“I think she’ll be okay,” she said to Joanna as Andy bound up the big woman’s wounded arm. “Nothing broken. We’ll get her to the cutters once we get out of here—”

“Colonel!” The scream came from the hallway. “Colonel, they’re coming!”

“Balls of the fucking Beast,” Winter swore, turning back to the doorway. One of the rankers, Vicky, had her hands beneath Sergeant Maura’s armpits, dragging her toward the doorway and leaving a darker stain on the red carpet in her wake. A blue-uniformed body lay motionless amid a cloud of powder smoke at the top of the stairs, and the clatter of booted feet mixed with victorious shouts as the Patriot Guards ascended.

“Joanna, watch the old man!” Winter said. “Bobby, Andy, load these muskets!” She grabbed one of the dead Patriots’ weapons herself, pulled a handful of cartridges from the corpse’s belt pouch, and tore one open with her teeth. It had been a long time since Winter had gone through the manual of arms, but her muscles remembered the movements—powder in the lock, close it up, the rest down the barrel, spit the ball after it, ram the whole mess home with the rod. Raise the weapon to your shoulder—

A dozen Patriots had made it to the top of the stairs, and from the sound of it more were coming. Winter leveled the weapon and fired, and a man in the middle of the group went down. The rest dove for cover, stopping behind the banister or throwing themselves flat. One fired, and Winter heard the ball go wide. The rest, it seemed, hadn’t reloaded before their triumphant charge, and struggled awkwardly with their too-long weapons.

Andy fired as well, raising splinters from the banister. Winter turned to Bobby and held out a hand, and the girl passed a loaded weapon.

“Get some of those chairs,” Winter said. “We have to barricade the doors.”

Bobby nodded and ran to the back of the room. Winter aimed and fired at one man who’d gotten up, missing but sending him diving back to the floor. Before the rest recovered their courage, she ran to the front of the foyer and closed the double doors just after Vicky dragged Maura across the threshold. By themselves, the doors didn’t offer much of a barrier, splintered with holes as they were, but Bobby arrived soon after carrying a heavy leather armchair. Andy dragged another one into place, and they went back for more. Vicky manhandled the wounded sergeant out of the way.

“Winter!” Sothe said from where she was standing by the unconscious Penitent Damned. “I need to get Raesinia out.”

And then what? Both stairways were on the other side of the now-barricaded door. The window, maybe? They were on the sixth floor, but it wasn’t far to the neighboring building. We might be able to jump for it . . .