by Carl E. Mullin ©2020
The warm beer danced a messy dance as a gloved hand thrust up high its mug, “To victory!”
The uniforms and civilians in the crowded Freo’s Boar Pub roared their approval with raised mugs.
Standing atop the polished bar Hannah drained her mug. “Whoa!” she cried as she finished. The cheers rose for her. She raised her mug again with a jerk, “To the Royal Marines!” The crowd approved. She took a long draw of beer. “To the Royal Army!” Again a roar of approval as she drunk deep with the boys.
In the back of the pub, Commander Mark roared her approval with her mug along with her German guest in her black uniform at their table, their backs to the wall. They grinned but didn’t drink.
“To – huh! I’m out!” Hannah shrugged to the universal merriment and clapping. “Hey, Bob. Bob! Where are you? Bob!”
Fingers pointed. She turned, a bit unsteady on her feet. “Oh! There you are, Bob, you nasty lovable balding bastard, fill me up, love!” Bob laughed as he snaked out a tube to refill her mug. “Yes, that’s the love, Bob.” She kissed his bald spot and patted his grinning head. “Bob, now that’s Bob. He’s a really, really good mate to know. He’ll do right by ya. That beautiful, beautiful kind bastard!” Bob grinned again. “Oh, but you filled me up so good, Bob,” she grinned to all-around laughter.
“To the Royal Air Service!”
“Ho!” all roared and drank.
She pointed to all the boys in their red and blue uniforms. “Humph!” she said, squinting at them with one eye. “I’ll have to say, the longer the night the better you boys look.” The crowd laughed and clapped as the men made a mock bow together.
As the clapping died down, she raised her mug. “To the Fifth Wyvern Corps! May we long kiss and fight!” The dragon riders laughed and bowed to the cheers, some wiggling their backsides to the wolfish whistles. “To all Dragon Riders, we all love you, sisters!” More cheers and whistles and Bob was all smiles as he poured out the drinks. “To all our dragons. May you breathe long and hot!” All drank. “But, baby, you can always carry us to the dreamlands!” General laughter erupted.
She splashed her beer again as her hand rocketed up. “To the Seventh Northumbrian Regiment! Splendid show at Fort Hill Black.” More cheers. Beer flowed free.
She drained her mug then looked confused. She shook it upside down. “Ack. Where did it go?” she demanded to the laughter. “Blup!” She patted her chest as the people chuckled. “Oh, neveryoumind,” she singsonged. Laughter filled the air as she grinned. “Bob! Bob! Bob? Fill me up.” She stood back as if making a decision and then pointed at him with finality, “And with that snake in your hand and not in your pants!”
Everyone laughed. Dagny gave an embarrassed look to her foreign friend who found all this merry-making to her liking.
Hannah gave a mock curtsy and shrugged. Her mug filled, “Oh, but you are such a dear, Bob.” She blew a few kisses at him. “Show him yer luv!” Claps answered to Bob’s wide-faced delight.
Her mug high, “To our beautiful, beautiful allies!” All roared heartful. “We love you all. You’re all good mates and we love ya with mucha, mucha, kisses. Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. AND. And we can still kick yer asses!”
“To England! The Gods preserve her merry eggs!” All drank. She choked as her beer overran. “Oops!” she looked around with a sheepish face. She looked down at her chest and started to wipe the beer off her medal with her arm sleeve. “Gotta polish my nice shinning medal. Can’t have it all dingy, could we, boys?” she asked to the laughter.
The German leaned to Dagny, “She does like to show herself, nein?” Dagny smiled another rueful smile.
“To His Grace, Julius Templehill, the Duke of Marlborough!” All roared.
“To Marshal Julia Popova!” All roared again. “Those atheists can’t stand up to that old girl. The Gods bless her.” They cheered and drank again. “Ack. Almost out. To our Queen!”
“The Gods save the Queen!”
“The Gods save the Queen!” she repeated.
“The Gods save the Queen!”
“The Gods save the Queen!”she repeated.
“The Gods save the Queen!” All cheered and clapped.
