At Swords' Point (14 page)

Smarting under his own self-appraisal Quinn started out. He had sense enough not to get lost in the woods, he thought, pulling out a pocket knife and cutting a small
blaze on a tree trunk. He went on north, blazing a trail.

And his hope was rewarded as he came though the fringe of woodland to another strip of rough pasture studded with outcrops of stone. One of these was flat topped and could afford a vantage point. He made the effort to climb it and lay, belly down, looking east. In the gathering dark it was difficult to see clearly. But he began a careful sweep from left to right.

A quarter of the way around that half circle he sighted the steeply pitched roof of a small building. That must be the house Joris had gone to investigate. A raindrop the size of a fifty cent piece spatted on the rock beside his bent elbow, another struck him above the ear and trickled down to soak into the bandage. Then the sky opened and poured water, most of which appeared to be funneled directly onto him. Quinn squirmed under the force of the deluge, twice having to bury his face in his arms in order to breathe as the wind tore across him, sweeping cold half sleet with it.

A lull came, and Quinn braced himself. It was then that he saw it — a mere shadow until a jagged fork of lightning revealed it clearly. The crumbled outline of a ruined tower, its top showing above the trees. It stood beyond the house and a little to the left. And he knew it. That was Odocar's Tower! They had come right to the place they were seeking!

In spite of the rain soaking his back and legs, gathering around under him in a puddle cupped by depressions in the rock, Quinn held to his post, trying to memorize the bearings of the tower. They should be able to reach it from here. And he was sure that that broken tumble of stone was their real goal.

When he was certain that he could locate it again he crawled down the slippery rock. The first fury of the storm had become a steady downpour which might keep up for hours. But the sky was lighter, and he was able to
follow his blazes without too much casting about.

Quinn got back to the clearing and took what shelter there was afforded by the largest tree. Joris had fifteen minutes left of his two hours. And to the American every one of those was doubly long. He kept on his feet, pacing a step or two each way, bitterly afraid that his leg might stiffen if he dared to sit.

With only two minutes left Joris came back, rising out of the murk with a whisper of his own name to identify himself. Quinn caught at his arm in relief, then dropped his hold instantly, hoping that he had not given himself away.

“Well?” He tried to school his voice.

“We have indeed come to the right place. The storm covered me, and if they had any guards out I did not see them. There was only one man in the cottage, but he was engaged in a most interesting occupation. He had one of those portable transmitters — ‘walkie-talkie’ as you call them. I believe that he was trying to send a message, but perhaps the storm interfered, for he was growing angry at his results. He was an old acquaintance —”

“Who?”

“Hans Loo. And I did not see anyone else in the house. They were either upstairs or —”

“In Odocar's Tower!” Quinn cut in.

He told of the ruin he had sighted.

“So? Yes, they might well be there. Now we shall have to make some plans. I do not like this —”

Quinn shivered and shifted his weight from his aching leg. That, too, was an understatement as far as he was concerned.

14

— TO A DARK TOWER CAME

“We can look at this tower,” Joris shouldered the knapsack, “and then we will decide what there is for us to do-”

“There may not be much time to decide,” Quinn pointed out. “If Wasburg is a Sternlitz and has the secret of the treasure's hiding place, and if they are trying to get it out of him — Well, they aren't going to waste any time getting down to business. They may have their claws on the Menie right now. And if we continue to roost around under these water-spouting bushes making up our minds we'll find the cupboard bare when we do move!”

“There are a great many ‘ifs' in that,” Joris grunted.

“And the worst of it is, they all may be not only true but fatal! But neither does one move into battle without advance information. We can tell better when we see the tower —”

Joris took compass bearings at the rock from which Quinn had sighted the ruins. And he took too much time over that as far as Quinn was concerned. The American
was consumed with a growing desire to get on with the job, and the deliberation of his companion acted on him as a goad.

The steady beat of the rain on their heads and shoulders slackened as they moved into the half protection of the trees, for there was a stand of firs, not as bare as the rest of the woods.

“We could do with some light,” suggested Quinn after he almost lost balance catching his foot in an exposed root and giving his leg a nasty wrench.

“It is best to hurry while we have as much as we do now,” was Joris' answer. “Because of the storm the dusk is almost here —”

Quinn gave all his attention to his footing. And so he was the first to sight the trap. A branch was hanging a few feet from the ground, swaying back and forth on an invisible support.

“Look out!”

But Maartens had already sighted it. “Stand where you are,” he ordered. He crept forward but did not touch the branch.

“An alarm wire — maybe a booby trap,” he deduced.

“Listen.” Quinn had been watching the movements of that branch. “Suppose that limb had been heavy enough to bring down the wire when it fell? Then if they investigated and found it an accident would they be quick to hunt out another if we set one off?”

