Two wagons, drawn by four horses, draped in black crepe. Funeral procession. Two drivers, and two outriders. The outriders were armed with long guns, impressive-seeming and screamed a warn-away, but were hard to draw quickly and aim. That being said, they had range and accuracy, were quick to reload. If they were braced, certainly the outriders could shoot Nigel and Agnes out of the sky. The flitter had limited altitude and wasn’t particularly maneuverable. Not that it couldn’t do a bank and roll, if they had to, but the likelihood remained that they would be tossed loose of the glider and then gravity, that harsh minx, would take over and do the outriders’ jobs for them.
“We’re outnumbered,” Nigel pointed out.
“Superior firepower, mon amant,” the Captain responded, and there was no doub
