Elric to Rescue Tanelorn - Michael Moorcock [83]
Frank was in high spirits. Jerry wondered what he’d found to pep him up. Frank was always after a new synthesis and, as a good chemist, usually came up with a nice new habit every so often. Was it the same stuff as Catherine had in her veins right now? Probably not.
“Throw in your needle and come in with your veins clear, Frank,” Jerry shouted back, joining in the spirit of the thing. He took something out of his pocket and waited, but Frank didn’t seem willing to rise to this. Bullets began to rattle on the door. They’d soon stop as the ricochets got too much for Frank. They stopped.
Jerry went to the bed and heaved his sister off it. Then he put her down again. It was no good. He wouldn’t have a chance of getting out with her. He’d have to leave her and hope that Frank’s mind didn’t turn to thoughts of murder. It was unlikely. Slow death was the only good kind in Frank’s book.
From the inside pocket of his coat Jerry brought out a flat box like a snuff box. He opened it. There were two small filters there. He packed one into each nostril and clamped his mouth shut, sealing it with some surgical tape from another pocket.
Then he unbolted the door and slowly turned the key. He opened the door slightly. Frank stood some distance away, talking to four of his stormtroopers. Frank’s skin was grey, drawn over his near-fleshless skeleton like a lifeless film of plastic. They hadn’t yet noticed that the door was open.
Jerry tossed the neurade into the passage. They saw it fall. Only Frank recognized the nerve grenade for what it was, and he dashed off down the passage without stopping to give the guards the benefit of his knowledge.
Jerry stepped swiftly out of the room and closed the door tight behind him. The guards tried to aim at him, but the gas was already working. As they jerked like epileptics and fell down to bounce about spasmodically on the floor, Jerry gave them an amused, appreciative glance.
Jerry Cornelius went after Frank Cornelius and saw Frank pushing the button of the lift that went down to the library. When Frank saw Jerry, he swore and ran towards the end of the passage and the stairs. Jerry decided that he didn’t want Frank alive any more, and he drew out his needle pistol. The air pistol could hold a magazine of a hundred sliver bullets and was just as effective at short range as any small-calibre pistol—and far more accurate. Neither was it messy. Its only drawback was that it had to be repressured after every volley.
Jerry ran after his brother. Frank was evidently unarmed. He was scuttling down the spiral stairs now. Leaning on the banister, Jerry took aim at Frank’s head.
But when he put his arm down, he realized that he’d caught a sniff of the nerve gas himself, for the arm jumped twice and he involuntarily pulled the trigger. The needles went wide, and Frank had left the stairs on the third floor. He was now out of sight.
Jerry heard voices and noisy feet and knew that Frank had called in another section of the militia. He had no more nerve bombs with him. It was time, perhaps, to be leaving.
He ran back down the landing. The lift was waiting for him. Frank might assume that it wasn’t working, since he’d had no luck himself. He got into the lift and went down to the library. It was empty. In the library he paused and hauled his books off the shelf. He opened the door in the window and stepped out onto the balcony. Then he flung the books into the sea, re-entered the library, closed the door carefully, and knocked on the other entrance. It slid back. John was there. He still looked pale.
“What happened, sir?”
“Maybe he’ll never guess completely, John, so you might get away with it. He’s fazed, I think. Now it’s up to you. On Sunday you must somehow get Catherine away from the house and into the lodge on the village side of the grounds. There’ll probably be enough confusion and you’ll be able to do it easily. Don’t make a mistake. I want you both at that lodge. And Sunday starts at about 10 p.m., I’d guess.”
“Yes, sir—but…”
“No time for details,