She laughed and then looked at her mug with a stupid look, “Ack. Where did that beautiful, beautiful bastard go?” Everyone laughed. “Bob! Bob! Where’s my beautiful balding lover?” Shouts and finger-pointing directed her attention. “Oh! There ya are, Bob. Say. Why are you hiding behind my legs?”
“Admiring your legs, Lieutenant.”
“Admiring my legs! Yer a liar. It’s my ass ya looking at. Fill me up, you big lug!”
“With pleasure!” Laughter and cheers rose.
“To the Gods!”
“Ho!”
“To Dagda!”
“Ho!”
“To Woden!”
“Ho!”
“And let’s also give a toast to my Gods.” Hands clapped and heads nodded. “You’re such a dear. To El and his seventy sons!”
“Ho!”
“To Zeus who has blessed us with his sacred games next year!”
“Ho!” Claps all around.
“Ah. That hit the spot. One.” More cheers. “One more toast.” Clapping. “One more! This is the moment you all have been waiting for. You know who?” A bedlam of nos and yeses ensued. She cupped her ears, “Who? Who?” More shouting. With a wide sweep of her arm she silenced the pub. “I’ll tell you, boys.” Her mug rose. “To Dagny Mark!”
Cheers rose as all stood up and looked to the back of the pub. Dagny covered her face.
“To the Girl With Dragonfire Hair! Cheers!” All roared their approval.
With a rueful smile Dagny rose with a quiet dignity, nodding her head to everyone.
“Let’s drink to the heroine of Nicaragua!”
“Ho!” All drank, including Dagny.
In a dramatic gesture Hannah wiped her lips with the back of her hands, “Now…who wanna dance?”
The pub roared in delight as she turned her back to the crowd. She bent her head backward as she drained her beer. As she did, she fell backward into the waiting arms, to a resounding applause. The hands raised her over their heads as she laughed. They set her before a box piano where she started beating out music with a cheerful sway to it. The people started singing a gayful tune full of bawny humor.
Dagny and her friend listened to the merry-making. She turned and started speaking in the international language, the Koine Greek. The German put her hand on her forearm, “Speak English, please. I wish to practice.”
“Very well, Captain Günther. I shall speak English. I’m sorry that I did not warn you about Lieutenant Morganstein’s antics. Hannah is a dear but she can be a bit much at times.”
“Oh, but I don’t mind. I find her antics a delight. Now I understand why her call sign’s ‘Spitfire’. She’s so vivacious in such a small package.”
“A bit too vivacious if I must say, Adele.”
“If it was to you, Dagny, it would be a quiet tea and a light dinner for a few guests if not for your friend there. I must say I rather like seeing you in the new environments. It adds a greater vivacity and interest to your person.”
She scoffed as she ran her finger around the mouth of her mug. “She can be fun. It’s just that she can take it to a tat extreme at times.”
Adele looked closer at the shieldmaiden with her folded hands resting on her chin. “You were always a serious one since we first met under Templehill’s command.”
Dagny smiled. “You Prussians were the finest examples of seriousness in war. By all the Gods, that was a messy campaign, putting our pretender on the imperial throne. Mud and rain and snow. Bloody mess.” She took a small sip from her mug.
Adele glanced off in a distance, “I remember one night. It was after four days’ hard fighting against the Franks and their allies. I saw you walking back to our trench in armor and helmetless. It was dawn. You were dressed in gore and mud with a dirty ax in your hand. And those eyes of yours, full of battle-fire in a quiet and chilled morning air.”
She smiled, “I remember you in your spiked helmet and goggles and a filthy fur cloak and holding a rifle. You looked as if you had seen a ghost.”
“Not a ghost. A vision. An epiphany of Lady Freyja who is come to select her pick of the valiant dead to fill her holy hall of blazing shields.”
She shook her head. “A mere mortal. A commoner.”
She fingered the dangling medal under her chin. “Not a commoner now. How does it feel? Being a lady and a commander?”
“Truthfully? I don’t feel any difference.”
“You should be proud. That was a noble thing you did.”
She shrugged, “I am.” She sipped more beer.
Adele looked at her with curious eyes. She decided not to press. She leaned closer, shoulder to shoulder. “It has been a long time, Dagny. You must be tired now.”
“A little.”
