Sir James Westley said cheerily, "I prefer 'em a little meatier myself, but then, we've never sacrificed a female of such distinguished achievements. She'll do splendidly."
Voice portentous, Mace said, "It's even better than you think, gentlemen. This is not Cassie James, but her identical twin sister. Surely you have all dreamed of having twins, equally lovely, equally helpless." His lightless eyes flared with menace. "The real Cassie has become lost in the corridors, so I must go find her."
That aroused another babble of comments. Detachedly, Kit observed that all of the men wore the ceremonial scabbards and holsters. She wondered if the knives would be used on her.
Mace beckoned for his brother to come forward. "Take charge of this one while I find the other," he said in a low voice.
Harford frowned. "I've seen her before." He snapped his fingers. "This is the slut who tried to rob me at the ball!"
"Really?" Mace looked at Kit with respect. "So you braved Blackwell Abbey in your search for your sister. You're a bold wench." Turning back to his brother, he said, "Strathmore came with her, and he seems to have freed the sister. Did you manage to eliminate the other two men?"
Harford scowled. "Afraid not-the guards turned coward under fire, and while they were getting their nerve back, Strathmore's cronies slipped away. They're being hunted, but it could take a while to corner them."
Mace frowned. "I'll keep an eye out while I look for Strathmore and the twin. Since they don't know the passages, it shouldn't take long to find them. When I do, I'll take care of him and bring her here so we can start our ceremony."
Kit gave silent thanks that Mace seemed to be another one who underestimated Lucien. But it was unluckily true that Mace's knowledge of the terrain gave him an enormous advantage.
She opened her mind enough to search for her sister. As soon as she did, her heart spasmed with fear.
Lucien and Kira were close, dangerously close.
The twists and turns of the passages were hopelessly confusing. As they searched for a way through, Lucien's anxiety kept building. Then Kira stopped dead, her face ashen. "Dear God, he's got Kit!"
Her words confirmed Lucien's worst fears. "You're sure?"
"Positive." Kira pointed ahead and to the right. "She's that way." Her face crumpled and tears showed in her eyes. "She's frightened half to death."
The same hazy expression that he had seen so often on Kit's face was now clouding Kira's. Knowing he must catch her before she slid away, he asked, "Has she been physically harmed?"
"I don't think so." Kira exhaled, her face clearing a little. "It's my fault Kit is in danger. If I hadn't gone on the stage, this wouldn't have happened. Kit was right to object-she's always right."
He took her elbow, saying firmly, "You can feel guilty later. Now we have to find Kit and get her away from Mace."
Making a supreme effort, Kira focused herself and started forward. But knowing Kit's general direction was a far cry from finding the route. The corridors twisted infuriatingly, leading to dead ends, shrines to gargoylelike deities, and more bones. Neither of them spoke, for Kira needed all of her concentration to track her sister.
Finally they turned a corner and saw a pair of tapestry curtains ahead. On the other side was brighter light and rumbling voices. Lucien halted. "I think we've found Mace's sanctuary and his beastly associates. Wait here while I take a closer look."
Kira bit her lip. "Kit is that way."
"Yes, but not necessarily in the sanctuary itself," he said as he led her back around the corner. "If she isn't there, it will be safer to try to go around. Wait here and don't move." He hated leaving her, but if he was seen and captured, at least she would have some, chance of escaping into the tunnels.
Remembering that Kit had said her sister was a good shot, he pulled out the pistol he had taken from the guard. "You should be safe for the few moments it will take me to investigate, but would you like this, just in case?"
She nodded and tucked her whip under her arm, accepting the gun with visible relief. As she expertly broke open the pistol to check that it was in firing condition, she said, "It's good to have a weapon after months of being helpless."
Feeling reasonably sure she would be safe, he rounded the corner and silently went down the passage to the tapestry curtains. He parted them a crack and looked through. As he had guessed it was the sanctuary, complete with warrior statues, bonfires, and scarlet-clad Disciples. His gaze went immediately to Mace, who was striding arrogantly away from the center of the circle.
