“As soon as you get that thing off, you hurry on back to Walter. I’ll join you as soon as I can. Then we’re all going home.” He headed on past her, toward the spiraling metal stairs that would lead him to the upper levels. If Zlo was still up there, they’d do this the hard and final way. If not, at least maybe he could give a shot to figuring out how to maneuver Schturming for a survivable landing.

“Hitch.”

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked back.

She leaned one trembling hand against the dawsedometer. This close to the machine had to be murder for her. In the lamp-lit darkness, her pupils looked huge, her eyes almost all black.

She shook her head. “Hitch, I do not think this is good plan. We should go, all of us now. Let Zlo crash.”

“And if he doesn’t crash? Or if he crashes this thing on top of a house with a family and kids in it?” He dug down deep and found his cockiest grin. It felt a little false, even to him. “It’s going to be okay.” He stared at her. “Jael…”

Now or never.

He walked back to her. “I just want you to know…”

She tilted her head all the way back to look up at him.

“I just want you to know I could never have done this without you—any of it.” He touched the back of his hand to her face. “You’re the most incredibly brave person I’ve ever met.”

The corner of her mouth crooked up. “That was my thought for you.”

He let his hand slide down off her chin. “Stay alive, okay?”

Her breath shuddered. “You too, Hitch Hitchcock.”

He turned away.

He ran up the stairs, three at a time, then all the way down the empty corridor to the bow and up another flight of spiral stairs.

The wheelhouse lay in a flickering half-darkness, lit only by lanterns secured near the ceiling. He stopped five steps from the top, with his head still below the railing. He peered around the corner.

Big paned windows lined both walls, looking out onto more observation balconies. The room tapered to a point, where another window, half again as tall as the others, revealed the night ahead of them. The sky looked maybe a hair less black than the last time he’d seen it, but lightning glimmered, building up inside the clouds, no doubt on the remaining juice of the powering-down dawsedometer. They’d been up here for hours. Surely, the time had to be getting along about sunrise.

Beneath the front window, the ship’s wheel spun drunkenly. No one manned the helm.

Maybe Zlo really had abandoned ship. The man was no fool. But if he left now, it would mean he’d given up on his dreams. Schturming was the only life Zlo knew, and the dawsedometer was the best resource he’d ever have. If he let the ship crash, he’d lose both in one fell swoop. And judging from that gleam he’d had in his eye, he wanted both a little too much to let go.

Hitch climbed another couple of steps and looked over the railing.

Behind the spinning wheel, a small shadow moved. Golden eyes gleamed. Feathers ruffled.

The bird. Maksim. Would Zlo have left him behind?

A blast of wind clouted the ship, and the wheel whirled to starboard. The whole ship banked.

If Schturming flipped too far over, that certainly couldn’t be good. And if she decided to tilt bow-ward, the Jenny was likely to fall right out of the bay and take Walter and Taos with her.

Hitch looked around once more, then stepped all the way up into the wheelhouse.

He made it two strides toward the wheel.

From behind, an arm closed around him. Hot air whooshed against the back of his neck, and a sticky blade creased his throat.

He thrust himself backward and threw his arms wide, trying to break the bear hug. His torn shoulder flared pain. No good.

The hot breath panted harder. “Ti vonuchaya zhaba, you are crashing my ship! For that, I will kill you twice.”

Hitch hammered his good elbow back and found ribs.

Zlo woofed an exhale. His grip loosened.

Hitch thrust his elbow back again and twisted, both to lever more power into the blow and to squirm free.

Even as Zlo lost his balance and spun away backwards, he stabbed Hitch.

The tip of the blade bit into the buttoned-up front of Hitch’s jacket. It tore through leather, past his shirt, and sliced a thin line of fire all the way across his stomach.

Instinctively, he doubled over and clamped his arm over it. Just as fast, he yanked the arm away to get a look. Underneath his torn clothes, blood seeped out of a long gash. Not too deep. Mostly, the blade had just chewed through skin. It hadn’t punctured past muscle into the important stuff. But that didn’t stop his heart from revving.

He looked up and glared. “Stop stabbin’ me!”

Zlo had tripped face first into the stairwell railing and opened up his nosebleed again. He came up snorting blood and shaking his head, probably to clear his vision.

The ship lurched, stern down this time. More lightning gathered in the clouds outside, flickering ominously. Thunder bellowed, so loud Hitch could practically feel it against his skin.

Zlo fell back and skidded down the floor—right to Hitch.

Hitch caught one of Zlo’s arms and spun him around. He hammered his fist into Zlo’s nose. Bone, blood, and cartilage squished around like a crawdad under a boot. Probably, the nose had busted back when Hitch had kicked him in the face. But like Earl was always telling him, it paid to make sure a job got done right.

This man pitched women off his deck into the night, kidnapped little boys, and whipped dogs. So help him God, Hitch didn’t need a knife to finish this filth. He’d do it with his bare hand.

He hit Zlo again—and again.

Zlo swayed back and forth and barely kept his feet. His eyes rolled around wildly. He opened his mouth and burbled out a desperate yowl.

“Yeah, scream.” Hitch clenched his teeth. “Maybe God’ll hear you.”

With a screech and a flurry of wings, the eagle dove across the room, straight for Hitch’s face.

He shot his arm up just in time. The talons skipped off his forearm, and the bird gouged at him with its beak.

Using both hands, Zlo wrenched Hitch’s grip loose from his shirt.

Hitch punched Maksim square in the body.

With a squawk, the bird hit the deck, wings spread.

Zlo staggered backwards. Blood slicked his lips and chin, and his eye sockets were already starting to swell. He held the knife out one-handed, wobbling it all over the place. “You are fool.” With his other hand, he scrabbled inside his vest.

Hitch eyed the knife. “Probably.” The dawsedometer thrummed up through the soles of his feet. It was fainter now, but Jael still hadn’t gotten it quite turned off.

“I never had argument with you.” With every word, blood spattered from Zlo’s mouth. “You are like me—like all of us here in Schturming. You fly. The sky belongs to you. You could have flown away from all of this. I would have let you go.”

“You weren’t what kept me here.”

The ship lurched crazily again. It rolled to starboard, and the floor under Hitch’s feet turned into a steep incline skidding him toward Zlo.

With a yell, Zlo yanked Jael’s pendant from inside his vest. He turned for the window, for the lightning.

The crazy idiot. What was he trying to do? Pull in the lightning? Yes, of course, he was. Just as Jael had done: Zlo would pull in the lightning. But it wouldn’t hit him. However it was the yakor worked, it would protect Zlo while Hitch got fried.

Adrenaline surged. Hitch managed to yank his bad arm up high enough to just barely smack away Zlo’s knife. With his other hand, he grabbed at the pendant. He pitched himself forward, and his weight hit Zlo full in the body. They slid down the floor, straight for the windows.