“Perhaps, it’s time to steal away from this happy noise. To somewhere quiet. Perhaps…” her fingers brushed hers on the table, “…a pleasurable night?”
Dagny glanced down at their hands and chuckled. “I do remember our time with fondness, dear. But…,” she sipped some more, “…no.”
The German sighed. “It’s a thought.”
“‘Tis a good thought. And I thank you for this. It’s true what they said, War is the father of Beauty and Harmony. And I am happy to have your company during these trying trials of snow, mud and blood.”
Adele smiled and leaned closer, “Dagny Mark, how is it that these pretty words flow so from your pretty lips without effort?”
She shrugged. “I do not know. I merely speak from the heart.”
“And you possess a heart of a great beauty, shieldmaiden.”
“No. You are a poet, not I.”
“Why do you underestimate yourself, shieldmaiden?” she asked as she inched closer.
“’Tis the truth,” she moved closer, her voice dropping to a whisper.
“Could this be the famed Girl With Dragonfire Hair?” she asked, her nose almost touching hers.
“Mere a simulation.”
“No, mere a revelation.”
“Dagny! Dagny Mark!” Hannah popped between the girls. They separated at once, their faces looking in opposite directions. “Dagny, Dagny, oh, hi ya, Adele. How’s my favorite kraut? Dagny, Dagny, Dagny,” Hannah ran on while patting her shoulder like an excited child.
“What?” Dagny exhausted her question.
“Dagny Mark, have I have a deal for you. If we play our cards right you won’t regret it.”
“I already have.”
“Oy vey! You haven’t even heard what I was gonna say.”
“I’ve heard plenty over years, Hannah.”
“Ack! But never you mind. This is good.”
“Everything’s good to you. ‘Til they’re not, Hannah.”
“Oh, you!” She turned to Adele, “Isn’t she funny.”
“Very,” she smiled.
Dagny scoffed.
“Listen, Dagny. You won’t mock me anymore, darling. This is better than a royal flush.”
“How much?” She sniffed. “And you need a mint.”
“Later, later, later.” She pressed her cheek to Dagny’s. “Feast your eyes on those main meals.” She pointed across the pub to where the box piano was. “See those boys looking at us with smiles bigger than the searchlights? Aren’t they lovely?”
She could barely turn her head being between Hannah’s cheek and excited armlock as she considered the young men in their sharp uniforms, full of brawn and cheer, who toasted her. “Well, they are cute.”
“Aren’t they?” Hannah hugged her neck tighter. “They promised us a night of fun. And some of them are rich. Very rich. Things are looking up for you, Dagny dearest.”
“For you, you mean.”
“Oh, you are so funny. Things are about to heat up for us. We play our cards right, we can maybe ring some bells soon.”
She glanced at her, “Well, they are tempting.”
“Yes?” she beamed.
“But…no.”
Hannah’s grin vanished and backed away with a look of intense puzzlement. She noticed the men were gesturing them to come over. She made an impatient and frenetic gesture to wait. She considered her for a moment. “Come on, Dagny Mark, let’s enjoy ourselves a bit of fun.”
She smiled as she considered it, then, “No.”
“No?”
“No. And before you say anything, my mind’s made up. I’m sorry. You mean well and I thank you for your kind thought, but, no.”
“No?” She turned to Adele.
“I’m sorry but she made the same answer to an earlier proposition, fräulein.”
Hannah scoffed, “Well, fine. Don’t let the door tap your ass on the way out. I get all the boys to myself. Ta-ta!”
The shieldmaidens watched the dragon rider hop off to the men’s waiting arms. “You should join them, fräulein. It would be good for you.”
“Perhaps.” The Commander stood up and started to dig into a small leather pouch hanging from her corset’s lower belt for a coin.
Adele’s hand stopped her, “My treat, Commander.”
Dagny opened her mouth, then closed it. She cupped her cheek and brushed it with her thumb. She bent to kiss her raven hair on the top. “You’re too kind,” she smiled and let go of her cheek.
Outside, she put on her envelope-shaped field cap and glanced up at the summer crescent. She touched her forehead and lips and showed her palms toward the moon. “Kharis,” she prayed. She unbuttoned the second button on her front flap and pulled out the ribbon. She breathed in deep with closed eyes. She secured it inside again and went for a walk.
