“Okay,” Erica said as she tugged on the washing line. “Now we just need to draw their attention and lure them into the garden.” The washing line was tied tightly through and around one of the blades of the Tirren’s windmill, the other end trailed around the corner. The wind picked up since she’d tied it what couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes ago, and it greedily tried to take all the rope for itself, and certainly would have had Mr. Tirren not been holding the other end.

  “I can do that,” Danielle said. She tried to hold the rifle up in front of her to illustrate the point, but the only point it wanted to illustrate was how impractically heavy it was. She navigated through the piles of toys and stood in the middle of the garden. The rain drummed on the lid of the bins next to her, accented by the squeaking snores of one rat and approximately two-dozen mice.

  She set the stock of the rifle on the ground and angled the barrel up to the sky. Aiming wasn’t required, she just needed to point it in the general direction of the spotlight and pull the trigger. Steam hissed, the gun vroomed, and one rat and approximately two-dozen mice started screaming and swearing. The spotlight stopped and abruptly altered course towards her. She dropped the rifle and ran. “Shit shit shit, he's noticed me!” she shouted, while being completely aware that that had been the entire point. She rounded the corner like a highly-confused goose and stumbled into a crouch behind Bosco. It was an ungainly performance, but everyone knew she'd meant to do it because that's what she'd told them.

  Every crunch and crash as the cradle hovered into the garden and purposely and gleefully knocked over swing-balls and swing sets, or created a localised sandstorm over the play pit, made her glad the next bit was probably going to hurt quite a lot. An awful lot, she hoped. The crashing stopped and the engine noise gradually subsided until it was lost to the rain and the rumbles of thunder.

  Erica banked on things being a little more frantic, and if not frantic, certainly a little less lethargic than it currently was. “Where do you think it is?” she ventured quietly.

  “Have a look,” Danielle suggested.

  “You have a look – I had the last one.”

  “Behind us,” Bosco slurred as he shot past them and landed in the dirt, the end of the washing line still clutched in his hand. Likewise, the other end was still attached to the windmill, though the blade itself no longer was. The cradle hovered silently where he once stood, a dull dent stood out against the otherwise glossy paintwork. Bosco ran a hand across his ribs and grimaced. He took a deep breath and, as he exhaled, swung his right arm across his chest and followed it onto his side. “Run,” he muttered.

  Erica stepped between Bosco’s fallen form and that of the very familiar, very large man that, were it not so serious, would have looked comical wedged into the cradle. She held out her arms, not because it somehow made her look bigger, but because she wasn’t awfully sure what to do with them and placing them on her hips set the wrong tone. “Not on your bloody life, Mr. Tirren!” The flying machine floated in the air like a barrel bobbing about in the water; whenever it tipped too far in one direction, a thruster would fire and send it back to the centre of its wobbling attempt at flight. “It's very impressive,” she thought out loud. “Fast and durable, but you know what it isn't?” Erica hopped onto the side of the cradle and used her momentum to send it into a spin. “Stable, it's not very stable!” She ducked under an uncoordinated log of an arm and swung her body weight in the direction of the spin, sending it into a wider, even less stable orbit as Bracknell sloshed around inside. Thrusters fired intermittently as the cradle attempted to right itself, but they only served to further destabilise it. Bracknell fumbled for his gun and drew a bead on Erica, then on himself, the side of the house, Erica again, and finally on his own feet. He one part grunted in frustration and one part dry-heaved in his helmet as he lowered his aim and slipped the strap back over his shoulder before the gun flew out of his grip.

  Danielle grabbed the railing and whipped the cradle like a merry-go-round; Erica became a blur of blue silk, white teeth and yellow vomit as she dizzily dropped onto the sodden grass. The cradle continued to spin as Bracknell swirled inside it like a soap bubble around a drain until he finally tumbled to the ground in a disorientated heap. The cradle spun like a coin and sloshed into the mud on its side, the engine still burning. He staggered to his feet, then into a fence, then back to his feet. His rifle hung loosely from his shoulder, and try as he might, he couldn't quite get his eyes and hands to cooperate fully on the issue as he reached for it. His hand moved for the sidearm on his hip, as that at least had the decency to stay where he put it.