If Mace was present, Kit must be as well. He scanned the circle, and found her standing in front of the altar with Roderick Harford's knife at her breast. Even though she was dressed exactly like Kira, she managed to look as dignified as Marie Antoinette surrounded by peasants.
The sight sent berserker rage flaring through him. He wanted to hurl himself into the room and dismember every man there. Reminding himself that mindless impulse wouldn't save her, he clamped down his fury and weighed the possible courses of action.
There were at least a dozen men there, all carrying knives and pistols. Though they might not all be party to the full spectrum of Mace's evil, none could be counted on as allies. It took only a few seconds to reach the grim conclusion that there was nothing he could do that might not endanger Kit.
Intuition said that the longer she was in the hands of Mace and Harford, the greater the risk to her. Therefore, he must act immediately. A pity that Michael and Jason weren't here, but he dared not wait to find them.
There was a chance, slim but better than none, that he could free Kit by pure effrontery. Pistol in hand, he pushed aside the tapestry and stepped into the light. Pitching his voice so that it would dominate the chamber, he barked, "Let her go, Harford."
Everyone turned and stared at him with surprise. Kit's gaze met his, stark with relief. He hoped to God that her faith in him wasn't misplaced.
Recovering quickly from his shock, Mace said jovially, "Ah, Lucifer. You've come to join us. I was afraid that because of the weather, you might not get here in time to play your role." As he spoke, he edged back toward the altar.
"Stop pretending," Lucien said flatly. "This is no game, but criminal folly. If you don't release her, you or your brother will die." He started to move forward through the ring of statues.
Eyes sparkling with malice, Mace cried, "The time has come to seal the circle!" He leaned down and wrenched on a long lever that rose from the floor next to the altar.
The statues came alive.
Chapter 38
As Mace threw the lever, the chamber filled with the rumble of grinding gears and hissing steam. Instantly, the mechanical warriors were transformed into a race of ancient giants, swinging their weapons with vicious power.
The gladiator chopped down with his sword, the Viking cleaved the air with a battle-ax-the knight, a yard away, slashed his sword straight at Lucien.
If it hadn't taken the mechanism a few moments to creak into motion, he would have died on the spot. As it was, he realized the danger and ducked barely in time.
Mace roared with laughter, as if the near-fatality was a great joke. "You of all men should appreciate my steam-powered warriors, Lucifer," he called. "There has never been anything like them in the history of the world!"
Lucien swore to himself as he retreated. The thrumming machinery and unusual warmth now made sense, for there had to be giant steam boilers nearby, with pipes running under the floor to power the movements of the statues. Each of the weapons swung rapidly back and forth through a single arc. Any single blade could be avoided, but the rings of figures had been placed so that the danger areas overlapped, some high, some low.
The arrangement completely blocked passage into the circle. Going around the path of the sword would put him in the range of the battle-ax on one side or a scimitar on the other. It was brilliant, and Lucien damned his enemy to hell for creating it.
"Very clever, Mace," he snapped. "But I can still shoot betwee
n the statues. Release her!"
"Do you want blood, Lucifer? If you don't cooperate,the girl's will flow." Mace waved a grandiose hand at his brother.
His expression full of vicious excitement, Harford delicately drew the point of his blade in a line below Kit's collarbone. Scarlet drops of blood formed along the cut. She made a small, desperate sound, instantly suppressed.
Lucien felt his face go white. The glitter in Mace's eyes confirmed Kira's story; he was primed for the explosive release of sexual violence that he had planned for tonight. His brother must share his madness, for the air had the chancy, volatile aura of danger sometimes felt before a thunderstorm. Any provocation would serve as an excuse to slit Kit's throat.
"We have a stalemate, don't you think?" Mace's voice was eerily pleasant. "If you want your fancy piece to survive, drop your pistol."
Sickly, Lucien realized that he had no choice. He could shoot either Mace or Harford, but not both. Leaving one alive might be Kit's death sentence, for both brothers were capable of killing her without a moment's compunction.
