pavement so hard it snapped his teeth shut, and for a moment all the could think about was the bright flare of pain. By the time he'd shaken the confusion from his head, the girl was already on her feet.
She held out a hand to him. He took it, too surprised to refuse - and found himself pulled to his feet with surprising strength.
"Y'all will be wanting to come with me now," she said with a Southern drawl.
"I... what?"
Tomas turned around, realising Morgan was no longer following. Tomas's eyes tracked over Morgan's shoulder and narrowed, and Morgan realised that Karamov's men must be very close.
Morgan tried to pull his hand away from the blonde girl's soft fingers.
They tightened like a steel band around his wrist. "You'll never outrun 'em, you know," she said. Morgan saw that her bright golden hair was caught back in a red bow. She couldn't have been older than ten. He pulled his arm again, harder this time, less worried about hurting her, but she wouldn't let him go.
Tomas took a step back towards them. "Sweetheart, it's not safe for you here," he said to the girl.
She sighed and shook her head. "I'm not the one being chased by a whole parcel of men with guns, Mr Len."
Morgan saw a brief moment of shock on Tomas's face, and then something like recognition.
"Follow me," she said, and this time when she pulled Morgan went with her, bewildered, as Tomas trotted along silently beside. He couldn't imagine where she was taking them. Karamov's men were only fifty feet behind.
"In here," she said, finally releasing Morgan's wrist as she stepped through the door of a shabby, white-fronted building.
Morgan hesitated, looking at Tomas. The other man nodded impatiently and pressed Morgan forward, a hand against the small of his back.
Tomas followed Morgan through and slammed the door behind him. He turned the mortice lock and the Yale, but Morgan didn't think it would slow Karamov's men for long.
"What now?" he said to the girl.
She smiled happily, as if they were playing a game. "If y'all will follow me..." She turned and led them to the back of the room, dropping to her knees to fumble at the wooden floor.
Morgan flicked a light switch on the wall beside him as he heard the first muffled blow against the outside of the door. In the pale light of the room's one bare bulb, he could see that the building was half derelict. There was a hole in the ceiling above where the cross-hatched floorboards were visible, and most of the paper on the walls had been scraped away to reveal the mouldering plaster beneath. There was only one piece of furniture, a scuffed table, wobbling on three legs.
The girl was kneeling just to the left of it, and Morgan could see what she'd been looking for - a round metal ring embedded in the floor. As another kick landed on the door, hard enough to splinter the wood, her small white fingers closed around the ring and pulled.
Nothing happened.
"Botheration," she said. "It's stuck."
The blows on the door were coming two at a time now. When Morgan snatched a look he could see that one of the hinges was buckling, the wood around it torn away and the screws anchoring it to nothing but air.
"Let me," Tomas said. He knelt beside the girl and replaced her hand with his own. When he heaved, there was a protesting screech and then a three-foot square of floorboards began to rise. There was nothing beneath but darkness.
"Down," Tomas said, already clambering through the opening.
His head quickly disappeared, and the girl followed, frowning as her feet searched for the steps that must have been below. Morgan crouched beside her, watching the door. He found himself trying to guess whether the wood or the hinges would give out first.
The hinges, it turned out. As the girl's blonde head finally cleared the entrance, there was one final blow, and the door broke away and flew through the air, straight towards Morgan. He dived to the side as the heavy rectangle of wood crashed to the ground, snapping the
She held out a hand to him. He took it, too surprised to refuse - and found himself pulled to his feet with surprising strength.
"Y'all will be wanting to come with me now," she said with a Southern drawl.
"I... what?"
Tomas turned around, realising Morgan was no longer following. Tomas's eyes tracked over Morgan's shoulder and narrowed, and Morgan realised that Karamov's men must be very close.
Morgan tried to pull his hand away from the blonde girl's soft fingers.
They tightened like a steel band around his wrist. "You'll never outrun 'em, you know," she said. Morgan saw that her bright golden hair was caught back in a red bow. She couldn't have been older than ten. He pulled his arm again, harder this time, less worried about hurting her, but she wouldn't let him go.
Tomas took a step back towards them. "Sweetheart, it's not safe for you here," he said to the girl.
She sighed and shook her head. "I'm not the one being chased by a whole parcel of men with guns, Mr Len."
Morgan saw a brief moment of shock on Tomas's face, and then something like recognition.
"Follow me," she said, and this time when she pulled Morgan went with her, bewildered, as Tomas trotted along silently beside. He couldn't imagine where she was taking them. Karamov's men were only fifty feet behind.
"In here," she said, finally releasing Morgan's wrist as she stepped through the door of a shabby, white-fronted building.
Morgan hesitated, looking at Tomas. The other man nodded impatiently and pressed Morgan forward, a hand against the small of his back.
Tomas followed Morgan through and slammed the door behind him. He turned the mortice lock and the Yale, but Morgan didn't think it would slow Karamov's men for long.
"What now?" he said to the girl.
She smiled happily, as if they were playing a game. "If y'all will follow me..." She turned and led them to the back of the room, dropping to her knees to fumble at the wooden floor.
Morgan flicked a light switch on the wall beside him as he heard the first muffled blow against the outside of the door. In the pale light of the room's one bare bulb, he could see that the building was half derelict. There was a hole in the ceiling above where the cross-hatched floorboards were visible, and most of the paper on the walls had been scraped away to reveal the mouldering plaster beneath. There was only one piece of furniture, a scuffed table, wobbling on three legs.
The girl was kneeling just to the left of it, and Morgan could see what she'd been looking for - a round metal ring embedded in the floor. As another kick landed on the door, hard enough to splinter the wood, her small white fingers closed around the ring and pulled.
Nothing happened.
"Botheration," she said. "It's stuck."
The blows on the door were coming two at a time now. When Morgan snatched a look he could see that one of the hinges was buckling, the wood around it torn away and the screws anchoring it to nothing but air.
"Let me," Tomas said. He knelt beside the girl and replaced her hand with his own. When he heaved, there was a protesting screech and then a three-foot square of floorboards began to rise. There was nothing beneath but darkness.
"Down," Tomas said, already clambering through the opening.
His head quickly disappeared, and the girl followed, frowning as her feet searched for the steps that must have been below. Morgan crouched beside her, watching the door. He found himself trying to guess whether the wood or the hinges would give out first.
The hinges, it turned out. As the girl's blonde head finally cleared the entrance, there was one final blow, and the door broke away and flew through the air, straight towards Morgan. He dived to the side as the heavy rectangle of wood crashed to the ground, snapping the
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