Maze of Death

by Philip Caveney

  ‘Where does he think he’s . . . ?’ Wolfe stared intently for a moment and then must have realized Stephen’s intention. ‘Well, well,’ he murmured. ‘He’s braver than he looks. But a complete fool.’ He glanced at Lee. ‘Bring him down,’ he commanded.

  Lee’s hand went beneath his tunic. Ethan turned and took a step towards him but the two hired hands lifted their swords and held them ready to strike, so he could do nothing. Lee was fiddling with whatever controls were under there, but seemingly to no avail. Alec watched anxiously as Stephen continued his flight uninterrupted, speeding into the distance.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ snarled Wolfe, looking at Lee.

  Lee shrugged his shoulders. ‘He must be out of range,’ he said.

  Wolfe scowled. He lifted a hand and struck his manservant hard across the face, as though it was somehow his fault. For a moment, anger flared in Lee’s eyes, but it died in an instant and his expression went back to a blank, vacant stare. Wolfe returned his attention to Stephen, now no more than a tiny black dot suspended above miles of shimmering blue water.

  ‘He’ll never make it to land,’ he said confidently. ‘Like Icarus, he’ll fall into the sea and drown.’

  ‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ said Ethan. ‘Stephen told me that contraption of his can fly way further than you ever dreamed.’ He smiled with satisfaction. ‘He’s beaten you, Wolfe. He got away.’

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ said Wolfe. ‘There’s no man-powered machine that can attempt that kind of distance. He’ll end up feeding the fishes.’ He shook his head as if to dispel his own doubts. ‘Meanwhile, it’s time for another challenge.’ He looked at Coates. ‘This one is especially for you, Mr Coates . . . or should I call you Damocles?’ He turned to walk back to the doorway. ‘Bring them,’ he said, and the armed guards and Lee stepped forward to escort their hostages back down the spiral stairs.

  Coates looked anxiously at Alec. ‘Who in God’s name is Damocles?’ he asked.

  Alec shrugged his shoulders, not wanting to worry Coates any more than necessary. But he knew exactly who Damocles was, and he had a pretty shrewd idea of what the challenge might involve. He just hoped he was wrong.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Damocles

  THE GROUP FOLLOWED Wolfe through the labyrinth of his palace, trudging along corridors, through chambers and down staircases. They eventually came to an underground area, and Wolfe led the way along a gloomy hallway lit by a series of lamps protruding at intervals along the rough stone walls.

  He looked back over his shoulder at Coates and smiled mirthlessly. ‘Tell me, Mr Coates, what are you like with puzzles?’

  Coates frowned. ‘I’m very good at the Times crossword,’ he said, ‘if that’s what you have in mind. I’ve no doubt I’ll be able to rise to the occasion.’

  Wolfe sniggered. ‘The puzzle I have created for you is a little more challenging than that,’ he said. ‘And the stakes somewhat higher. Please, follow me.’

  He passed through a doorway into a circular stone room. There were no windows here and the room was lit by flaming torches affixed to the walls. In the very centre of the room, a metal chair had been bolted to the floor and there were a couple of steel manacles attached to its front legs. To one side of it stood a wooden table upon which lay a small dagger. In front of the chair there was a horizontal metal rail and attached to this were a great number of ropes, perhaps thirty in all. These were all stretched taut before passing into a large steel box. Only two ropes emerged on the far side of the box and passed through a series of pulleys, before angling up to the roof. Everyone followed the ropes with their eyes and saw, suspended several feet above the chair from one of the ropes, a heavy, broad-bladed sword, hanging by its handle. Parallel with the first rope hung the second, which ended in a heavy weight that kept it stretched taut. About halfway along this was fixed a candle in a holder, positioned in such a way that the candle’s wick was only a short distance from the first rope.

  ‘Welcome,’ said Wolfe, ‘to the throne of Damocles. Mr Coates, if you would be good enough to sit down upon it and make yourself comfortable, I’m sure that Master Devlin will be happy to tell you the story of Damocles.’

  Coates made no move to approach the chair so Wolfe signalled to his two hired thugs, who grabbed Coates by his arms and marched him across to it. He was thrust roughly into it and the men clamped the manacles around his ankles, then fixed a length of steel cable tightly around his chest, binding him to the back of the chair. Alec noticed that they made no attempt to secure his arms.

