by Simon Hawke
It was a large and ornate chamber that had been turned into a bedroom. A thick, opulent carpet covered the stone floor, leaving an open border for about a foot around it near the walls. Several paintings of moustachioed and bearded military men hung upon the walls. The illumination was provided by several oil lamps, with a number of large hanging lamps for mineral oil and candles being suspended from the ceiling by chains. The room contained a large stone fireplace, with tongs, pokers, and a coal scuttle beside it. There were two old broadswords crossed high over the mantel, below a medieval shield emblazoned with the Elphberg coat of arms. There were two armchairs upholstered in plush purple velvet to either side of the fireplace and a settee somewhat to one side, similarly upholstered. Directly across from him was a handsome sideboard that held a number of ceramic pieces and several bottles of what appeared to be port. Beside the bottles there were several glasses and a gasogene. There was also a marble-topped washstand with jugs and basins on it and, on the opposite side of the room, against the wall, a large canopied bed upon which Rupert Hentzau reclined, fully dressed, smoking a cigarette and staring at the ceiling. He was alone inside the room.
“Hentzau!” Finn whispered.
Hentzau sat up in bed and glanced towards the window. “Ah, it’s you, play-actor! Have a pleasant swim?”
“Never mind the witticisms, just help me in,” said Finn.
Hentzau came over to the window and stood there, looking at Finn clinging to the rope. He grinned, made a small “gun” with his thumb and forefinger and made a popping sound with his mouth,
“You see?” he said. “How easily I could have dissolved our partnership. Perhaps now you will trust me a little more.”
“I’ll trust you to help inside,” said Finn.
Hentzau reached out and took Finn’s hand, pulling him into the room. He then untied the rope and let it drop into the moat.
“You’re dripping on the carpet,” he said. “You’d best change, unless you wish to leave a trail of water behind you. My clothes will be tight on you, but I think that we can manage to squeeze you into a pair of Michael’s boots and breeches and perhaps one of my larger shirts. This was Michael’s room, you know. I’ve decided that he would be more comfortable in my old quarters. They’re a trifle smaller, but then I don’t think he will protest. I’ve locked him in.”
While Finn changed into the white breeches, high black boots, and loose, flowing white shirt that Hentzau gave him, Rupert quickly explained the situation to him.
“The king is in the dungeon directly below us,” he said, “the first room off the stairs. There is a guardroom outside it, where Detchard and Krafstein will be stationed now. The way to reach it is by going out the door here, turning to your left, going down the corridor and across the main hall of this part of the castle. You will see several passageways leading off this hall. The largest one, with the great vaulted arch above it, leads to the main section of the castle. The one you want is immediately to its left. It leads to a stairway going down to the lower level, the upper level of the dungeons. It isn’t even properly a dungeon. They were once servants’ quarters and have now been converted to hold a considerably more illustrious tenant. The actual dungeons are below the main section of the castle, but they need not concern you. You would not wish to go down there in any case; they are teeming with rats. You will have to watch yourself when you cross the hall. I will try and make the way clear for you, but you shall be completely in the open and you will have to move quickly. Should anyone see you, I will do my best to prevent an outcry, but it would be better all around if you avoided being seen. Now, once you have reached the stair, you go down one flight and you will reach a landing. From there, the stairs turn sharply to the left. At the bottom, you will be near the entrance to the guardroom. I suggest that you pause upon that first landing and listen carefully. If the way seems clear, proceed down to the bottom. Take care to look before you step off the bottom stair. If either Detchard or Krafstein are anywhere near the middle of the room, they will be bound to see you. You will need to find a place of concealment. There is a short passage of sorts, a hall between the bottom of the stairs and the guardroom itself. It is no more than seven or eight feet long and there are no doors there. However, if you press yourself against the wall on either side, just before the archway, you will be in a shadowed corner and more or less hidden from sight. Once you have gotten that far, your greatest problem will be if either Krafstein or Detchard should decide to go upstairs for any reason. If they do, they cannot avoid seeing you. In that case, you will lose the advantage of surprise with one of them, at least.
“Here is a pistol for you. I advise you to shoot Detchard first. I do not know if he carries his pistol on him, but he always carries a knife and his reactions are devilishly quick. Hell have that knife in you before you blink. So I advise you not to miss. As for Krafstein, he always goes armed, but he is nowhere near as quick as Detchard. He does, however, shoot well. Think you can handle it, Play-actor?”
“Just make sure you do your part,” said Finn, “If that drawbridge does not come down, I’ll make certain to save a bullet for you.”
“If the drawbridge does not come down,” said Hentuu, with a grin, “then save that bullet for yourself. It will mean that I have died in the attempt and I would advise you to kill yourself rather than be taken by the countess. That’s a bitch with a thirst for blood that is unmatched. She once showed a bit too keen an interest in the implements of torture down there. I believe she chafes to try than out on someone.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Finn.
“Are your people in position?”
“By now, they should be,” Finn said. “The lowering of the drawbridge will be their signal to attack.”
“Good. Once you have achieved the stair, I shall count to twenty, then lower the bridge. It shall be rather noisy, I’m afraid, so you had best be ready.”
