by Moore, John
Kevin Swung the lantern around, turned to examine the entire room, and finally met Becky’s eyes. “I don’t suppose,” he said carefully, “there’s any chance that you’ll refrain from making a smart-ass remark.”
“I was merely going to say that you owed me a shopping trip. Although I was actually expecting someplace a little more upscale. But any port in a storm.”
“Shop away, my love. I’ll study my notes and see if I can figure out where we are. I still think we’re close to it, at least.”
Becky wandered down an aisle, while Kevin sat cross-legged on the floor and studied his map. It took about half an hour, during which he mentally retraced their escape from the dungeon, looked out the windows to orient himself from the direction of the moon, wrote lots of notes on the back of his map, then rubbed them out and wrote more notes. Finally, he said, “Okay, I’ve got it this time.”
Becky came back from the other end of the shop, holding a leather jacket with the Fortress of Doom logo on the pocket. She held it up for him to see. “How do you think I’d look in black leather?”
“Sleazy.”
“I know that. But sleazy in a good way or sleazy in a bad way?”
“The Ancient Artifact is just a few rooms away. I’m pretty sure. But we don’t have much time. We’re getting close to dawn, and that means they’ll change guards at the dungeon. The next watch is certain to check the cell and find that you’re gone.”
“So we’ll need to move quickly.” Becky tossed the jacket down. “Give me a minute.” She quickly pinned up her torn blouse with a couple of Fortress of Doom pins. “I’m ready when you are.”
Once again he boosted her into the ventilation shaft, and once again he followed her in. Back at the vertical shaft he slid past her so she could follow him. They went up one more vertical shaft, past two rooms, down another shaft, then doubled back in the direction they had come. Becky picked up the conversation again. “Kevin,” she whispered.
“What?”
“When you said you were reading diplomatic secrets . . . ?”
“Yes?”
“Were any of them about me?”
“Oh sure. Plenty of them.”
“What did they say?”
“I can’t tell you that. They’re secret.”
“Right, right. Of course. But since they’re about me, I probably know them already, so you wouldn’t be revealing anything by telling me.”
“Sorry, no.”
“Kevin! Tell me!”
“Shush.” Kevin stopped at another grille. “This is it.”
“Are you sure?”
“After the last time? No, I’m not sure. But I think this is it.”
They were running out of time, so Kevin decided to take a little more risk. He put his head and arm through the ventilation grille opening, uncovered his lantern, and shined it briefly around the walls. There was a chance that a guard might see the flash of light from under the door, but Kevin didn’t want to take the time to climb down and stuff the crack, only to find he was in the wrong room again.
But this time his careful mapping, his sense of direction, and no small amount of luck had him in the right place. He drew back inside and put his head close to Becky’s. “This is it,” he whispered. “This is where I saw the Ancient Artifact.”
“Great.”
They repeated their actions from the previous room—climbing through the vent carefully and blinding the door. When he was sure they could not be detected, Kevin turned Becky around and shined the lantern on the Diabolical Device. He heard her sudden intake of breath.
“I know how you feel. I had the same reaction.”
“Oh my,” she said. “That’s really evil.”
“Well, it’s just a machine.”
Becky shook her head. “No, it’s more than that. Listen, when I was a young girl my governess took me past a church that had a big pile of wood next to it. The church had some sort of trial, and they were going to burn a man for heresy. Granddaddy was still King of Deserae, and he allowed that sort of thing.”
“Uh-huh.”
“See, that pile of wood wasn’t just a pile of wood. You could tell it had a purpose. It was something horrible waiting to happen. And this machine is the same way. It’s scary.”
“It’s a phlogiston machine.”
“The stuff that makes things burn?”
“Right. Set fire to something and its phlogiston is released into the air. When the air gets saturated with phlogiston, the fire goes out. And Mercredi says if the phlogiston content of air is too great, you can’t breathe it either.”
“Sweetie,” Becky said patiently, “you don’t have to explain phlogiston to me. I took high school alchemy, too, you know.”