  Wolfe looked sternly at Alec. ‘Master Devlin, we are waiting for our story,’ he said. ‘Or would you like Lee to provide a little encouragement?’

  Alec scowled, but realized that he had little choice but to tell it. He took a deep breath. ‘Damocles was a courtier of King Dionysius of Syracuse,’ he began. ‘He often told the King how much he envied him, how he’d like to be King for a day. So Dionysius told him that he would grant the wish. He laid on a banquet for Damocles and allowed him to sit on the throne. But in the middle of the meal, Damocles looked up and saw . . .’

  ‘Saw what, Master Devlin? Tell us.’

  ‘He saw that a sword was hanging above his head, held only by a length of horsehair. After that, he lost his appetite fairly quickly and begged to go back to his former life.’

  ‘And the point of the story?’ prompted Wolfe.

  ‘To show that a king’s life isn’t a bed of roses,’ said Alec. ‘That he lives in constant danger of being killed by his enemies.’ He looked at Wolfe disdainfully. ‘It’s not even a true Greek myth,’ he said. ‘It’s thought more likely that it originated with the Romans.’

  Wolfe shrugged. ‘Nevertheless, it’s a great story and you can’t imagine the fun I had designing this apparatus.’ He approached the metal chair and smiled at Coates, then pointed upwards at the suspended sword. ‘As you can see, Mr Coates, I’ve been kind. That sword is held in place, not by a strand of horsehair, but by a good stout rope.’ He indicated the lengths of rope in front of Coates and the knife on the table beside him. ‘One of those ropes in front of you is the one that holds the sword in position. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that you really don’t want to cut through that rope.’

  ‘Why should I cut any of them?’ asked Coates. ‘As you say, the rope looks strong enough. I’m quite happy to sit here for as long as you like.’

  ‘Ah, but you see, I haven’t lit the candle yet. And of course, in a few moments, that is what’s going to happen.’ Wolfe gazed fondly up at his creation. ‘It will take roughly three to four minutes for the candle to burn through the rope, and when that happens, the sword will fall onto whatever is directly below it.’ He patted Coates’s head as though praising a little boy. ‘It will split your skull wide open, Mr Coates. Of course, you really don’t want that to happen, so before the three minutes has elapsed, you need to cut through the rope that holds the candle. Do that and you have passed my little test.’ He moved to the metal box and stroked it with his hand. ‘Problem is, which rope? There are thirty of them here. Twenty-eight of them end inside the box, but you can’t tell by looking at them which ones they are. And if you think you can work it out by seeing which ropes align with each other, let me warn you that inside the box is a complicated series of wheels. The ropes twist and turn in all directions. As you can see, only two of them emerge. One holds the candle and one, the sword.’ He smiled. ‘It’s really very simple. Three minutes isn’t a lot of time to cut through twenty-eight ropes, but you must try. Of course, you could get lucky and find the candle first time. But I have to say, the odds are against it.’

  Coates sat there staring at Wolfe in disgust. ‘You know, up till now, I’ve been thinking of you as some kind of animal,’ he said. ‘But I’d like to revise that opinion. No animal would be low enough to come up with something as sick as this.’

  Wolfe laughed, delighted by the remark. ‘But it’s just what my predecessor used to do. People like you are
here for my entertainment, Mr Coates. So, here’s your chance . . . entertain me.’ He strolled across to a seat, off to one side of Coates, where he had a grandstand view of the proceedings, and sat down. A goblet of wine and a bowl of fruit had been set out for his pleasure. He settled himself and smiled across the room at Coates.

  ‘Are you quite clear on what you have to do?’ he asked.

  ‘Crystal,’ said Coates.

  ‘Good,’ said Wolfe. The smile vanished. He turned to look at Lee. ‘Light the candle,’ he said.

  Lee slipped a hand beneath his tunic and pressed something. Immediately there was a spark next to the candle’s wick and a fierce yellow flame blazed into life, licking against the thick rope that held the sword.