“What about the others?”
“You leave than to me. Just dispose of Krafstein and Detchard as quickly as you can, then enter the king’s cell and do away with him. There is a grate across the window of his cell that swings away. Beyond it is a pipe. Place the king’s body in the pipe and weight it, you will fund all you need there ready to hand. Once the king has gone into the moat, release the pipe and it shall drop in after him. Then, Your Majesty, hasten to me, for I will require protection from your friends.”
“Very well,” Finn said, nodding. “When do we go?”
Hentzau walked over to the door, opened it, peered out then nodded at Finn. “Now,” he said.
Albert Lauengran reached the top of the stairs, glanced quickly down the hall, and then moved swiftly to the door of Hentsn’s old room. He paused, listened, then turned the key In the lock and swung open the door.
Michael Elphberg was sitting on the edge of the bed, bent over, his head in his hands. When Lauengram came in, he looked up quickly. His fact was puffed and bruised. His nose was splayed across his features at an odd angle and several of his teeth were missing. Both his lips were cut.
“So,” he said, “they’ve sent you to do me in, have they?”
Lauengram held a finger to his lips. “Hush, Your Lordship,” he said softly. “Not all have turned on you.”
“What do you mean?” said. Michael, sitting up straight and staring at Lauengram with the beginnings of hope.
“Though she has promised to double our wages,” Lanett-gram said, “we are not keen to throw in with her. There is more honor-and more profit, to be sure-in following a king… Your Majesty.”
Michael stood. “Who is ‘we?”
“Detchard, Krafstein, De Gautet and myself,” said Lauengram.
“And Hansen?”
“We did not ask him,” Lauengram said. “He seems too enamored of the countess and too anxious to receive his doubled wages. Besides, it was he who locked you in here, remember.”
“Yes, I remember all too well,” said Michael. “You can tell the others that th
eir pay is to be tripled henceforth and that they may look forward to more once I have attained the throne. As for Hentzau, he does not live out the night.”
“We had already agreed on that,” said Lauengram. “And the countess-”
“That she-devil is mine,” said Michael, vehemently. “Give me your pistol.”
“I would prefer to keep it,” Lauengram said. “Should we run into Hentzau-”
“Then I will shoot him down like the dog he is!”
“No offense, Milord, but my hand is steadier.”
“What, then, are you afraid? You have your sword.”
“Aye, and I’ll not draw it against Heotzau. With a gun, I do not fear him, but I am no match for Rupert with a blade”
“Would you question your king?” said Michael, holding his hand out.
Reluctantly, Lauengram handed him his pistol.
“Where is Heotzau now?” said Michael.
“In your chamber right below us,” Lauengram said.
“And the others?”
“Krafttein and Detchard are with the king. De Gautet keeps watch for Hentzau in the main hall. As for the countess, she has not arrived as yet.”
“Then she shall have a nice surprise when she comes to join us,” Michael said. He squared his shoulders, drawing himself up, and walked past Lauengram into the corridor.
Lucas moved slowly down the stairs, wishing that he could risk using a light. He moved in almost total darkness arid the hairs prickled on the back of his neck. He kept dose to the wall, feeling his way along, moving one careful step at a time. He had almost reached the upper floor when the stone stairs beneath him simply stopped. He flailed for balance and almost fell into the yawning darkness beneath him. He caught his breath, backed up a step and took a small flashlight out of a pouch upon his belt. A whole section of the stairway was missing. He let his breath out slowly. So much for not risking a light. He shone the beam across from him to see where he could go from there. Nowhere. If the stairs began again, they began around the curve of the tower further down. There seemed to be only one way that he could go.
Clipping the light onto his belt, he fired a dart into the stone step on which he stood. Then he clipped the nysteel line onto it. Crouching on the edge of the step, he carefully lowered himself over the side and slowly played out the line from the handle, descending into the darkness. He had gone no more than thirty feet when he heard a very faint whirring sound. Instantly, he let go of the handle and fell. He fell perhaps-another ten or fifteen feet, landing hard on the stone floor below hint. He looked up.
The space above him was bisected by two bright laser beams. He rolled quickly and two more beams stabbed down at the spot on which he had landed. He moved quickly back once more, but he was in the dear, out of the line of rue. He was in a long corridor that stretched out into the darkness.
Now I know why it was so easy, he thought. Portable defense systems. He was like a rat in a maze. Knowing what he could expect now was of damned little help. There would undoubtedly be more such surprises in store for him ahead. The question was, how would he avoid them?
Not using a light now would be a far greater risk than using one. He shone the beam ahead of him. It was a long, straight corridor, following the line of the parapet above. It ran for some twenty yards or so, ending in a wall at the far end. At that point, it turned to the right, though whether it ran straight or led to another stairway, he could not tell. Going back the way he came was out of the question. It would expose him to the laser beams again. He shone the light upon the walls and on the ceiling, but it revealed nothing. He then turned the light off and held the night scope up to his eyes. No infrared beams, either. That still did not mean that the corridor was safe. Some of those systems, like the one Derringer had used to protect the Gatehouse, operated on biosensors.