But Joris needed no more. He turned around slowly, eyeing their surroundings speculatively. And in a sapling, leaning at an angle with its roots half exposed, he found what he wanted. Carefully he dug around it in the soft earth, using bits of wood and being careful not to print the muck with his fingers.

“That will do, I think.” He stepped back, measuring with his eyes the direction in which the tree must fall. Then he wrapped his hands in his handkerchief and put
them against the slender trunk.

“When I say the word, you push me and I shall push this. It may not work, but there is no harm in trying. Now!”

Quinn braced his feet on the slippery pine needles and pushed against Joris' shoulders. For a moment of suspense he thought that they could not do it. Then Joris jumped back, and Quinn fell on the sodden ground. The tree was going over — slowly — almost with dignity. But it was falling along the line the Netherlander had sighted for it. And it snapped across the wire which had supported the betraying branch.

“Come!” Maartens scooped up the American almost by main force. And they went through the gap the tree had opened for them.

“Not a booby after all,” the Netherlander observed. “It must be an alarm. But we're lucky, the dark will hide any marks we might have left. Also we shall put as much distance between us and this as we can!”

Quinn saved his breath and did not answer but concentrated on keeping up with Joris' steady trot and breaking through the underbrush. Once they crossed a path. But Joris stayed in the open woods, stopping to read the compass. It was almost night as to visibility when they came out on a sharp break in the ground. A gully choked with brush gave into a fan-shaped open space. At the narrow end of this stood Odocar's Tower on a spur of higher land. And around it was the sullen glint of water. No one had drained the ancient moat, and as far as Quinn could see, the only entrance to the mound on which the keep stood was across a narrow bridge. One guard stationed there could hold off an invasion. All the American's hazy plans for attacking the place vanished when he saw that.

But Joris did not appear dismayed as he studied the situation.

“They
must
have left a sentry at the bridge. And he —” Quinn stated the obvious.

“There is sometimes more than one door to a castle. But we may need reinforcements to take this one.”

“And where are we going to get them?” demanded the American. “Rub a flashlight and summon up a platoon of genii?”

“We are not without resources. You must remain here and try to discover what you can about the ways in and out of that place. I shall reach a contact I know of — smugglers are none too fond of those who poach upon their territory, people who might attract the unwelcome attention of the authorities. By playing on that peculiarity of theirs I may be able to enlist allies. There is no harm in my trying. When I return I shall call thus —” He gave voice to an eerie cry Quinn vaguely associated wtih owls. Then, before the American could protest, he had melted away into the dark.

If he had to stay here he might as well settle in. Quinn sourly pushed back under the drooping lower limbs of a fir tree. He was soaked to the skin already except in a few spots where his raincoat had actually been the protection its makers claimed — but the heavy branches would keep off part of the flood. And from the spot where he was he could oversee the bridge. He settled down and tried to recall the details of the two drawings and the photographs of the ruins which he had seen in the past.

Quinn was sure that the bridge
was
the only entrance to the keep. There had once been a postern gate on the opposite side, but no bridge existed there now, and short of dropping into the courtyard by helicopter, he knew no way of getting inside except over the road in plain view.

A path led along the other side of the gully to the bridge. And from the point where it issued from the woods it was covered from the keep.

He strained his eyes in the dusk and tried to pierce the
growing shadows about the broken gate. There was no way of knowing — those dark patches might only be stones fallen away from the walls — or they — any of them — might be a man!

There was a flicker of light in the woods, and a man came out of cover, a flashlight turned on the road bed before him. He walked forward with confidence as if he expected a welcome. And before he put foot on the bridge he blinked the light three times. A darker blot detached itself from the rubble at the gate to meet him. Quinn longed for the gift of telepathy or of supernatural hearing. But he could only squat and fume while the two conferred. Then the guard returned to his post, and the other went back to the woods.

But now he
did
know that there was a guard, Quinn consoled himself. And the others must be inside. Again he tried to recall the exact shape of the ruins and how the moat embraced the island on which they stood. The moat — it was really a small swiftly flowing river which branched to make the island. Then a photograph flahsed into his mind, complete to the last detail.

There was a place where the outer wall of the keep had been broken by a landslide. If one could cross the moat there he might have a chance to climb up and reach the courtyard which enclosed the tower itself. But where was that section of wall in relation to the bridge?

If he could have explored in the open he might have located it quickly. As it was he had to try for landmarks in the tumble of stone, attempting to place them in relation to the remembered photograph. But he was sure — just before it became too dark to see at all — that he did know where it was. They would have to make a wide circle to reach it.

In the past half hour the rain had changed from a downpour to a drizzle. It might clear later. Quinn scrabbled in the knapsack for a piece of hard chocolate to
suck. The wind died away, and the night was very quiet except for the sound of the stream. There were no lights showing in the ruins.