In the shadows a pair of absinthe-green rectangle spectacles followed her steps.
Dagny strolled alone in silence amid the great London towers. Few windows were lit. The cheering crowds had retired to their cooling beds in preparation for a bright day of routine hum. In the grey-blue moonlight the shadows of great arches and criss-crossing skybridges loomed over her. The tramways were silent. A few moored aeroships floated in silence, their long elliptical shapes glowing grey-bright. All around her were great masses of stone and steel arranged in an undulating rhythm of carved columns and theatrical ornaments and windows of various shapes.
She walked to the parapets of heavy stone that overlooked the lower levels of the pub’s tower. Her white-gloved fingers traced the line of the carved rail as she walked alongside to a skybridge, passing a tall iron lamppost every few feet. On the short skybridge she stopped midway and rested her hands on the rail. She looked out at the collage of various designs from the greco-classical to High Frankish styles. They seemed to unite like a lavish wedding cake of great scaling heights with each level being topped by gardens and vertical parks and neighborhoods of tenement houses of bricks and stones. Everywhere, the massive columns with fluting lines and decorative capitals or pointed arches broke up the skyview as they supported the overheading levels while permitting roadways and low-flying airships. Great and sensuous ironworks bloomed like gilded plants, rising and curving in all directions. Here and there ironcast sculptures of nude women and men held high their heavy garlands. Here and there, the gods and beasts strode across the purple-shadowed walls, their forms fixed and mute. Here and there, grinning satyrs and laughing nymphs popped out of the foliated frieze of stone and bronze that moved alongside the parapets. Carved leaves of honeysuckle and ivies and flowers seemed to bloom in every nook and notch. High pitched roofs popped here and there.
Not all buildings were bathed in the grey-blue moonlight. Some were dressed in a soft orange light that shifted and danced. Dagny’s eyes turned to its source with an irresistible force, the holiest sight on all of all London, the fire of the White Tower on the north bank of river Thames. Small compared to the great towers of the city, it was the heart of all England this holy temple, the Prytaneum of the Lady Hestia the first and the last of the Gods. Made of rustic Kentish rag-stone this broad warm-grey keep rose tall from Tower Hill. Every few stories, it grew slender with a series of set-backs until it reached sixty stories. Its floodlighted top formed a square shape with four narrow-cut corners. It terminated at a flat top with four pillars projecting up and then slanted inward to bear up a large and almost flat cauldron of iron from which a gas-fed fire burned day and night without end.
Each pillar was faced with smooth limestone of a soft and warm color. Like ghosts materializing from the stone, four great Vestal Virgins were carved with their heads and arms almost in the full round. From under their wind-swept veils their young and serene faces looked outward to the four corners of the world, their right hands raised in friendship. In each of the Virgin’s left hands, was a gift of their Mistress. One, a slender tree with fresh and upright leaves and roots snaking down toward a traced line suggesting a flowing water of memory. One cradled a great horn overflowing with food. One held out a bejeweled grail full of warm wine. And one held a spade-shaped shield embellished with a symbol of fire.
Between the limestone virgins, forty-eight bronze and life-sized nudes stood on the flat root. Grouped in twelve each, their metal flesh interlaced with each other as they assumed various poses to fulfill their eternal charge. With their hands and backs and sides, the long-haired maidens supported their Lady’s cauldron. Some turned, some bended, some embraced each other and all were bound in their communal devotion to their holy mistress.
Below on the broad side, great clock-faces tracked their hour and minute. The bells were hung under, their tones could be heard through the arched loopholes on all four sides.
