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white rope threaded with silver around the haft and hilt of one of the knives. He runs the rope in a line
to another of the knives, loops it around the haft, then across to another one. In a minute he s formed a
pentagram; he finishes by running the cord around the perimeter to form a circle, then tying it off
where he began. Almost immediately, the silver wound through the rope starts to shine with an
unearthly light.
 Lie down in the center of the circle, please, he says.  You can do it willingly, or I can beat you into
submission first.
Neither choice holds much attraction. I consider attacking him I still have my scythes but I could
only use one, and he s got the speed, the reach, and the annoying tendency to take away my vision and
my limbs. I grudgingly comply.
He adds me to the pattern, tying my ankles and my one wrist.  Looks like you ve hit a snag, I say as
he pins my stump down with one hand.  You re out of extremities to attach things to.
 Yes, he says,  but I have two more knives.
He drives the blade through my wrist and into the floor. It hurts a lot worse than losing the hand did,
and I scream more out of anger than pain, believe it or not.  I am through with having sharp things
rammed through my body, I hiss.
 I don t think so, he says, his voice matter-of-fact.  I still have one more knife . . .
He stands up.  But I was in middle of some rather delicate preparations when you arrived the
Balancer gem must be attached to the hilt of the Midnight Sword, and that requires tools from my
studio. I ll be back in a minute. Don t worry, you won t bleed to death; I m sure I missed the artery.
He turns and heads up the stairs. I hear him lock the door behind him.
 If you ve got a plan, the Kid says,  now might be a good time to crank it up.
I try my bonds, and am rewarded with a bolt of unbelievable pain and absolutely no movement.  My
partner, snoozing on the floor, I gasp.  Did he say or do anything before the darts got him?
 Yeah. He tried to pry me off the wall first that didn t go so well, but he loosened my one arm up
some. Then he pulled out a rattle and a pouch of some kinda dust, started shaking them around and
muttering. He was over by the computer tapping away when the darts got him came out of a slot in
the wall, over by the bookcase.
 What did he say?
 Just one thing: Tell Jace they re unlocked.
 You re sure? Unlocked?
 Maybe not. I wasn t really paying attention, seein as how the situation didn t seem particularly dire.
I was beginning to think  deadpan sarcasm was a genetic trait among lems.  Why aren t you dead,
anyway?
 Ain t it plain? He needs someone to pin this all on. Two lems working together won t be hard to sell,
not when they re both dead. You re gonna wind up with one of my knives in your heart prob ly the
same one they ll find in my hand. Don t figure I ll be in any shape to say different.
Unlocked. Did he mean the files on da Vinci s computer? If so, I don t see how that information is
going to do me much good. What else could be unlocked doors, windows? I try to think like
Eisfanger, to see the world how he sees it. I d sent him in to gather information, to find out anything
that could give us an edge, and if he said something was unlocked that something has to be important.
And then, I have it.
 Kid. Tell me everything your knives can do, and make it fast.
 They cut or penetrate damn near anything. Not time, the way the Midnight Sword does, but spells or
magic or anything that s been enchanted. Once they stab into something, they become part of it. Only
one that can pull  em free is me, so you re pretty well stuck 
 Maybe not. Tell me how you get them free.
 Grab and pull, how else 
 No, no! Tell me what goes on in your head when you re doing that. Don t you concentrate, or think in
a certain way?
 Hmm.  Spose I do. He s quiet for a second, and I suppress the urge to scream at him to hurry up.
 It s sorta like thinking about opening my hand at the same time I m actually closing it.
I turn my head, stare intently at my impaled wrist, and try to feel my missing hand. Try to remember
what it feels like to squeeze, to feel my fingers gripping something solid. Send that down my arm, to
wherever my missing five digits currently reside and then think about the opposite, relaxing my hold,
spreading my fingers wide.
Nothing happens. But when I give an experimental tug, my arm lifts off the floor easily, leaving no
hole behind in the papered floor. The knife drops from my forearm as I lift it, sliding from my flesh
with no sensation at all and thumping to the floor. My wound immediately begins to seep blood at an
alarming rate.
 How the hell did you do that? the Kid asks.
 All the Brigade s weapons were keyed to their respective owners. In order to use them, da Vinci had
to unlock them but that means anyone can use them.
Okay. I ve got one bleeding, handless arm free. Way to go. I ll be out of here in no time.
I fumble at the knife with my forearm, and manage to get it closer to me than before. Now what? I
can t pick it up with a nonexistent hand.
My hand does exist, though, just not at this moment. It s still connected to me, like a long-lost daughter
that s moved to another state and never writes. I just have to find a way to get her to visit . . . and then,
in a flash of counterintuition, I see the solution. I fumble with the knife, getting it onto my legs and
then wedged between my thighs, blade up. I concentrate on the blade being as sharp as possible and
then I slide my stump past the cutting edge, repeating the motion that severed my hand in the first
place.
My hand reappears. It s a little dusty, but otherwise unharmed.
 Good thinking, the Quicksilver Kid says.  You cut through the spell that sent it off in the first
place 
And then we both hear it. The door at the top of the stairs, unlocking.
I grab the knife and cut the rope holding my other wrist. The knife severs the cord like it was made of
cheese, but doesn t do so much as nick my skin; it s like the blade knows what to cut and what not to.
The door opens. Golden light spills down the steps.
I lean down and free my feet with one quick slash. In another second he s going to be able to see me. I
jump to my feet and dash for the wall the Kid s bolted to, hoping I can free him as quickly as I freed
myself.
Footsteps on the stairs. A sharp inhalation of breath. Any second now a blast of concentrated sunlight is
going to turn me into ash . . .
But what I hear instead is the solid whump of one body slamming into another, followed by the crash of
both onto the floor at the foot of the stairs.
Da Vinci is facedown, with an angry thrope on top of him who s doing his best to claw da Vinci s head
off. The armor is protecting him from the worst of it, but he s dropped the Midnight Sword. It juts [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]