Though he had little faith in Mace's trustworthiness, perhaps the presence of so many witnesses might keep his worst excesses in check. From what Kira had said, not all of them were murderers. Stony faced, he dropped his gun to the floor.
As he did, he saw a flicker of motion on the opposite gallery. He glanced up without shifting his head and saw Michael and Jason entering from a side passage. Summing up the situation in one keen glance, Michael raised his carbine and aimed it at Harford. Then he looked down at Lucien, waiting for a signal.
When Michael fired, Harford would be a dead man. However, Lucien would have to retrieve his gun and take care of Mace himself because Jason was too far away to be accurate with a pistol. It would be risky-but less so than leaving Kit in the hands of two madmen.
Once the shooting started, anything could happen. Thank God Kit had the intelligence and courage to react swiftly. Focusing his mind with furious intensity, Lucien tried to send a mental warning for her to be alert. She stared at him, ashen, but he thought he saw comprehension in her stark eyes.
Praying that Michael's aim would be true, Lucien looked up and gave a faint nod.
The carbine roared, the blast reverberating through the cavern with numbing force. Simultaneously Lucien dived for his pistol. Roderick Harford screamed and spun around from the impact of Michael's bullet, then collapsed. As he fell, Kit twisted away before his knife could slice into her throat.
Without rising, Lucien snapped a shot at Mace, but the instant it had taken to reach the gun gave the other man time to take shelter. Mace leaped behind the stone altar, which would protect him from the shots of both of his attackers.
Before Lucien could reload, he heard Kira scream, "Kit!"
In his concern for Kit, he had forgotten about her sister. Now, drawn by the sounds of gunshots, Kira burst into the chamber. He glanced up and saw that she was only a few feet away, her face frantic as she gazed at her twin.
Kit whipped around and stared at her sister, her soul in her eyes. "Kira!"
From his own understanding of the twin bond, he realized that having been separated by force, they now had a need to be together that was so fierce it was almost palpable. The rest of the world had vanished for the two of them.
Even so, he was unprepared when they began running toward each other. Kira dropped her whip and sable cape, then hurled herself into the midst of the slashing mechanical warriors. She safely ducked under the swinging sword, but Lucien gasped when he saw that she was moving into the downward arc of the battle-ax. She dropped to the floor and slithered under it. For an instant he thought her spine would be severed, but she was just slim enough to pass below unscathed.
So far, so good, but she would never be able to avoid the scimitar. He scooped up the whip she had dropped, then lashed it at the mechanical Turk with all his strength. The thong curled around the figure's arm. The steam-driven mechanism almost yanked Lucien from his feet, but he hung on grimly. With a shriek of metal, the arm twisted in its iron socket, slowing long enough to permit Kira to dart by.
As Kira ran her horrendous gauntlet, Kit dodged around Nunfield, who had made a grab at her. At the same time she was struggling with her bonds. She freed her wrists in time to run into her sister's embrace. They locked their arms around each other, clinging together in the midst of chaos.
Nunfield raised his pistol and swung it toward the two women, his face distorted with furious malice. Frantically, Lucien started to reload, praying that Nunfield's first shot would miss.
His eyes were caught by a movement above. He glanced up and saw Jason Travers grab the rope that ran from the gallery to the chandelier by way of a pulley. The rope was intended to lower the chandelier for cleaning and new candles, but Jason found a lethal new use for it. He leaped onto the railing, then swept to the floor of the chamber like an avenging eagle.
His weight caused the chandelier to fly upward and smash into the ceiling. Flaming candles rained onto the screaming Disciples below. The chandelier itself plunged downward after Jason released the rope, almost hitting Mace, who retreated farther behind the altar. Most of the candles went out when it hit the floor, leaving the cavern lit only by the bonfires.
As Jason landed, he whipped up his pistol and shot Nunfield at point-blank range. Even before the other man hit the floor, Jason grabbed the lever that controlled the statues. He yanked it and the effigies clanked to a stop, harmless again.
In the eerie silence that followed, Jason called hoarsely, "Kira?"