“You told me you made a D.”
“A D is a passing grade!”
“Sorry, you’re right.”
“Oh, Kevin, we’ve got to stop it.”
“Don’t worry. We will. The machine is useless without the Ancient Artifact. Come on, let’s find it.”
Their search took but a few minutes. The Ancient Artifact was sitting on a square metal plate, next to an open box of Thin Mints. The plate was hooked up to several instruments with gauges and dials, although nothing was hooked up to the Artifact itself. Kevin tried to work up some respect for an object that contained awesome power, or so he had repeatedly been told. But it continued to look like nothing more than an unassuming porcelain jug. Becky seemed to feel the same way. “That’s it? The flowerpot?”
“That’s what the alchemist said.”
“It’s a trick, right? That can’t be it. It’s a decoy.”
“If it was a decoy, it would look the same. No, that’s it. Valerie saw him take it out of the case, and she accepted it as the Ancient Artifact.”
“Then let’s get it.”
But Kevin hesitated, and Becky made no move to pick it up either. They both studied the metal plate and the gauges. Finally, Becky spoke. “Is it booby-trapped, do you think?”
“I don’t know. Mercredi said he was making some measurements. But look here, all these gauges are showing zero. They don’t seem to be measuring anything.”
“Maybe the Artifact has weakened over the years.”
“Maybe he finished his measurements and disconnected it. Or . . .”
“Or what?”
“Or maybe we’re being tricked, and it really is booby-trapped.”
“What are you going to do?”
Kevin looked at it some more. “I don’t have any ideas. We don’t have much time.”
“We still have a few hours until dawn.”
“Yes, but we still have to get out of here. We’ll have to risk it.” He took a long, deep breath, stepped forward, and put his hands around the Ancient Artifact.
Then took them away. “Stand back, Becky, in case something happens. No, back farther, all the way against the wall.” When he was satisfied she was at a safe distance, he snatched up the Ancient Artifact and stepped away.
A sound behind them went “TAP TAP TAP.”
Kevin and Becky both jumped. In unison they whirled around. A very tall man, dressed in black, was tapping his gold pinkie ring against a table. Behind him, in the open doorway, stood Valerie and Stan, and behind them the corridor was full of guards, heavily armed with spears, swords, and crossbows. “No booby traps,” said the man in black. “Although I couldn’t help but wait for the right dramatic moment to make my entrance known. Please forgive my theatrics.”
Kevin and Becky just stared.
Voltmeter turned away. The soldiers in the corridor parted to let him through. “Put them in the torture chamber,” he called back. “And send for me when they are ready.”
Logan Sto od at the top of the pass, observing the valley through a spyglass. He swept it over the darkened fields, ran it quickly along the streets of the village, moved it more slowly up the cliff face, then focused for a long time on the Fortress, carefully examining the torchlit battlements, the wind
ows, and the soldiers moving along the walls. When he was satisfied that he had seen everything that could be seen, he put the spyglass away and looked at the sky. The moon was bright when it was out, but the sky was dotted with dark clouds. He wet a finger and tested the wind. On the plains a north wind generally meant clearing skies, but here in the mountains there was no way of predicting the weather.
He walked back to his horse and the knot of officers that waited for him. “All right,” he said. “There’s enough moon. Move into the valley now. Muffle the harnesses. No lights and no fires. Give the men a cold meal and get them in formation. I want them to be ready at dawn.”
There was a low chorus of yessirs. Someone asked, “Will they see us?”
“There are men watching from the walls. They’ll know we’re here, but they won’t be able to tell much more than that until the sun comes up. So be ready. We’ll give them as little time to prepare as possible.”
The officers murmured their assent. Logan held up a hand. His hands and face showed ghostly pale in the moonlight, while his body, clad in his black uniform, faded into the night. “All right, then. You all know the plan, and you have your orders. See to it.”