  Bosco lurched towards him and swung wildly at his head, his left arm pressed tightly to his chest. Bracknell ducked away from the furious haymaker, his practised dodge turned into a dizzied stumble that carried him into the fence and sent his gun off into the tall grass on the other side. He let out a frustrated grunt and pushed off from the fence, more or less in the direction of the still-spinning image of his attacker. He drove his shoulder into Bosco's stomach, then carried through with the motion and bull-rushed him into the wall. A jolt of electricity arced through Bosco’s body and settled at his ribs, which elicited an almost puppy-like whimper. He twisted his back foot into the soil, and gritted his teeth at the prospect of what came next. Pain danced through his chest as he moved his left arm away from it, hooked it under his attacker’s own left arm and pulled it up and closer to his own body. As big and strong as Bracknell was, Bosco had decided he wasn’t moving.

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  Bracknell twisted and struggled as Bosco rained down blow after blow across the back of his helmet with his elbow until it was awash with his own blood, and the giant had collapsed into a twitching, unconscious heap. Erica hastily untied the washing line from the windmill blade and gathered up the cord. “Won't be able to give it back to Isla now, I suppose.” She tied his arms and legs with elaborate knots that she wasn't entirely sure anyone knew how to untie, though that didn’t concern her too much. “We need to get you inside, Mr. Tirren.” She tried to avoid looking directly at the arm that hung limply by his side. “I'm so sorry. For this, for all of it. I want to stay, but I really have to go now.” Bosco nodded and offered a glib smile. Between the three of them they just about managed to get Bracknell through the back door.

  “What have you done to yourself!” Bridget shrieked.

  “I'm fine,” slurred Bracknell.

  “Not you!” Erica scolded, and tapped him in the head with her boot.

  “I've had worse, Bridget. I don't think I broke anything.”

  “That isn't for you to decide, you silly man. Come here and let me look at you. I've just gotten you back and you go and do this to yourself!”

  “With respect, Mrs. Tirren” Sarah said. “It was mostly someone else that did it.”

  “And it was mostly my fault,” Erica added. “All he did was protect us. Are you going to be okay, Mr. Tirren?”

  “I presume you got yourself a cradle,” Geddis said, his eyes drifted down to the large man on the floor and back up to Bosco's arm. “One careless owner, yeah. Not the only one that was careless by the looks of it. I know you think you're being brave, but go have Rasmus look at it before it drops off. And don't you let your boy see it. Poor little sod's been through enough without seeing that his old dad isn't invincible.”

  “I didn’t really say goodbye last time, and I still won’t,” Erica said.

  “It’ll be fine,” Danielle said. She hoped she reassured someone, because she certainly didn’t reassure herself.” They slipped away into the garden and shut the door behind them.

  “It’s about time you did something useful,” Edevane said. He approached the cradle and pressed a button on the control panel; the main thruster dimmed as the side thrusters heaved the cradle into an upright position and stabilised its flight.

  “Where the hell were you at, you rotten bastard? You ran away and left Sarah to fend for herself,” Erica fumed.

  “Tactical retreat. Still alive, isn’t she?”

  “No thanks to you! And I think you’ll find that’s our cradle.” Erica placed a hand on the rail. You don’t need it.”

  “I need to speak with Parnell,” he said.

  “And by speak, you mean?” Danielle asked. She dropped the helmet and balled her fists.

  “Murder horribly.” Edevane slapped Erica across the fingers and climbed onto the cradle. She squeaked and let go of the rail, then darted under it before Edevane could activate the controls.

  “I’m going, too. I have to find my father, and if you haven’t noticed, we need to do something about the Gate that’s going to kill us all.”

  “Only taking one of you. Get in my way and it won’t be the Gate that kills you.”

  “I’ve had worse than you, budge over. I’ll be fine, Danielle. Mostly. I’ll be mostly fine. Tell everyone to stay put and just, oh I don’t know, tell them something that doesn’t involve me travelling with a psychopath.”

  Danielle picked the helmet out of the dirt, wiped it on her jacket and went to hand it to Erica. “Take this and you can tell them yourself.” She scowled at Edevane. “And you, you bastard. If you hurt her, I’ll-”

  “-Don’t care,” Edevane interrupted. He pressed the recall button, the cradle’s engine powered up and propelled it into the gloom above them. With the exception of the faint fire of the thrusters, the cradle disappeared into the lightning-streaked sky.

  Danielle slammed the helmet to the ground and kicked it across the yard. “Wanker!”