  Coates looked towards Alec and Ethan, who were standing a short distance away from him, the swords of the two henchmen held ready to attack them if they tried to intervene. ‘Any advice?’ he asked. He seemed incredibly calm under the circumstances.

  Alec shook his head. ‘You’ll have to start cutting through the ropes,’ he said.

  Coates frowned. He picked up the little knife and inspected it. He tested the edge with his thumb. ‘Seems sharp enough,’ he said.

  Wolfe took a sip of wine. ‘You’re wasting time,’ he snarled. ‘I’d get on with it if I were you.’

  Coates ignored him. ‘Let me tell you what I’m thinking, Master Alec. I’ve only known Mr Wolfe a short time, but I’ve already formed the opinion that he’s the kind of man who cannot be trusted. He tells me that only one of these ropes leads to the sword. But how do I know that’s true? It could be that every single one of them is linked to the sword, and that to cut any of them would lead to me suffering the biggest headache in history.’

  Alec looked anxiously up at the rope. A thin plume of black smoke was issuing from it. ‘But you’ve got to do something,’ he protested. ‘You can’t just sit there and wait to die.’

  Coates seemed to consider this information. ‘True,’ he said. ‘But you know what? A man once said something to me, something that I’ve always remembered – probably the best bit of advice I ever got in my entire life . . .’

  ‘Coates, for Pete’s sake,’ said Ethan. ‘This is not the best time to wander down memory lane.’

  ‘Bear with me,’ said Coates. ‘I’m coming to the point.’ Now he was using the little knife to clean his fingernails.

  ‘Mr Coates,’ said Wolfe, sounding extremely annoyed. ‘I can assure you that I didn’t lie to you. This is a fair test, but if you don’t start cutting those ropes, you’ll be dead in less than two minutes.’

  Coates glared at him. ‘But isn’t that the object of this exercise?’ he asked. ‘Isn’t that what you want to see, that ruddy big sword plunging into my head?’

  ‘You have a sporting chance,’ said Wolfe. ‘I’d advise you to start cutting.’

  Coates smiled. ‘You see how it is, Alec? The King here wants us to play his little game. The worst thing we can do to him is refuse to join in. Any minute now, he’ll be asking for his ball back so he can go home to Mummy.’

  Wolfe laughed mockingly. ‘You’re a brave man, but a complete fool. And you’re only moments away from your own death if you don’t use that knife.’

  Alec peered fearfully up at the rope. He could see that it was unravelling, the blackened twists fraying beneath the heat of the flame. ‘Coates,’ he whispered. ‘Please . . .’

  ‘Now, where was I? Oh yes, that bit of advice! It was given to me when I was around your age. I was working as a houseboy and there was a butler in the house, a grand old feller, he was. Name of Alfred. I forget his surname—’

  ‘Coates, will you for the love of God start doing something?’ yelled Ethan.

  ‘In a minute. Alfred took me to one side and he said to me, “Young Coates, let me give you a bit of advice.” And do you know what he said?’

  There was a loud snapping sound from the rope above Coates’s head. The heavy sword began to quiver. Alec waited, holding his breath, not wanting to look but somehow unable to look away.

  ‘He said to me, “Coates, never ignore the obvious.” And he was right. Because it doesn’t matter how clever a man thinks he is, when he’s fixed on something so dear to his own twisted heart, he misses the obvious.’

  There was a sudden twang as the rope parted; and in that same instant, Coates dropped the knife into his lap, reached out and grabbed the light wooden table beside him. He swung it up and lifted it above his head, holding it by its legs. The blade of the descending sword thudded into it, going right through the table but coming to a halt a couple of inches above Coates’s skull. He sat there for a moment, looking defiantly at Wolfe, and then tossed the table contemptuously aside.

  ‘Piece of cake,’ he said.

  Alec and Ethan gave yells of demented joy, but Wolfe looked far from happy. He sat there glowering at Coates. ‘You . . . cheated,’ he said.

  Coates looked amused by the idea. ‘Forgive me. I didn’t realize there were any rules in all this. You certainly don’t seem to follow any.’ He picked up the knife. ‘Let’s see now,’ he said. He chose a rope at random and cut through it. In an instant, the length of smouldering rope dropped from the ceiling and bounced off his head. ‘Now there’s a coincidence,’ said Coates. ‘The first rope I chose was the one that held the sword.’ He sneered. ‘A sporting chance indeed!’

