Silhouette in Scarlet - Elizabeth Peters [73]
I made a protesting sound. Leif’s gloating smile faded. ‘I am sorry, Vicky. But if you could see Georg as he is now, you would understand why I cannot pity the man who corrupted him.’
‘It’s not food poisoning, then?’
‘No, I only said that to force Max to look at him. It is – what you think. He has run out of the drug. During the night he neglected to close the box, and it was spilled.’
‘A little cold turkey,’ I said meditatively. ‘Who knows, it may be the making of him.’
‘Now you sound like that swine, Smythe. I hate to hear you so cynical, Vicky.’
Max reappeared at the door. ‘Are you coming?’
‘I will stay with my brother,’ Leif said, in a voice that dared Max to object. ‘Let her stay too. She is distressed – ’
‘No, I’ll go. I’d rather.’ I edged away from him.
‘You cannot guard him forever,’ Max said.
The knife was on the counter, an inch from my hand. My fingers itched, but I was afraid to take the chance. I said, ‘I’m coming, Max. Let’s go.’
The next hour was the worst of the entire affair. My stomach was churning. I didn’t know how long it would take for the powder to work, or what the effects would be – if any. Maybe I had spread it too thin. John sat on the ground, his head bent and his hands limp. I paced, biting my nails. The clouds darkened. The wind rose. The only effect lacking was a werewolf howling in the trees.
I expected Hans to show the first symptoms, since he had eaten and drunk more than the others, but perhaps his mammoth body could absorb more. I saw nothing out of the way until Rudi let out a howl of pain. He had jabbed himself in the foot with his spade. Dropping the tool, he lifted the injured member with one hand and promptly toppled over.
Max was on the spot instantly. ‘What is it?’
Rudi rolled over, grimacing with pain. ‘I couldn’t help it, Max. I am no labourer. I am exhausted.’
Max swept the rest of the crew with a suspicious eye. However, the next to go was not one of his men, it was John. With a startled cry he half rose and then pitched over onto his side.
‘Faking,’ said Max, nudging him with his toe.
A genteel trickle of blood oozed out of John’s left nostril. I peeled back one of his eyelids. Now that the time had come, my hands were quite steady.
‘He’s not faking. Look – dilated pupils, bleeding from the nose – He’s got a concussion. He’ll die if he doesn’t get help.’
‘I will, of course, send one of my men for a doctor immediately,’ Max said, with awful sarcasm. ‘Do be sensible, my dear. It is a far easier death than the one he faced.’
‘At least let me do what I can,’ I begged. ‘Lying on the cold ground like that . . .’ I peeled off my sweater and tucked it around John. ‘Give me your coat,’ I said.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Dr Bliss.’
‘Please – ’ I rose and approached the diggers. A couple of them looked a little dazed. ‘Please,’ I repeated. ‘He needs to be kept warm.’
It was Hans, the big, good-natured oaf, who responded. ‘I am too warm,’ he mumbled. ‘You can have my sweater.’ He did look warm. Perspiration beaded his forehead.
In the last split second I made a final check of the dispositions I had noted earlier. A man can’t dig and hold a gun at the same time. Three of them wore shoulder holsters, including Max. Rudi’s weapon – a cute little sawed-off shotgun – was on the wheelbarrow, atop the other tools. I waited until Hans had the sweater up over his head before I acted. My shrill, banshee scream stunned them for another essential second. It also told John that I was making my move.
The only one whose hand made it to the butt of his gun was the swarthy Italian. I aimed at him. In case he suffered from delusions about the incompetence of the female, I said warningly, ‘I was brought up on a farm, boys. Don’t chance it.’
There were no heroes in that crowd. Any such aspirations died when they realized mine wasn’t the only weapon pointing at them. Max was on the ground, out cold, and John had his gun.
He wasted