easy place to get lost in if you’re trying.”

“All right.” Marcus looked back at the driveway. The end of it was starting to brighten, and long shadows flickered across it. “Get moving!”

The driver need no urging. He snapped the reins, and the already-nervous horses jerked forward.

“Are we shooting at the Patriot Guard?” Andy said. “Last time you wanted us to try not to.”

“I think we are officially done with such niceties,” Marcus said. “But try not to waste—”

“D’Ivoire!” someone yelled from the end of the drive, now rapidly approaching. “Is that—stop at once!”

“Keep going,” Marcus said.

“D’Ivoire!” A figure, outlined by the torches, stepped in front of them. “I have a summons to—stop, stop!”

“Faster!” Marcus shouted.