“Well, come on, Lucas,” he said to himself aloud, “you can’t just stand here. Be a good little rat and go for the cheese.”
Keeping close to the wall, he started forward; straining to hear the slightest sound. The only thing he heard was the sound of his own breathing. It seemed incredibly loud. He was about a fourth of the way don the corridor now. So far, so good. All he had to do was reach the opposite end of the castle and at the rate he was moving, it would take him until midafternoon of the following day. It would never do.
He glanced at his watch. Forrester would be making his move in a few moments. Lucas took a deep breath, bit his lower lip, and set off at a dead ran towards the far end of the corridor. It seemed like the longest sprint that he had ever made. He reached the far wall, practically slamming into it. Pressed up against it, his face to the cold stone, he gulped in deep lungfuls of air. His knees felt like rubber.
Something whistled through his hair at the back of his head. Something else plucked at his shirt in several places. As he dropped to the floor, sliding down the wall, he heard a soft pattering sound, as if a handful of gravel had been thrown against the wall to his left. He snapped his light on and saw the silver gleam of numerous needle darts lying on the floor beside him, where they had bounced off the wall. He heard a very soft chuffing noise and flattened himself upon the floor, trying to become a part of it. Dozens of deadly little metal insects droned over his head, pattering against the wall like silver rain. He fired his laser, sweeping the corridor to his right; then be lay still, scarcely breathing. After a moment, he slowly raised himself to all fours, then moved down the corridor, ready to flatten out again instantly.
The machine was mounted on a tripod at about the level of his knees. He had knocked it out, but it still gave him the shivers as he imagined that little canister spinning slowly, bringing up the next barrage.
“Christ,” he whispered. “These people are really serious.” Then he noticed the tiny security monitor attached to one of the legs of the tripod. In disgust, he kicked it over. So much for the element of surprise, he thought. It seemed like a no-win situation. They knew exactly where he was and they could follow his progress as he tried to make his way to them. They wouldn’t even need many more such units. All they needed was a few neat little booby traps placed at strategic points between the turret where they made their headquarters and all routes of access to it. The odds of his avoiding all of them were infinitesimal. They could move about the castle at will, simply deactivating their defense systems as the need arose. He had no such luxury. He had to do it the hard way.
He was on the upper floor of the castle now. He had planned on getting through this section, going down to the ground level, and then crossing the open courtyard in the center of the castle to get to the old keep. Now, he saw that they had anticipated him. It was doubtful that they would have rigged up anything covering the courtyard, but then, they didn’t need to. Even if he managed to get that far, he would be in the open. If Michael and his men did not spot him, the Timekeepers surely would.
He had to think like them. He had to try to anticipate where they might have placed their weapons systems. It stood to reason that there would be more of them the closer he came to the keep. Obviously, it was a good idea not to go that way, except he had to go that way.
There hap to be a way, he thought. He couldn’t get to them from above. The parapets provided hardly any cover and their tracking system would pick him off as soon as he came near the keep. It also seemed now that he could not get to them from the inside. Sooner or later, one of the devices would get him. What was left?
He could try working his way back to the new section of the castle. If he could manage to avoid Michael and his mercenaries, maybe he could make his way to the open courtyard in the central portion of the castle, but then he would be wide open trying to cross it and he would still have to get inside the keep and climb up to that turret. It was a certainty that they would have their highest concentration of defensive systems placed there.
There was only one chance he had that he could think of. It stood to reason that the Timekeepers would need to be able to deactivate the systems for t
heir own safety when they moved about inside the castle. That and the monitor he had found on the last device suggested that they all had to be tied in to a master control unit. It would not need to be very large. If Forrester could somehow manage to knock it out, then he had a chance. Otherwise, it was only a matter of time before his luck ran out.
There was no point to maintaining communication silence now. They knew that he was here. He activated his comet.
“Colonel,” he said. He waited a moment. “Moses, damn it, I’m in a lot of trouble! Moses!”
There was no response.
12
“Make no sudden moves, Father,” Drakov said. “Keep your arms well away from your sides and stand perfectly still.”
Forrest saw Andre lying before him, tied down onto a cot. She was securely bound and her shirt was torn open at the shoulder where she had been treated for the wound made by the rappelling dart. She looked pale and weak. When she saw him, she pressed her lips together grimly and slowly shook ha head from side to side,
“Now, very slowly,” Drakov said, “turn around.”
With a gut-wrenching sensation, Forrester complied. It was a blow to him to see how strongly Drakov resembled his mother. He had the same lustrous, curly black hair and the same wide mouth. He had the same high cheekbones and patrician nose, the same dusky complexion, even his bearing was similar to hers, proud and languid, self-possessed. Yet the eyes, with their unwavering gaze, were his father’s eyes. Forrester saw that they were a brilliant emerald green, just like his own, deeply set and smouldering. He saw the long knife scar on his son’s cheek and thought of Falcon’s letter, of the taunting manner in which she had written of how he had received it. His knees felt weak suddenly and there was a pressing sensation in his chest. He looked at Drakov, standing by the wall and gazing at him coldly, aiming a laser directly at his midsection. My son, thought Forester. God help me. And God help him.
