courtyard below. “I should go in there and—”
“Not yet,” said Thomas. “Let them have a moment.”
George fumed in silence and Thomas let him, moving down the balcony and wishing Eileen didn’t have his cloak. George, he noticed, was dressed for the weather. Thomas sighed.
A loud crash came from inside the apartment, followed immediately by a shriek from Eileen and a shout from Lionel. Thomas charged the door as Lionel shouted again. Another crash shook the room.
Inside, Lionel stood in front of Eileen, a table leg in his hand and dagger sticking out of his shoulder. Eileen, behind him, was bleeding from a cut on her arm and another on her breast. She had her rapier and dagger out and was trying to get around her father, who kept shoving her back. Four other men were crowding into the room from Thomas’s bedroom, swords drawn, looking for a way past the big smith and the table leg he wielded like a club. Another man lay half on the ground, half against the wall, his neck at an unnatural angle.
There was barely room for sword-work, but Thomas drew his blades anyway and charged, yelling as he went. Behind him, George let out a bellow that shook the room. Thomas took the first man on and drove him back, forcing his accomplices to move or be run over. Two more of the men turned their blades toward Thomas. For a brief moment Thomas faced the three at once, then a chair came hurling through the air from behind him, crashing into one of the men with enough force to send him staggering backwards. Lionel was on the man in an instant, smashing the table leg down on his skull hard enough that both broke. Eileen took the moment to step out and thrust her blade into the leg of another of Thomas’s opponents. The man shouted and cut at her with his own blade. She jumped back and Thomas ended the fight with a quick thrust at the man’s exposed side. He fell, dying, to the ground. The other two turned and ran, fighting each other to get back to Thomas’s room and the window that would lead them to the roof.
“George, go see!” said Thomas, kicking the weapons away from the man on the ground in front of him.
George wrenched another leg off the upturned table and looked into Thomas’s room. “No one here. The window is broke open, though.”
“Da!” Eileen’s voice was high and fearful. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he said, looking at his daughter. His eyes widened the moment he did. “You’re bleeding!”
“Me?” Eileen’s eyes were wide. “You have a dagger sticking out of you! Let me look at it!”
“It’s nothing you need to see. They’ve cut your…” Lionel stopped and looked away, red rising on his face. He shook his head. “We’ll need something for a bandage.”
Thomas looked. Eileen’s left arm was bleeding just above the elbow, and the cut on her chest had opened up her shirt, exposing the bloodied flesh of one breast. She was going to be scarred, Thomas realized.
“They’re scratches,” said Eileen, which wasn’t quite true. She sheathed her weapons and pressed on hand to the wound on her breast. “I’ll be fine. Your shoulder—”
“Is fine!”
“Neither of you is fine!” shouted Thomas. “George!”
George came back in. “I didn’t see anyone on the roof. They must have run off.”
“Good,” said Thomas. “Get the robes from Henry’s room. We’ll use them for bandages.”
On the floor in front of him, the man he’d stabbed groaned and coughed, bringing up blood. Thomas knelt down. It was one of the men who had followed them earlier. His merchant clothes were gone and he looked like a street thug. The man’s eyes were open, but barely focused. He coughed again.
“Who are you?” asked Thomas. “Why did you attack her?”
The man’s face worked, then he spat, blood and spittle hitting Thomas’s shirt. He coughed again, a quick convulsion rolled through his body, and his head lolled loosely on his shoulders. Thomas stared at him a moment
“Not yet,” said Thomas. “Let them have a moment.”
George fumed in silence and Thomas let him, moving down the balcony and wishing Eileen didn’t have his cloak. George, he noticed, was dressed for the weather. Thomas sighed.
A loud crash came from inside the apartment, followed immediately by a shriek from Eileen and a shout from Lionel. Thomas charged the door as Lionel shouted again. Another crash shook the room.
Inside, Lionel stood in front of Eileen, a table leg in his hand and dagger sticking out of his shoulder. Eileen, behind him, was bleeding from a cut on her arm and another on her breast. She had her rapier and dagger out and was trying to get around her father, who kept shoving her back. Four other men were crowding into the room from Thomas’s bedroom, swords drawn, looking for a way past the big smith and the table leg he wielded like a club. Another man lay half on the ground, half against the wall, his neck at an unnatural angle.
There was barely room for sword-work, but Thomas drew his blades anyway and charged, yelling as he went. Behind him, George let out a bellow that shook the room. Thomas took the first man on and drove him back, forcing his accomplices to move or be run over. Two more of the men turned their blades toward Thomas. For a brief moment Thomas faced the three at once, then a chair came hurling through the air from behind him, crashing into one of the men with enough force to send him staggering backwards. Lionel was on the man in an instant, smashing the table leg down on his skull hard enough that both broke. Eileen took the moment to step out and thrust her blade into the leg of another of Thomas’s opponents. The man shouted and cut at her with his own blade. She jumped back and Thomas ended the fight with a quick thrust at the man’s exposed side. He fell, dying, to the ground. The other two turned and ran, fighting each other to get back to Thomas’s room and the window that would lead them to the roof.
“George, go see!” said Thomas, kicking the weapons away from the man on the ground in front of him.
George wrenched another leg off the upturned table and looked into Thomas’s room. “No one here. The window is broke open, though.”
“Da!” Eileen’s voice was high and fearful. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he said, looking at his daughter. His eyes widened the moment he did. “You’re bleeding!”
“Me?” Eileen’s eyes were wide. “You have a dagger sticking out of you! Let me look at it!”
“It’s nothing you need to see. They’ve cut your…” Lionel stopped and looked away, red rising on his face. He shook his head. “We’ll need something for a bandage.”
Thomas looked. Eileen’s left arm was bleeding just above the elbow, and the cut on her chest had opened up her shirt, exposing the bloodied flesh of one breast. She was going to be scarred, Thomas realized.
“They’re scratches,” said Eileen, which wasn’t quite true. She sheathed her weapons and pressed on hand to the wound on her breast. “I’ll be fine. Your shoulder—”
“Is fine!”
“Neither of you is fine!” shouted Thomas. “George!”
George came back in. “I didn’t see anyone on the roof. They must have run off.”
“Good,” said Thomas. “Get the robes from Henry’s room. We’ll use them for bandages.”
On the floor in front of him, the man he’d stabbed groaned and coughed, bringing up blood. Thomas knelt down. It was one of the men who had followed them earlier. His merchant clothes were gone and he looked like a street thug. The man’s eyes were open, but barely focused. He coughed again.
“Who are you?” asked Thomas. “Why did you attack her?”
The man’s face worked, then he spat, blood and spittle hitting Thomas’s shirt. He coughed again, a quick convulsion rolled through his body, and his head lolled loosely on his shoulders. Thomas stared at him a moment
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