Within the keep and her two rings of walls and a moat, the virgin priestesses kept their wake, tending to their solemn rites with the able assistance of the priest-engineers of the Order of Hephaistos’s Hammer. Deep within the tower, the virgins daily attend to the sacred furnace. It was the nation’s hearth, drawing together the quick and the dead into an unbreakable circle of blood and spirit from unrecorded times upto the distant future. Here were reposed the venerable laws and the royal crowns for safekeeping. Here the Magna Charta was kept. Here the new king begins his crowning procession to the Winchester Temple to be crowned before the Gods. This was the place where the first king, Brutus, the grandson of Aeneas, first planted the daughter flame and a stone from the ruins of Troy, the very stone from which Arthur would draw his sword and which became his throne. Later, the Romans would build a nearby fort of Londinium and erect a small temple over their remote cousin’s hearth. After the battle of Mount Badon, Arthur enlarged the Prytaneum to celebrate a new peace between the Britons and the Saxons. Centuries later, King Alfred the Great restored the place after his victory over the Danes. Later, after the Norman nobles helped Duke William win the vote of the Witenagemot, the new king built the White Tower to win the affections of the restive Saxons. After the Great Fire, Queen Elizabeth was succeeded by King Julian Stuart who ordered a new and taller tower over the old as a sign of London’s rebirth. Built with the same materials, the White Tower rose tall and beautiful, its fire seen miles off even from the southern shores on a clear night. When the fire draws the eyes of bone-tired sailors and the eyes of the matrons and the eyes of children, their hearts grow glad for they know that they are home.
Home. What a bewitching word that brings both joy and sadness. Joy at the thought of seeing the familiar comfort of a well-boned house and a warm ale and the easy laughter of kin and childhood friends. Sadness for the lost who have gone to the stone halls of their fathers before them. A sound was caught in her throat and her mindless hand wandered to the hilt of her sword for comfort. It was an unwanted gift that she could not bear to part with.
Clapping her hands as if they were cold, she sighed and lifted her regretful eyes to the top of the Buckingham Tower. She wished that things, many things, were different. That she had done different things. If only she had kept her word, that impossible vow. If–
She lowered her head. Hopeless. It’s over. Fate.
She looked at the White Tower again and saw a different hearth, a different fire. The warm fire of an inn. That terrible fire.
She tore her eyes from the flame to gaze at the stadium near the White Tower. This was where the sacred games of England are held. This is where the Olympic Games will be held next July, near the end of the sacred truce.
She pushed away from the parapets. She needed to get away. Her steps went fast as she walked away.
In the shadows, the absinthe-green spectacles followed her path.
The commander wandered for a while, going through the alleys and down the ramps to get back to her hotel. She felt lost. Uncertain. Unmoored. The Royal Service gave her structure, an order to her life. Now with peace and adulation, she felt unsure. She had trained for war, not for peace. She needed another war. A distraction.
She stopped. Soft music of a pipe flowed through the late night air. A flute. She listened to its soft and clean notes and found it warm and gentle as it flew through her. It was along the way back to her hotel. She walked toward its source, taking her time to listen. Then she entered a small courtyard that opened up to the alley and saw an old man sitting crosslegged on a blanket covering the cobbled street.
She inched closer as the old man with long white locks played his flute, lost in his tune. There was a slight hint of sadness that enriched the serene tone. She stood with a wistful smile for it felt familiar and inviting.
The song ended. She dug in her pouch and dropped a small gold coin at his crossed legs. The old man opened his eyes to look down. He glanced up and smiled a broad smile with three front teeth missing, “Much obliged, miss. The Gods bless ye, girl.”
“You played beautifully, Old Man,” she answered with a deep respect for her elder.
“I thank you. A good ear you have, shieldmaiden.”
“I – yes. I thank you for that, Old man. How long have you played this flute, sir?”
“Long,” he smiled again his toothless smile.
Dagny stifled a small laugh. “Old Man, it’s good to see one possess a gay heart though your pants seems ragged.”
“Oh, aye, shieldmaiden. I am a poor wanderer in body and yet I carry a great treasury in my heart. I submit to my skill in tunes and to the Lady Luck for my provisions.”
“Old Man, you speak well for a poor wanderer. How is it that you came to this station at this point of your life?”
“Fate.” Again a broad toothless smile.
She nodded, “Yes. Have you a need for bread? Or a lodging perhaps?”
The player played a short burst of tune on his flute. It was a cheerful one. She smiled, “You don’t speak much do you, Old Man?”
“Some words are better spoken by a tune than a plain speaking.”
“Yes, That is true. But tell me of your burden and perhaps I may aid you.”
“You provided me enough, Commander.”
Her smile became confused. “Old Man, how is it that you know of my rank? I have not a chance to change my uniform.”