The officers moved quietly down the line. Bigelow started to walk away also, but Logan put a hand on his shoulder to restrain him. Bigelow followed the general back to the top of the pass, where Logan unsnapped his spyglass and handed it over. He waited until Bigelow fixed it to his eye. “Over there. See the lights?”
Bigelow looked. “It appears to be a tavern.”
“It looks like there is a good bit of activity tonight. I want you to take an orderly down there. Dress in mufti, take a room, eat dinner, and have a few drinks with the locals. See if you can learn anything about the Fortress. Then send the orderly back with a report.”
“Yes, sir.” Bigelow did his best to sound neutral, but there was no disguising the disappointment in his voice. “Sir, you’re not cutting me out of the battle, are you?”
Logan sighed. “No, Sam. Not at all. I’m putting you with my own guard unit. You’re to rejoin the ranks at dawn and engage in the charge up the cliff trail. Feel free to act as heroic as you like. I just want some corroboration that Voltmeter is actually in the Fortress. We’ll look like a bunch of damn fools if we attack the place and find he’s already slunk off with the Ancient Artifact.”
“Yes, sir.” Bigelow returned the spyglass. “Drinking in a tavern for my king and country. I always knew my gentleman’s education would someday stand me in good stead.”
It is one of life’s ironies that successful people rarely have time to enjoy the fruits of their success. Many a wealthy merchant spends more time filling in his ledgers and counting his money than he ever spends enjoying his wealth. Many a king or cardinal, overscheduled with meetings and inundated with paperwork, wishes for a few free hours to take a stroll down by the river, to attend a concert, or catch up with the latest novel. Lord Voltmeter was no exception. In the early days he had delighted in personally torturing his victims; but as his criminal enterprise grew larger, he was more and more often forced to delegate the job to his minions. Nowadays, it was only for the most important captives that Voltmeter supervised the torture himself.
Kevin was not flattered by the attention. He was standing on the stone floor in the center of a windowless room. This was Voltmeter’s torture chamber. There was a blackboard in front of him. The wall in back held a faded map of the world, with the names of many of the countries out-of-date. A row of small desks lined one side of the room, and Kevin knew, with one glance, that the legs were uneven and the desks would wobble. He stood with his hands crossed in front of him, manacled at the wrists. A guard stood on either side. Each guard was armed with a spear, and each held it with the point pressed against Kevin’s neck. There was a plain wooden stool next to Kevin, but the guards had kept him standing motionless for several hours. Behind him, Becky was strapped down to an oak torture table, the kind with grooves along the edges for blood to collect. The Prince could turn his head from side to side, though, and watch while Stan directed the activities of a handful of minions. They were hurriedly trying to straighten the place up for His Lordship’s visit; sweeping the floor, trimming the lamps, putting the scalpels and gouges back in their trays, oiling the thumbscrews, and replacing last month’s safety posters with new ones. Two more minions brought in an armchair and a small table, and a third set the table with a cup, a pot of tea, and some lemon biscuits. Valerie stood next to Becky’s table, stroking the leather straps that held the beautiful girl immobile, and looking thoughtful.
That was what worried Kevin the most. His army training had taught him about modern torture methods. He knew that everyone broke down eventually. But he also knew that nearly any soldier could hold out for at least two days, and most lasted for longer than that. In two days Logan’s army would have this fortress under siege.
The problem was Becky. Kevin didn’t think he could stay silent if they started hurting Becky, and it was Becky that was strapped to the torture table. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who was in trouble here. Fortunately, they’d made the mistake of cuffing Kevin’s hands in front of him instead of in back of him. He resolved to attack the moment the Evil Overlord entered the room.
It didn’t work that way. Voltmeter came in with a breezy air. Tall, black-clothed, booted, wearing a black cape lined with scarlet satin, good-looking in a brutal sort of way, he walked right up to the Prince and stood in front of him. His throat was in easy reach of Kevin’s hands, but Voltmeter was unconcerned. He wanted Kevin to try to attack, to experience for himself the impossibility. He saw Kevin give the little headshake that so many people used when the spell was on them, and nodded with approval.
