Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 10] - Lanterns (40 page)

Marietta gasped, "Arthur!"

Incredulous, Diccon said, "You cannot mean you've taken the
boy? No—not even
you
would sink so low as to harm
a child!"

"I've got him," confirmed Coville, his eyes glinting with
triumph.
"He's safe. For now. But not for long. No! Stay back or I'll cripple
you, Paisley! I have the brat tucked away where he'll never be heard,
never be found, I promise you. And nobody—
nobody
else on this earth knows where he is. So if I go away, or if anything
should happen to me, he'll starve slowly."

"You
wouldn't
!" cried Marietta,
horrified. "He's just a little boy!"

Eric snarled, "Let me free, Paisley, and I'll tend to this
carrion!"

Watching Coville, Diccon said, "You've not the backbone to do
something like this unless you're properly in the suds. What happened,
Blake? The ponies? Or the tables?"

Coville glared at him murderously, then gave a short nervous
laugh.
"Think you're damned clever, don't you! Well, find a way out of this,
Major, sir. I'm sunk deep to the cents-percenters. If I can't make good
on my loan, I'm ruined, and you know my doting sire—he'd throw me to
the wolves without a second thought. I've nothing to lose, and I
haven't much time. Nor has dear little Arthur! So make up your mind,
dashing old lordship. The boy—or the treasure!"

"I tell you, I don't—" Interrupted by the howling wind, Diccon
paused, then shouted, "I
don't know
!"

"You
do
know, damn you!" Blake stuck
Marietta's pistol into
his belt and stepped closer. He looked wild and desperate, his hair
wind-blown, his face flushed, hatred for his step-brother glaring in
his eyes. "I warn you, I mean to have it! But if I leave here
empty-handed, your beloved will never see dear little Arthur again, and
you'll be responsible for the deaths of
two
of
the lady's
brothers." That barb pierced Diccon's icy self-control, seeing which
Coville sniggered, "It would appear that you make a habit of bringing
death to your women, my lord."

Eyes narrowed and fists clenching, Diccon crouched, and Blake
steadied his aim and shouted, "Stay back! If I have to shoot I'll see
to it that you suffer as slow an end as the boy will face!"

Eric said, "By God, Coville, you're worse than he is! If
anything happens to my brother—"

"You'll do—what? Accuse me from the gallows? Hah! Who'd take
the
word of a convicted traitor? At all events, nothing could be proven
against me without the boy, and since he'll never be found—"

Lightning flashed glaringly, and the immediate thunderclap was
echoed by an ear-splitting creak. More debris showered down.

Eric howled, "This curst pile is falling to pieces! I'll be
trapped! Get me out, Paisley, or—"

Coville said, "No one leaves here till I have
The
Sigh of Saladin
in my hands!"

From the corner of his eye Diccon saw Marietta edging back
towards
the table. He said with the cool disdain that always infuriated his
step-brother, "What a fool you are, Blake. Greedy men have sought that
picture for centuries and been unsuccessful. How typical that you would
expect me to be able to find it in a few minutes!"

"I
know
you found it, you lying rogue!
That fortune-telling gypsy told Imre Monteil that she'd
seen
it, and that it was here at Lanterns! I've no time to waste! Tell me,
or—" The floor shuddered and he glanced at the ceiling uneasily.

Marietta had taken up the candle and moved close behind him.
He was,
as always, immaculately clad, and must have arrived by coach because he
wore no overcoat and his clothes were dry. When Marietta applied the
flame to the tails of his coat, they caught at once.

"Believe it's upstairs, do you?" purred Diccon. "I'll own it,
Blake. You're—ah, getting warm."

Of this, Coville was unpleasantly aware. He could smell
something
odd, and the light in the room flickered strangely. Warrington gave a
shriek of mirth. Looking at him uneasily, Coville sensed that the
sudden warmth came from the rear. He glanced down, saw a bright flame,
and screamed.

Diccon leapt forward, and smashed the pistol from his hand.

Still screaming and beating wildly at his tails, Coville fled
into the rain.

Diccon began, "Well done, Mari—" then was staggered as the
floor lurched under him.

There was a growling rumble, whether of thunder or the gale,
Marietta could not tell.

On the stairs by the minstrel gallery, clutching something
under her
cloak, Mrs. Cordova called, "Major! I must tell you— Oh, dear! I rather
think your house is falling down!"

