Free Heart of Steam & Rust (Empires of Steam and Rust) by Stephen D. Sullivan Page B

Pyotr’s.
    The big man came in, trying to overbear her and force her to the ground.
    She fell back, seemed to lose her footing.
    Rostov smiled, looming over her, preparing to plunge his knife into her chest.
    She twisted and thrust upward with all her might, stabbing her knife into his neck, just below the Adam’s apple.
    Rostov gasped as blood sprayed the front of his grimy coat. His fingers went limp, and the knife slipped from his hand and clattered to the ground.
    Lina heaved, and he went over backward, crashing to the docks.
    Rostov lay there gasping, clutching at the wound, unable to stop the bleeding.
    She watched him die, enjoying each moment as his life leaked out onto the moss-slick pier. Then she recalled the purpose of her mission.
    Grabbing him by the collar, she stared into his feral eyes.
    “Was it you?” she asked. “Did you try to kill me?”
    “H-help...!” he sputtered, eyes darting frantically from side to side.
    But his mind told her the truth: Yes . He had pulled the trigger. Even with her disguise, he recognized her, and the sight terrified him. There was more, though. He’d been acting on orders.
    “Who hired you to do it?” she demanded. “Who tried to have me killed? Tell me and I’ll help you. I’ll stop the bleeding.”
    His mouth moved, but only blood came out. He wanted to tell, wanted her help, but...
    She could read only one thing in his mind—a word she didn’t recognize:
    Yeren.
    And then he died.
    Lina let go of his lapels, and Rostov’s body slumped to the ground. Anger burned inside her. Why couldn’t he have lived just a few moments longer?! That was all she needed to pry the secrets out of him. Then she remembered...
    “Pyotr!”
    A pang of guilt washed away her anger. How could she have forgotten? A few quick steps brought her to his side.
    He’d been stabbed, more than once, but he was still alive.
    “Pyotr!” she cried, reaching out to him with her mind as well as her voice.
    As she cradled his head in her lap, his eyes creaked open. “Th-they jumped me,” he said. “I found Rostov in the Black Dog … followed him … but I didn’t see his men.”
    Lina looked at the other two bodies lying on the dock. She sensed no life in them. “You did all right,” she said comfortingly, “but you should have waited.”
    “S-sorry I botched your plan.” His eyes began to roll back into his head.
    She shook him gently, all the while probing with fingers and mind, trying to locate the worst of the wounds. “Did Rostov say anything? Did he tell you who hired him to kill me?”
    “I... Lina … I’m sorry,” he said, and then he drifted into unconsciousness.
    With one hand, she applied pressure to the wound in his chest—the worst one. Had it pierced his lung? She thought it might have.
    With the other hand, she retrieved his gun from where it had fallen nearby.
    She fired five of the Nagant’s seven shots into the air.
    Even in this squalid place, that should bring the authorities soon enough.
     
     
    ELEVEN
     
    Lina looked up as Lieutenant Vasily Yakov strode up the corridor to where she and Section Liaison Petrenko sat outside of Pyotr’s room.
    Yakov snapped to attention and saluted. “Captain.”
    She saluted back. “Poruchik,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
    “I came down with the package Pyotr ordered for you,” Yakov said. “How is he?”
    “He’ll survive,” Petrenko replied.
    “Probably,” Lina added.
    “What about you?” Yakov asked, eyeing her bandaged shoulder.
    “I’m all right.”
    “She gave better than she got.” Petrenko beamed as he said it. “It will be a great pleasure never to have to deal with Andrei Rostov again.”
    Yakov sat down in the chair next to Lina. “Rostov...” he said, rolling a cigarette between his fingers, “...I seem to remember that name from the investigation of your shooting.”
    “Yes,” Lina replied. “He’s the one who shot me. He won’t be doing it again.”
    “Dead,