Then the Evil Overlord favored the Prince with a benign smile. “My dear fellow,” he began genially, “I have been so looking forward to this. I can’t tell you what an honor it is to finally meet you face-to-face.”
“Um,” said Kevin. “Thanks.” He was still a little distracted. He knew that Voltmeter had a spell that made him invulnerable in single combat, but this was the first time he’d felt its effects. His mind was still clear, but his whole body seemed enveloped in a curious lethargy. His muscles seemed overly relaxed, as though he had just awoken from too sound of a slumber.
“I was hoping you would come,” Voltmeter continued. “I remarked to Valerie only this evening that you were just about the only man who could prevent me from putting my Diabolical Plan into action. You are famed throughout the Twenty Kingdoms for your bravery and daring, so I am eager to test my skill against yours. Once you get to my level, there are so few worthy opponents.”
“Uh, really, you are too kind.” The Prince was a bit surprised. He’d always had good opinion of himself, but he didn’t think he had that much of a reputation. Voltmeter must have a pretty fair intelligence-gathering system, he decided.
“I note that you avoided my little traps and ventilation system snares. That doesn’t surprise me. Such childish devices are merely for the chumps and wannabes. A hero of your stature found them no challenge, of course.”
“Of course.” Kevin tried to look at Becky, hoping she was getting all this.
“And now you are in my clutches, and only the interrogation remains. This is the true test of caliber, Lord Logan. Physical bravery is admirable, but all too common. For men like us, the ultimate challenge resides in the mind. Without the use of your army, your weapons, or your strength, using only your intellect and wits, you must contrive to deceive me as to your military plans, while I attempt to extract the truth. Prepare yourself, Lord Logan, for only the . . .”
“Excuse me, my lord,” interrupted Stan. He handed Voltmeter a dossier. “This isn’t Lord Logan. I am quite certain that this is Kevin Timberline, Prince of Rassendas.”
To his credit, Voltmeter didn’t so much as blink. “Of course, Stan. I knew that. I was just testing you. Yes. Prince Kevin of Rassendas. Right. Son of—Eric the Good?”
“The other one, my lord.”
“Yes, of course.” Voltmeter was hastily leafing through the dossier. “Well, Prince Kevin, prepare to meet your fate.
You bit off more than you could chew when you elected to tangle with me, even if your skill and daring . . .” He broke off and stared at the dossier. “Aren’t you a little inexperienced for this sort of thing?”
Kevin ground his teeth. “I had this book,” he admitted. “By Robert Taylor.”
“Taylor?” Voltmeter shook his head. “Young man, you have made a grievous error by coming to this valley. If you were following the advice in that handbook, you have been seriously misled. The fishing here is terrible. Oh, you might hook a few brookies and maybe some German browns, but for really good fly-fishing you need to go . . .”
It was Stan’s job to interrupt again. “My lord, I believe he’s referring to the Handbook . . .”
“Of Practical Heroics. Yes, Stan. I was toying with him.”
Valerie leaned over Becky, and whispered, “A prince? He’s a prince?”
“Prince or pauper,” said Voltmeter. “It matters not. The point is that he shouldn’t be here at all. I am Lord Voltmeter, dammit! I am the greatest criminal mastermind in history. The most dangerous man on earth! I have stolen the Ancient Artifact and used it to power the deadliest device known to mankind. My army is poised to sweep across the Twenty Kingdoms in a tidal wave of destruction. I will crush their Lords and Ladies in my fist like ripe grapes, I will stomp their populations beneath my heels, and the blood will flow like red wine! The sky will blacken with the smoke from their funeral pyres. And yet King Calephon scorns me by sending this—this dilettante!” His voice rose. “I will be revenged against this insult!” he screamed. He raised his fists to giant cow position, looked around at the staring throng, then self-consciously brought them down. “I really am a pretty dangerous fellow,” he told them in a lower voice. “The Ancient Artifact model seven renders me undefeatable.”
