“We’ll get there first and scout out the area,” Victoria said to Kritanu as they rode past him and down a smaller side street so as to escape notice from the crowds. The sight of a lady riding astride—thanks to her split skirt— would cause just as much attention as the king’s cortege; possibly more.
Victoria hadn’t ridden astride in a saddle for years, and doing so immediately reminded her of Phillip. The summershe’d first met him, long before either were old enough to be thinking of marriage or courting, he’d been riding haphazardly through the meadows between their families’ adjoining estates. She’d met him when he fell from the horse and he received a scolding from her . . . and then, later, he promised to take her riding.
At any rate, Victoria was a confident enough horse-woman to make her way through the streets, although Sebastian was far ahead of her. Since the attention of those who were interested in such things was on the king’s path, the side streets were deserted of bystanders and the riders were able to move swiftly and attract little attention.
But when they arrived in the dirtiest, most dangerous part of Westminster, where the crowds had already formed in anticipation of their sovereign’s unprecedented trip down their streets, Victoria felt nothing out of place. No sign of undead, no prickling of the neck . . . nothing.
She and Sebastian traversed the streets, too high in their saddles for pickpockets, and not nearly interesting enough for other thieves in light of the coming procession. They heard shouts in the distance, behind them, heralding the approach of the royal cortege.
Just then, the sound of pounding horse hooves drew Victoria’s attention. She turned, and around the corner flew Max, barreling toward them on a large mount.
“The bridge!” he shouted, galloping past them.
Of course! The Thurgood Bridge, which spanned one of the canals. Old and dangerous, and in a particularly dark section at the edge of Westminster, the bridge stood near the end of the king’s route. It would be the perfect place for a royal catastrophe.
Victoria slammed her heels into her mount and raced off after Max, Sebastian thundering behind.
When they reached the bridge, the back of her neck iced over almost immediately. Dark shapes filtered beneath the rickety structure, which wheezed and creaked even when no one crossed on it. Tiny red orbs glowed in the night, mostly beneath the edges of the bridge.
It was a narrow span, just wide enough for a single vehicle. Built over a canal barely two wagon lengths wide, it was made of wooden trestles that created a web of dark beams above and below the bridge. The underpinnings cleared the canal’s flowing water by only a few feet. Brick buildings in various stages of disrepair staggered near the bridge and along the canal, looming like awkward shadows. They seemed to be converging on the narrow crossing, keeping it dark and close.
Max was already off his horse, and Victoria tore off the apronlike coverings to her skirt as Sebastian roared up and leaped off his own mount.
The vampires were taken by surprise by the sudden onslaught of stake-bearing Venators. Victoria clambered down the mucky slope at the side of the canal, feeling cold mud ooze into her slippers as she came face-to-face with an undead.
She kicked and caught the vampire in the chest, sending him falling back onto two others that had been climbing up the bank behind him. As they struggled to right themselves, she turned to another undead that had leaped down from the bridge. Her stake found its mark, and the female poofed into dust.
“Under the bridge,” she heard Sebastian shout, and turned to see him and Max disappear into the darkness under the span.
In the melee that followed, Victoria was barely aware of the hordes of undead; she focused only on staking and stabbing as she worked her way along the mucky bank toward the inky shadows under the bridge. Once she found her way there, even in the dark she could see what was intended. The undead were clambering up and around the trestles under the bridge, ready to swarm the rickety structure when the carriage crossed over. The span’s weakness would allow for the weight of only one vehicle at a time, leaving the king’s coach to cross without its guards.
Victoria could only guess at the vampires’ plan, but when she saw a low, flat shape in the shadows below, thanks to her improved night vision, she recognized it as a boat. Then it made sense: when the carriage was unprotected on the bridge, the undead would take that opportunity to seize the king and make off with him via the water below, taking him, no doubt, to Lilith, where he would be killed.
Hanging by one arm over a rough wooden beam, she kicked out at a vampire, propelling herself toward another in time to stake him. He exploded in a satisfying puff of ash, and Victoria was able to swing her feet and pull herself up onto one of the trestles.
She turned in time to see Max struggling with a vampire across the underside of the bridge. He was crouched on a beam, holding onto a rafter above him while battling a red-eyed undead with one free hand, and his powerful legs. As Victoria watched, a second vampire landed behind Max, effectively trapping him between the two undead.
She didn’t hesitate, but swung herself toward the altercation just as Max knocked the first vampire off the trestle. The undead splashed into the canal below, and was carried away by the sluggish water.
Max turned in time to see Victoria slam her stake into the second vampire, leaving her panting on the shaft next to him. He whirled on her furiously, his dark face close to hers. “I don’t need your bloody help.” Then he leaped away to knock another undead from the bridge, putting distance between him and Victoria.
The sounds of the approaching procession reached Victoria’s ears, which were ringing from battle and from Max’s unpleasant words. She stared after him, fury pounding in her ears and her knees shaking—not with fear, but with pure anger.
Suddenly, something shoved her from behind, and she lost her grip on the wooden trestle. The next thing she knew, she was tumbling through the air, and landed with a splash in the water below.
Twenty-two
Wherein a Taut String Snaps at Last
When Victoria broke through the surface, she realized the gentle current had carried her away from the bridge. Her clothing was heavy and clinging, and though the water’s temperature wasn’t a shock, it was muddy and smelled unpleasant.
She wasn’t a strong swimmer, but the summers she’d spent wading and splashing in the small lake at Prewitt Shore came back to her, and she was able to keep afloat and paddle awkwardly toward the edge.
She’d hardly gone far downstream, however, when her foot struck the mucky bottom of the canal near its bank. One of her slippers was gone, and the other one sank into the sludge. Her stake had disappeared when she fell, but she half swam, half slogged her way to the shore, knowing that she had others hidden. When she clambered to the top of the sloping bank, her split-skirted attire was plastered to her body, making movement awkward and slow.