“Ah, but you are the Girl With Dragonfire Hair, are you not? Your medal dangles still from your neck. Your fame has reached far, even into the bowels of fair London. It is I who should inquire after your happiness.”
She blushed with a smile. “I – I thank you for your kindness, Old Man.”
“You dislike the name?”
She shrugged. “If this serves my country’s happiness then I am contented.”
He played another tune, a quiet and thoughtful one. “You felt unworthy.”
She stared at him. “Old Man, do we know each other?”
“Perfect strangers that we are. But the Gods know.”
“Old Man, are you a seer of the Gods, perchance?”
“Mere a humble tune player, shieldmaiden.”
She looked at him closer, trying to place him and failing at that. “You are a curious man, sir.”
“Aren’t we a puzzle to each and to everyone?” Again he smiled his toothless grin.
She laughed. “You are such a tease, sir.”
“And we should tease each other all the more, shieldmaiden.”
She smiled again. She dropped another coin. “I pray that this will aid you in exchange for that little amusement, Old Man.” She turned to leave.
“Wait.” Dagny returned her attention. The tune-player dug into one of his patchworked shirt’s pockets and pulled something out. “Here. A charm to light your way, shieldmaiden.”
She knelt for a closer look at the object dangling from his outstretched hand. It was a necklace. She held up the medallion. “It’s an icon of Janus.”
“Yes, the two-faced god. One looks back to the past, one looks to the future. Like Lady Hekate, he is the lord of the gates. The opener and closer of the doors.”
“Transitions. The Romans opened his gates for war and closed when peace came.”
“You are a true shieldmaiden.”
She shrugged. “Just something I learned at Sandhurst, Old Man. This seems well-carved.”
“Yes. From a seashell. Pretty, isn’t it?”
“Lovely. Oh, but I can’t take it, sir.”
“Take it. You have shown much kindness to a foolish old man for so famed a shieldmaiden.”
She covered her smile. “I’m not that good, Old Man. Mere luck.”
“Ah,” he wagged his finger. “It’s never mere luck, girl. Your spirit attracted the Gods’ favor. Your heart attracted Fortune.”
She lowered her eyes, “I am not sure of that, father.”
“You carry a great weight from childhood, girl. A burden that you think you deserved.”
She looked up at him, surprise in her eyes. “Have we not met before, Old Man?”
He smiled, “No, girl.”
She studied his face. “How could I trust you. You have the bright green eyes of a serpent.”
“That would be unwise to trust a man with such eyes. He could be a sneak,” he smiled his toothless grin.
She laughed a short laughter. “You’re a strange man, father.”
“And yet you tarry.” He held out his necklace.
She pursed her lips and took it.
“Let me see you wear that.” She smiled and snapped it around her neck. “Yes. It looks perfect on you.”
“You’re a tease, Old Man. The uniform’s not fit for this.”
“Well, then you best find a nice dress won’t you, eh?”
She shook her head in merriment and got up. “Be well, Old Man,” she said as she tucked her necklace inside her jacket.
“And you, shieldmaiden.” He started to play a new tune.
She smiled and walked away. The music followed her. As she reached the turn of the alley a powerful curiosity overtook her. She had to know. She walked back toward the source of the music. “Old Man, who are you real– ”
She halted in her tracks. The alley was empty. No man. No music. No blanket in sight.
Her heart grew uneasy. Her hand felt for the necklace. Still here. It was not her imagination. He must have left. It had to be. But. The music was so close and so clear.
She licked her lips. Yes. She was imagining things. He had left and it was her memory playing that delightful tune so bright in her mind. But she could have sworn… He couldn’t have gotten far.
She raced to the further turn of the alley and searched. No one. She stepped out more, her eyes peeking into the darkness.
Nothing.
Uneasiness possessed her. He had to be close. But she couldn’t track him. Who was this man who seemed to know her?
She was tired. It had been a long day. She turned to resume her path to the hotel.
She walked for another block and then another, lost in her thoughts.
Out of the shadows three men rushed at her.
