“Plenty more where that came from,” he said defiantly. “You’ve got one more bandit to deal with before you’re done.”
Prue grabbed at Curtis’s coat sleeve and pulled him toward the walkway behind them. It led down the side of the tower wall toward the platform where they’d found the shattered lantern. They still had time to escape, she reasoned. She couldn’t imagine what had happened to the entire hale band of bandits, but she didn’t want to see what kind of work the two assassin foxes would make of a couple of preteen humans.
The foxes made neat paw prints in the snow that covered the tower stairs. Curtis let another stone fly. Darla dodged it, her hackles raised.
“I said,” she growled, “don’t do that again!”
With that demand, she crouched and leapt the last few stairs. She stalked her two victims, approaching them in a slow, methodical way. Prue was backing down the icy walkway, trying to drag Curtis with her. Curtis, for his part, was trying to load another stone into his sling. His fingers were cold; he slipped, and the stone fell with a thunk to the wood floor of the tower top.
“Come on, Curtis!” hissed Prue.
“Don’t bother running, children,” said Darla, clearly enjoying the final phase of her hunt. “You’ve really got nowhere to go. One way or another, you’re going to end up under our claws. We’ve been through a lot to find
you; I would appreciate it if you didn’t make this last moment too labor intensive.”
Curtis was cursing under his breath, searching in the bag for another stone; Prue let out a scream as she slipped on the walkway’s boards and slid several feet to where it leveled out. Hearing that, Curtis turned and, holding on to the banisters, shot down to where Prue had fallen. He helped her to her feet, and the two of them continued backing away from the approaching foxes.
“What happened to all the bandits? What have you done?” Curtis had abandoned the idea of fighting with the sling; it had shown no appreciable effect on the foxes’ advance.
“Oh, some died,” answered Darla casually. “Some ran off. They’re a scrappy bunch, I’ll give them that. But in the end, it really is brains over brawn. I’m sorry to say, Curtis, that they gave the both of you up rather quickly. So much for familial loyalty, eh?”
“You’re lying,” responded Curtis. They had arrived at the wooden platform; all that remained between them and the other side of the ravine where the coiled ropes lay was a rope bridge; they picked up their pace as they moved onto its rickety slats. The wind buffeted through the gap, and the bridge swayed and creaked. Septimus leapt down from Curtis’s shoulder and began capering along one of the anchor ropes. He’d nearly made it to the far side when he let out a shout: A woman dressed in a green tracksuit had just scaled down the side of the cliff wall where the ropes were and was approaching them from the other side of the bridge.
“Ah, Callista,” said Darla, seeing the woman. “So glad you could join us.”
“Don’t move!” whispered Septimus, returning to the two kids’ side. “We’re surrounded.”
The three assassins slowed their approach, two on one side of the bridge, one on the other. They stepped silently, deliberately. In the center of the bridge, Curtis and Prue were pinned together, back to back, staring at their oncoming assailants.
“This is it, Prue,” said Curtis.
“Uh-huh,” said Prue.
“I’m sorry I said those things back there.”
“Me too. I don’t think you’re selfish. I think you’re actually a really great person.”
“Really? You think that?” asked Curtis.
“Uh-huh.”
The Kitsunes came closer.
“Well, I think you’re pretty great too,” said Curtis.
“Thanks.”
The Kitsunes were now within leaping distance. Prue, in a moment of desperation, made a fleeting survey of her surroundings. There was no way they could escape past the oncoming assassins. The only way out was down.
She looked over the edge of the bridge into the darkness of the ravine. The implacable stone of the cliff wall disappeared into a veil of absolute black. In her searching, she chanced to see that the cable support by her hand was frayed down to the quick; a few single strands of fiber kept it intact. Swinging her knapsack over her shoulder, she retrieved the buck knife she’d stowed there. She flipped open the blade and flourished it dramatically over the cable.
“Come any closer,” she yelled, “and I’ll cut the bridge.”
“What?” said Curtis.
“What?” said Septimus.
The tracksuited Kitsune, Callista, paused in her slow creep. She looked at Prue skeptically. “You wouldn’t,” she said.