"For the love of God, get me out of here!" screamed Warrington.

With a roar that beat at the eardrums the southwest corner of
the
room disappeared and the air was suddenly full of wind and tumult.

Diccon ran through the thick dust and led Mrs. Cordova down
the
stairs. "Outside, ma'am!" He seized Marietta's arm. "Hurry! Hurry! Get
her out!"

She said, "But—Eric…"

"I'll bring him. Go! Before the whole upper storey comes down!"

"But you haven't the key!"

"Out!"

He pushed them towards the front door. This end of the old
wing was
going to crumble to the beach at any second. There was no hope of
finding the key in time. He sprinted to the wall, dim-seen through the
gloom, whereon hung the ancient weapons. Eric's screams rang in his
ears as he gripped the handle of a war axe and tore it from the iron
brackets that held it. Succeeding, he was staggered by the weight, and
went weaving back through the dust, praying he could swing the weapon
and that it would not fall apart in the process. When he reached the
stairs to the minstrel gallery, he panted, "Lean—as far back— as you
can!"

Eric obeyed promptly.

With all his strength, Diccon swung the axe. The rail
splintered but was driven into its neighbour.

Eric looked up and whispered, "Oh—Lord!"

A hand came over Diccon's shoulder and plucked the axe away.
He knew
of only one man who could lift the heavy weapon with such ease. He
whipped around.

Holding the axe in one hand Ti Chiu gave an odd little bow and
said, "Now, two warriors will fight."

Eric began to struggle frantically with the railing that still
trapped him.

"You're mad," said Diccon unequivocally. "This storm has—" He
leapt for his life as the axe came at him in a flying arc.

"You very good warrior!" cried Ti Chiu, his little eyes lit by
a
fanatical gleam. "My honour it is shamed because I ran from evil beings
in other house. For my ancestors I must win honour back."

"One looby after… another… !" groaned Eric, striving.

Diccon made a lunge for Blake's fallen pistol. He felt the
whisper
of air as the axe flailed an inch from his ear. Laughing, Ti Chiu
kicked the pistol aside. Diccon continued to the wall and snatched a
great two-edged sword from its rack. Even as he turned, Ti Chiu was
upon him, the mighty curving blade whistling at his throat. He avoided
that attack and leapt away but Ti Chiu swung again. Gripping the heavy
sword with both hands Diccon struck out with all his strength. The air
rang to the shock of steel on steel. Diccon's hands were numbed by the
impact, and he was staggered, but he had turned the axe aside, and it
rammed deep into the beam that served both as end post for the stair
rail and support for the minstrel gallery. Ti Chiu tore it free and
roared something in Chinese, then added, "You worthy foe, Major!" He
lifted the axe high, only to pause as the gale thundered against what
was left of the south wall. With a deafening creak the minstrel gallery
tilted.

Diccon ran to Eric and kicked the splintered rail free.

Eric slid his hands down to the break and shouted, " 'Ware!
'Ware!"

Diccon whirled, dragging the sword up.

Behind him, Eric kicked out hard and Diccon was sent sprawling.

Ti Chiu grinned and ran forward, the axe swinging up for the
blow
that would decapitate his opponent and restore his honourable name.

Eric made a mad dash for safety.

Agile as a cat, Diccon rolled and sprang up. The deadly axe
blade whistled past his shoulder.

A deep growling roar coincided with a sickening
heave beneath
their feet. With a keening whine of splintering wood the minstrel
gallery sagged, sloping downward.

From a long acquaintanceship with unquiet ground Ti Chiu
grunted, "Earthquake!" dropped his axe and headed for the door.

Diccon followed. Outside, the power of the gale snatched his
breath
away. The rain was coming down like a grey wind-whipped curtain.
Drenched, Blake Coville sat in a large puddle looking balefully at
Marietta, who had evidently retrieved her pistol and held it aimed at
his head. Of Ti Chiu there was no sign. Mrs. Cordova was clinging to
Eric's arm, obviously imploring him to help.

Marietta said, "… tell us where Arthur is, or we'll have you
charged with kidnapping—or perhaps, heaven forfend, murder!"

"Without proof?" Coville sneered, "Never!"