  Wolfe got up from his chair, his face a picture of anger. For a terrible moment, Alec thought he was going to order Lee to tighten the valet’s collar, but he merely motioned to his men.

  ‘Take them back to their quarters,’ he said. He pointed at Ethan. ‘Mr Wade, your challenge will come tonight. I guarantee you won’t get out of it as easily as your friend did.’ And with that, he stalked out of the room.

  One of the armed men released Coates from the metal chair and took the knife off him. He stood up and strolled across to his friends.

  Alec ran forward and hugged him. ‘Coates, you’re a marvel,’ he said. ‘But please don’t ever do anything like that again. Couldn’t you have picked up the table earlier?’

  ‘What and lose that vital sense of drama?’ Coates grinned. ‘Actually, I was bluffing. It didn’t occur to me to do that until the very last minute.’

  Ethan put an arm around his shoulders. ‘Well, you sure put Wolfe off his wine and grapes,’ he said. He looked at his companions. ‘Now all we’ve got to do is hope that Stephen made it across to Crete.’

  ‘We can’t depend on that,’ Alec told him. ‘We need to start making plans for what you’ll do when it’s time for your challenge.’

  Ethan looked at him. ‘And how can we do that when we haven’t any idea what it is?’ he asked.

  Lee came forward and studied them. Alec thought that he detected something in the manservant’s eyes as he looked at Coates – the faintest suggestion of respect.

  ‘That was pretty clever, don’t you think?’ said Alec. He thought he saw the beginnings of a smile on Lee’s face, but it was instantly abandoned. ‘You must know what other challenges Wolfe has in store for us. Couldn’t you tell us what they are? At least then we’d have a chance.’

  Lee shook his head. ‘I can say nothing,’ he said.

  ‘But surely you could give us a clue . . . something.’

  Again, Lee shook his head. ‘You come now,’ he said; and they followed him obediently back to their quarters.

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Icarus

  THE DAEDALUS SPED across the shimmering surface of the sea, but Stephen was horribly aware that it was rapidly losing height and his goal was still such a long way off, a misty grey phantom on the horizon. Every muscle of his arms ached and his body was thick with sweat. He was also in shock. He had seen his father fall to his death, and the horrible image of the old man’s tumbling figure was burned into his mind. But he forced himself to remain steadfast, intent on his goal. If he didn’t make it to Crete, his remaining companions back on Candia were surely do
omed to die as horribly as his father and Miss McBride.

  He renewed his efforts, pumping his arms with all the strength he could muster, and the Daedalus rose a little on the still air, but now his arms and shoulders were shuddering with the effort of keeping him airborne. The sea beneath him was as still as a millpond – the water crystal clear. He could see down for fathoms with no sign of the seabed and the thought of that filled him with an unspeakable terror. He had never been a particularly strong swimmer and he estimated it must be several miles to his destination. The legend kept coming back to him – the story of Icarus, who had been so convinced of the wonders of his father’s invention that he had overstretched himself and had finally perished in the depths of the Sea of Crete. Was that to be Stephen’s fate also?

  The Daedalus continued to lose height, and soon Stephen was skimming the surface of the water. He tried to remain logical. He had hoped that he would see boats on his way in, but he was still some distance out from land and so far there had been nothing. If he panicked he would be lost, he’d drown out here, far from land, and nobody would know that he had ever passed this way.

  Again, he attempted to gain height, but his arms seemed to have no more power than two lengths of putty. He was not going to make it. The certainty hit him an instant before he struck the water. The sudden shock of it filled his mind and he forgot to snatch in a breath before he sank into the shimmering depths, flailing madly. He fought against the black terror that was rising within him, telling himself that he had to release himself from the flying apparatus if he was going to have a chance of survival. Luckily, his father had anticipated just such a problem. One strap around his middle operated on a quick release mechanism. He found the strap and began to tug furiously, but something was wrong: the ties that bound his arms to the wings did not release as they should have done. He looked frantically upwards and saw that the surface of the water was already far above him. He was sinking fast and his lungs were already aching with the effort of holding his breath.