Page 117
“It’s too dangerous for you to ride on. You were already lagging so far behind, I had to turn the column around for you. Then you fell.”
“Everyone fell.”
“I did not fall, madam.” Deighton’s right eyelid was twitching. “You will stay here, with Griffith. I will stop at the next village and have someone send a carriage.”
“That’s not how this works,” interjected Kit. “If she wants to ride on, she rides on.”
“You want her to ride on.” Deighton widened his stance, edging Egg out of the protection of the tree’s canopy. “You put your own interest above a lady’s safety.”
Kit frowned. “Convenient, is it not? Your concern for her safety furthers your interest.”
“Griffith.” Kemble was frowning too. “Facts are facts. She has…organs.”
“Organs.” Egg looked acutely embarrassed, in addition to bruised, scraped, and very, very wet.
“The brain is an organ,” Muriel reassured him.
“Women have a limited supply of animal vigor,” announced Deighton, glaring vigorously all around him. “When they overuse their brains, it depletes a certain other organ.”
“Hair?” guessed Egg.
“Hair isn’t an organ,” said Prescott.
“Then why does thinking too much make you bald?” asked Egg.
“I refer to the female organ.” Deighton went red. “The necessary one, for wives, and mothers.”
The wheelmen were all suddenly concentrating on their muddy shoes.
Did Muriel want to be a mother? Kit felt and instantly resented a sharp little jab in his gut.
Her eyes had focused on Deighton.
“A woman using her brain depletes nothing. Except perhaps the egos of mediocre men invested in the idea that they’re automatically superior to half of humankind. Research finds that the female brain is no different from the male brain.” She drew a breath. “Which I confess, in present company, I doubt.”
Butterfield murmured to Deighton out of the side of his mouth. “That was an insult.”
Deighton made a belated sputtering noise.
Egg tittered.
Deighton barked at him. “Go wipe off the bikes.”
“In the pouring rain?” Egg blinked.
“We’re riding to Newquay,” said Deighton. “It’s not riding to us. We’re wasting time.”
Kit shook his head. “Riding in this storm is dangerous, period. For once, why don’t you use the correct organ?”
Deighton’s lip curled. He opened his mouth and roared. But no, it wasn’t Deighton roaring. This roar was loud as thunder, and went on and on, longer than any human breath.
Muriel reacted first, running toward the sound, Kit giving chase. The ground sloped steeply, and Muriel skidded to a stop at a precipice, which, Kit realized, was disturbingly close to the spot he’d landed when he’d flown off his bike.
It provided an unobstructed view down into the valley.
Deighton, Kemble, Butterfield, Prescott, and Egg were only a moment behind, and so all seven of them stood and watched as the dark wave swept through it, destroying everything in its path.
26