"He's right," said Diccon, coming up with them. "He won't tell
you,
but at least we can make sure that he pays for his crimes." He hauled
Coville up by his collar. "I've several scores to settle with you," he
said grimly. "And no time to spare, so I'll make this a quicker end
than you deserve." Blake struggled frantically to free himself, but
with a practised twist Diccon forced his arm up behind him and began to
march him towards the cliff edge.

"What are you doing?" cried Blake, his voice squeaking with
fright.

"It's an old Cornish custom called being put to the cliff,"
said
Diccon. "And as good a way as I know to rid the world of your worthless
self."

Coville fought and kicked, but Diccon had long experience with
such
tactics, and his captive was borne relentlessly into the teeth of the
gale. Even as they approached the cliff edge another section dropped
away landing with a force that sent a great plume of water into the air.

Coville shrieked. "I nigh went over! You
want
me dead, curse you!"

Half blinded by the wind and rain, Diccon peered downward.
They were
at the brink now, and Coville was right except that almost they both
had gone over and could very well be swept to their deaths at any
second. The earth underfoot was fissured and unstable and far below the
angry breakers raced in to explode against the cliffs.

Marietta screamed, "Diccon! You'll fall! Come away, for
mercy's sake!"

"Stay back!" he shouted. "This carrion has murdered Arthur. He
deserves to die!"

The wind was so strong that he could scarcely walk, but he
forced
Coville on until the toes of the man's boots were over the edge.
"Farewell, dear Blake," he shouted, giving his stepbrother a nudge
between the shoulder blades.

"No!" shrieked Coville. "I'll tell!
I'll tell
!
For the love of God don't kill me!
Swear
you'll
let me go if—"

"Quickly, fool, or you'll be too late!"

Coville sobbed out, "He's in… in the priest's hole."

"Under the pantry? Liar! It's empty."

"No, no!" Babbling in his terror, Coville said, "There's
another. A
smaller one. Under the steps to the minstrel gallery. There's a
trapdoor. You—you open it by pushing the bottom step inwards. Now—let
me go." He began to cry. "I beg you, br-brother!
Please
let me go!"

Diccon had a mental image of those tilting stairs, and the
splintered beam that supported them, and his blood ran cold. With a
grating curse he pulled Coville back, and sprinted towards the house.

Marietta flew to seize his arm. "Where? Where?"

"In a priest's hole under the minstrel gallery. Damn him! I'll
need
help." Running on, he shouted over his shoulder, "Hey! Warrington!"

Eric went to his sister. "Did Coville tell?"

"Yes." Marietta clutched at him as a gust almost swept her
from her
feet. "He's in a priest's hole hidden under the minstrel gallery."

"Then the poor imp's as good as killed. That whole section was
coming down just seconds ago."

Steadying herself against him, Marietta pushed back her flying
hair
and saw Diccon rush into the old wing. The southwest corner was no
more. It would be a miracle if the minstrel gallery in the opposite
corner of the hall had not already collapsed. She wrenched at Eric's
arm. "Help him, dearest! For mercy's sake. Help Arthur!"

He hesitated, then ran after Diccon.

Once inside, despite the missing corner of the wall there was
a
measure of relief from the howling gale. The newly created "window"
admitted daylight, and faint as it was on this violent afternoon the
ancient hall was brighter than it had ever been. Racing to the south
end, Diccon paused, aghast. The minstrel gallery had slewed sideways
and teetered on the steps. The supporting beam, weakened when Ti Chiu's
axe had shorn into it, had snapped in two, and the upper half, still
attached, hung like a great splintered lance from the sagging gallery.

Blue arrows of forked lightning lit the scene with a brief
bizarre
glow. The voice of the following thunder was echoed by a sharper roar,
and the gallery jolted downward.

Diccon scrambled over the debris-littered floor and threw
himself to
his knees at the foot of the stairs. He pushed with all his strength at
the base of the bottom step, but there was not the least movement.
Probably, the great weight on the stairs had jammed the trapdoor. He
glanced around. Warrington stood behind him, gazing with wide scared
eyes at the wreckage of the gallery that hung poised above them.

"Give a hand here," Diccon shouted. "Your brother's underneath
this lot!"

He saw the gleam of white teeth clamping onto Eric's lower
lip, and snarled angrily, "
Move
, confound you!
There's not a second to lose and I can't budge the step alone!"