“Everybody clear of the door,” Marcus said. Nell made it onto the deck and came to join Gavin and Brask, a pistol clutched in one hand. “I’ll try and get him to shoot. Gavin, you think you can break that door down?”

The big gardener gave it an appraising glance, then grunted. Marcus left him at the top of the stairs and circled around to where he’d dropped his pistol. Retrieving his weapon, he lay flat on the deck, just above the door—one deck below, the Patriot Guard with the itchy trigger finger was right underneath him. From that position, Marcus could reach down and touch the top part of the door. Holding his pistol by the barrel—still warm from the earlier shot—he swung it as far down as he could, hard, against the door.

This had the desired effect. The pistol’s butt slammed hard against the wood, and the guard inside fired, punching another hole in the door but hitting nothing more than the staircase. Gavin, waiting for the shot, ran full tilt down the stairs and put his shoulder to the door. It broke with a crash, and there was another pistol shot. Marcus heard a gasp and a grunt, and Brask, following close behind Gavin, passed underneath Marcus with a long knife in his hand. Marcus pushed himself to his feet and circled around, hopping down onto the stairway.

The Patriot Guard was dead, two smoking pistols beside him and Brask’s knife in his throat. Gavin was slumped against one wall, moaning and clutching his side, with blood slick under his fingers.

Didn’t think he’d have a second one, Marcus thought, with the numb feeling that always came over him in the midst of a battle. It was the detachment of a commander, watching men fall all around you, and knowing that you couldn’t care about it, not yet. Get the job done first.

“Get Gavin back on deck,” he told Brask. “Nell, make sure that’s the last of them.”

“Yes, sir!” she said, voice squeaky with fear but determined. Only in the moment after he’d done it did Marcus realize what he’d just done, ordered a girl not yet twenty to go in search of armed men in the midst of a firefight. Get the job done. Marcus stood aside to let her pass, then went back up the stairs to find Viera coming his way, lugging her oiled-leather sack.

“Wait until we know it’s clear down there,” Marcus said. “Then do what you need to do, as fast as you can.”

“You can count on that.” There was a feverish light in Viera’s eyes. “We won’t want to hang around here any longer than we have to.”