She looked up and gasped with shock, her face chalk-white. Slowly, incredulously, she broke away from Kit and walked toward Jason, whispering his name. She raised a hesitant hand to touch him, as if unable to believe he was real. He caught it and pulled her into his arms, desperate longing engraved on his face. She buried her face against him, her shoulders shaking.
Lucien noted the reunion as he dashed toward the center of the circle, but his main concern was for Mace, who was still free, still armed, and deadlier than ever. Pistol ready in his hand, Lucien started to circle the altar. A quarter way around, he came face-to-face with his quarry.
"I liked you, Strathmore," Mace said with fatalistic calm as he aimed his gun at Lucien's heart. "You're almost as clever as I am. A pity you're such a bloody middle-class puritan."
More experienced than his opponent, Lucien didn't waste time on talk. He pulled his trigger, diving sideways at the same time. The pistol sputtered and misfired. Mace's gun didn't, but Lucien's evasive maneuver saved him. The other man's ball blasted past his right ear, deafening but harmless.
Swearing viciously, Mace reached for his knife. Lucien scrambled to regain his balance, only to find that he had twisted his damned ankle again when he had dodged Mace's shot. As he fell to one knee, the other man moved in, blade glittering wickedly in the lurid light of the bonfires.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Kira break away from Jason. She raised the pistol that Lucien had given her-where the devil had she carried it in that revealing costume?-and pointed it at Mace, her eyes wild. Yet her hands were steady when she cocked the hammer, and her aim was true.
Her bullet caught Mace square in the chest. He gasped in astonishment, then slowly folded to the floor, his gaze on Kira. In a last, harsh whisper, he said, "You were the best, mistress. A pity…" Then he closed his eyes and died. The whole bloody altercation that left three men dead had taken place in well under two minutes.
Kira stared down at Mace for an endless moment. There was fury in her face, and the triumph of a woman who had taken power into her hands after a long hell of helplessness.
Slowly, her expression changed to a kind of horror.
Guessing her feelings, Lucien limped to her and put one arm around her shoulders in a brotherly hug. "Thank you, Kira," he said softly. "You're everything Kit said." Though he'd met her less than half an hour before, she seemed like an old friend.
He was looking around for Kit when
danger reappeared. Most of the surviving Disciples were staring at the carnage, shocked and disbelieving. All except Lord Chiswick. In the lull after Mace's death, he had darted behind the altar and pulled out his own pistol. Keeping a wary eye on the gallery where Michael still stood, he pointed his gun at Lucien. "You've gone mad, Strathmore," he snapped. "Do you think we'll all stand still to be slaughtered?"
Lucien said under his breath, "Move away from me, Kira." While she withdrew from the line of fire, he dropped his useless pistol and raised his hands a little so that Chiswick could see that they were empty.
High above, Michael began to race around the gallery to a position where the altar wouldn't block his shot. But something in Chiswick's voice made Lucien think that the battle might be over. He said, "You think this is a senseless massacre?"
Pistol shaking, Chiswick said with an unconvincing show of nonchalance, "Christ, we were having a peaceful little orgy when you and your friends came and began shooting everyone in sight."
Michael reached a position where Chiswick was in his line of fire, but Lucien raised his hand in a signal to wait. To Chiswick he said harshly, "Are you claiming that you don't know that Mace kidnapped Cassie James two months ago and has kept her captive here? Or that he did his damnedest to kidnap her sister as well? Those things are facts, and he himself boasted to his captive that he had kidnapped, brutalized, and ultimately killed other women in the past."
Chiswick's jaw dropped. Across the room Sir James Westley exclaimed, "You've got it all wrong! The girls Mace hired for the solstice rituals were told to fight and scream and pretend to be captives. It was part of the fun. The rape of the Sabine women and all that, y'know."
His mouth trembled. "I thought you were part of the show, until you started killing people."
Lucien shifted his hard stare to the baronet. "Would you have known the difference between a real and a pretend captive?"
"You mean they weren't…?" Westley's complexion took on a greenish hue. "I thought that Mace had hired Cassie James to entertain us for the evening. She's hardly the first actress to sell herself for the right price."
Dancing on the Wind fa-3 Page 35