One seized her from behind with a thick arm around her neck. A cloth pressed against her muffed scream. Her eyes shot at one of his thuggish confederates racing at her. Her two feet rocketed hard against his chest. He fell back hard. The trash cans made a crashing noise. Another man came at her left. Her left foot met his jaw, spinning him around in a bloody daze. The fourth man came out of the shadows, waiting his turn.
Her right hand produced her dagger and she stabbed her jailer’s hip hard. He howled. She stuck it again and again. He shoved her off. She rolled to the street and shot back up to her feet. Her sword sang as she drew it. The second thug came at her, a dagger high over his head. She swooshed to the pavement to grasp her dropped dagger and spun around in a low position. A flash of silver light and it cut deep past his ribs causing his pained grunts. She shot up and slashed across his belly with her sword.
The third man tackled her hard to the pavement. The sword fell from her hand.
“Hold her!” the third man ordered as she struggled. Her elbow cracked his nose. He swore. The first thug stumbled over and pinned down her arms. She swung her foot to kick the back of his head. He whimpered but still held to her left arm. She seized the hair of the third thug and yanked it hard. He yowled but held her.
The fourth thug pulled out a small black kit from his suit pocket. “Hurry!” the third man ordered. “The whore’s like a mountain lioness!” He opened the kit and rushed over. The first thug recovered and seized her arms and held them. The fourth man knelt over her.
A flash of steel. The fourth man jerked up, his back arching backward with a scream. The mysterious swordman in black twisted around with an unnatural speed. The blade traced out a red line across his exposed throat.
The two thugs were so surprised that Dagny leaped forward and bit the first thug’s nose hard. He yelled and let her go.
The swordman with a top hat posed over the struggle, his cane-sword ready. The third thug let go and rolled away from the new player. Dagny rolled away in the opposite direction to seize her fallen sword.
The third thug drew a revolver from his shoulder hostler and fired. The swordman twisted out of harm’s way and kicked the gun out of his hand.
Dagny confronted the first man who produced an ugly and large knife. He lunged at her. She jumped back. Her leg swung wide and kicked his face sideways.
Without looking back, the swordman shouted in a womanly voice, “Watch out! There’s another man behind you!”
Dagny swung low as another man rushed at her with a sword in one hand and a gun in another. She slashed his belly. He stumbled forward. She swung about him and stabbed his back deep. He fell. Then she faced the first thug.
The swordwoman stood still, her absinthe-green spectacles faced the third man. She smiled. “Surrender would be advisable, depraved worm.”
Dagny stood her ground. The first thug rushed at her like a madman, death in his eyes. She shoved her sword deep into his oncoming guts. He threw up blood. He eyed her and seized her throat. She gasped in surprise at his unexpected strength. His knife rose high over his head.
The swordwoman turned. Then her cane-sword flew. The first thug howled as he had a sword sticking out both ends of his raised wrist.
Dagny broke free of his grip. His belly’s empty wound poured blood. She swung hard. His head fled his shoulders.
The swordwoman swung back to her thug who had a knife in hand. With a childish ease, she evaded his thrust and seized his head from behind. A sickening crack was heard as she snapped his head to the side. Dagny’s eyes rounded. His eyes rolled to white. She let him drop to the pavement.
The swordwoman in her top hat and long leather coat glanced at her with her absinthe-green spectacles for a moment. Then she dropped to hover over the corpse, searching his pockets.
Dagny drew a large gasp of air. “Who are you?” she demanded.
The stranger lifted her dark brown face to her. “A friend.” She resumed her search.
Another gasp of air. “Why bother? They are clearly bandits bent on robbery and rapine.” She stepped closer to her dagger with care. She looked before claiming it.
“So they seemed.”
“What?” Dagny asked, her eyes dark as she walked around while keeping her distance.
“Robbery’s a distraction from their true purpose, Commander Mark.”
She froze. “You know me?”
“I know of you.” The stranger patted the body. She got up and searched another body.
Dagny kept her distance. “They pray on women and old men. There can be no doubt of that.”
The stranger looked over her shoulder at her. “Is it?” Receiving no answer, she searched his pockets. “Yet things are more than what meets the eyes.”
The swordwoman froze. A blood-stained sword was at her throat. With a slow motion she glanced up at the sword-bearer.
Dagny’s eyes were cold as she whispered, “Don’t move, Nightwalker!”