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Dredmore to Doyle, “then why go on?”
    A loud whine turned into a quick smash, and a large,
    jagged hole appeared in the glasshield in front of me. I
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    LYNN VIEHL
    glanced down to see gleaming shards covering the blanket
    over me, toward which Doyle pushed my head.
    “Stay down—” He drew his pistol and leapt out of the
    carri, crouching down low.
    Someone had shot at us. I heard another bullet ping
    off the radiator gril before Doyle fi red in return and men began shouting.
    I lifted my head just enough to see over the dash, and
    watched as Dredmore advanced on a red-cloaked fi gure
    taking cover behind a tree. He ignored the shots being
    fi red at him as he brought up both hands and made a
    strange slashing gesture.
    Th e tree fell over, its trunk sliced apart. A moment
    later a wide spray of red splashed the snowy ground, and
    the head of the snuff mage rolled through the gruesome
    puddle.
    Doyle jumped in and started up the motor. “Hold on,
    Kit.”He drove off toward the street at a reckless speed.
    I stared back at Dredmore, who was standing over the
    dead assassin, and then focused on my hands, mainly to
    avoid seeing the drivers frantically diverting their horses
    and carris out of our path. “Th at was meant for me.”
    “Maybe so.” Doyle gave me a quick glance. “Are you
    hurt?”
    “No.” Seeing Dredmore kill with just a gesture,
    however, was making my heart pound in my ears.
    A few minutes later Doyle stopped the carri in front
    of my goldstone, but when I tried to climb out he caught
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    Disench anted & Co., Part 1
    my arm.
    “Wait here,” he said.
    “And freeze? Why?” My eyelashes and hair were
    already icy, but then I saw the front entry to my fl at
    standing open. “No.”
    Doyle snatched at me but I was too fast for him. I
    nearly fell as my boots slid on the icy slush covering the
    fl oorboards of my front hall, and I grabbed a wall hook
    as I spotted the broken glass and wilted fl owers on the
    threshold of my front room.
    “Th ey might still be in here,” Doyle told me as he
    caught up. “Go outside and wait like a good gel.”
    “Leave off , Tommy.” I picked my way round the slush
    and went into my fl at.
    Whoever had broken into my home had not been
    instructed to take anything; every possession in the room
    had been systematically smashed, slashed or shredded. A
    plaster-dusted, twenty-pound hammer lay on the fl oor
    under the holes it had knocked through my paintings and
    walls. Cold wind washed my face as it blew in through
    the shattered windows, and had begun to freeze all the
    food that had been emptied out of my icebox and pantry.
    More ice was forming from the puddle coming out
    of my bath; I looked in to see three small fountains of
    water gushing from the pipes that had been torn out of
    the walls. My sink and old bathtub had also made the
    acquaintance of the hammer, judging by the pieces they
    lay in.
    At fi rst I couldn’t understand the torn, twisted mound
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    LYNN VIEHL
    of material heaped atop my commode, until I made out
    the pattern of my favorite red bodice. Every garment I
    owned had been emptied out of my armoire and dressers,
    torn apart, and shoved into the loo.
    To my surprise, seeing the destruction of my wardrobe
    hurt most. I’d never been much of a fancy dresser, but
    because I’d left Middy with only the clothes on my back,
    it had taken me years to put together a decent, serviceable
    supply of skirts, bodices, and cloaks. Some I’d taken in
    trade for my services; others I had saved for months to
    aff ord. And there, dangling from beneath the pile, a torn
    strip of pink from the gown Rina had lent me, the gown
    I’d not had the chance to return.
    My friends had dressed me in their fi nery; my
    foolishness had now cost two gowns, my virtue, my offi ce,
    and my home. What did I have