Quinn became conscious of another sound approaching his hiding place. The swish of a bulk forcing a way through the wet bushes sent his fingers to the pencil gun.

He pulled his legs under him in readiness to spring. If the skulker kept on he would pass almost at arm's length. Of course it might be Joris. But he could not have missed hearing the owl's cry —

A stone rolled, clinked against another, and fell over the rim of the drop. Quinn froze — that had been very near.

His eyes adjusted to the gloom. And now he saw the black blot hugging the ground at a spot he was sure had been clear earlier. He must do this just right — too much force and his leap could carry them both over into the gully! His hands were damp with more than rain and his heart pounded madly. He had to hit straight and hard —

The blot moved — by inches. Quinn waited. Drag— scrape — He thought he could distinguish heavy breathing now. A foot more —

Quinn threw himself forward. He might not have moved with the grace of a cat, but he unconsciously imitated a feline pounce. And he took the crawler totally unawares, knocking him flat. Quinn dug his knees into the small of the other's back and grabbed a fistful of hair as he put the pencil gun to the base of the stranger's skull.

“Quiet!”

The captive's struggle ceased. Quinn realized that he had spoken the warning in English. Then why did — ? He backed away from the other's body, keeping his grip on the hair. And by that he half towed, half led the newcomer back under the bushes. Once there he thrust the torch at his prisoner.

The light flashed up on a face he knew. He dropped his
hold and could not suppress a slightly hysterical giggle. For it was Lawrence Kane who was now rubbing shoulders with him.

“Anders —” He identified himself.

The tenseness disappeared.

“You are alone here?”

“No. I'm with Maartens. He has gone to see if he can get help from some smugglers he knows.”

“How did you get here?”

Quinn outlined their adventures of the day. Then he had a question of his own.

“How and why —”

“I've been here since yesterday,” answered the other impatiently. “Around three o'clock today a party of five came down to the tower. They have been in there ever since. There's no way in except over that bridge, and they have a guard stationed there.”

“Did you see who they were?”

“Wasburg was one. And there was another about whom I'm not sure.”

“Wasburg may know the hiding place of the Menie —” Quinn passed along what the Freule Matilda had told him.

“Eldest son — eh? It must be a pretty secure hiding place. That treasure has been hunted by experts for the past hundred years and more. And with five of them busy at it now “

“They may be trying to get more help. Maartens saw the one in the cottage using a walkie-talkie —”

“They'll have to fly it in.” There was grim satisfaction in Kane's reply. “There was a landslip during the worst of the storm an hour ago. It brought down a big tree across the cart track which is the only road in here. I think that the odds will remain five to three —”

“Wasburg may be on our side.”

“I wouldn't count on that. He comes from the East —
and remember who holds the power there now. If your Maartens can get us a few men we might be able to rush the gate in the dark and force our way in.”

“You have been all the way around the tower?”

“Not quite. Couldn't get across that open space to the west. And they have booby traps and alarms in the woods. Up until I saw them come to the tower I was watching another place. There was a lot of activity yesterday in the cellars of a burned building about half a mile from here —”

“The old hunting lodge. But I believe that there may be another way into the tower,” Quinn said slowly. “I've seen a photograph that shows where part of the battlement wall has fallen. A man could swim the moat at that point and climb. If he did make it, he would be in the courtyard not far from the tower. And if there is any hiding place it wouldn't be above ground. In my opinion it would be located somewhere in the old cellars or dungeons — probably under the tower itself.”

“Hmm —”

It was too dark to read the expression on Kane's face, but Quinn knew that the other was thinking fast. And he remembered some of Marusaki's stories about this man. Kane was the troubleshooter for Norreys — this was the sort of situation he must have faced before.

He was about to press Kane for suggestions when the other's hand clamped on his arm, and he heard the whisper, “Someone's coming!”

The cry of an owl — mournful and nerve-twisting answered that.

“That's Maartens. In here —”

The Netherlander hunched under the bushes, then stiffened as he saw that two rather than one waited him there.

“It's Kane. He's been here since yesterday.” Quinn supplied the necessary explanation.

“So?”

“What kind of luck did you have?” Quinn continued.

“None. I found my contact easily enough. But he will not meddle — nor will anyone else he knows. There is something bad — bad and big in progress here. I think that we are now sniffing around the den of a tiger —”

“Say King Cobra and you will be more nearly right,” cut in Kane. “If I did see the man I think I did, the most dangerous man I ever knew is holed up down there right now. What he is doing there — so far away from his usual base of operations — I can't tell you. He usually plans and lets several picked stooges risk their necks to bring back the chestnuts he wants. If I
am
right, I am not surprised you couldn't get your friends to meddle. In fact we would probably be wise to tuck our tails between our legs and light out for home too —”