Silhouette in Scarlet - Elizabeth Peters [76]
‘Don’t be vulgar.’
The only tricky part was locating Pierre, who had taken shelter in the garden shed. In the end I had to call him. When he saw me, smiling and innocent and unarmed, he came out, and John took care of the rest. We tied him up with Georg’s twine and tossed him back into the shed, wedging the door with a log from the woodpile.
The barn door was held by a bar so big it took both of us to lift it out of the massive iron staples. When it swung open, the smell struck me motionless with nostalgia; no matter how much you clean, you can never dispel the old ghosts of manure, hay, and warm animal bodies. It smelled marvellous.
It was lucky for me that I stopped. The heavy stick whistled through the air, missing my nose by a few inches.
‘Wait, Gus – ’ Before I could go on, I was enveloped in a rib-cracking hug. ‘Vicky, my dear child – have I hurt you? I dared not wait any longer, I feared for your life – ’
‘It’s okay. But we’ve got to get away, Gus, as fast as we can.’
Gus let me go and turned to John, who was watching with a fixed, ingratiating smile. Before I could speak or move, Gus raised his fist and brought it crashing down on John’s head. He crumpled up like a piece of aluminium guttering.
I caught Gus’s arm. ‘Don’t. He’s on our side.’
‘My poor Vicky, you are mistaken,’ Gus said seriously. ‘He has a gun, don’t you see? And I must tell you that he is not kin to us. It is impossible that Great-great-aunt Birgitta could have – ’
‘I know, I know, know. Actually, he’s – never mind, it would take too long to explain. Just take my word for it.’
I knelt and tried to straighten John’s tangled limbs. This had not been his day. ‘Wake up,’ I said, shaking him.
‘Not until you convince Cousin Gus,’ said John, without opening his eyes.
‘He’s convinced. Right, Gus?’ I grabbed John’s collar and dragged him to his feet. He stood swaying, head on one side, like Petrouchka, in the ballet of the same name.
‘If you say so,’ Gus agreed doubtfully. ‘Where are the other evil men?’
‘Locked up.’
‘Temporarily.’ John straightened, with some effort. ‘I fear this isn’t the time to break out the champagne, Mr Jonsson. You wouldn’t happen to have an extra boat hidden away?’
‘Only in the boathouse,’ Gus said. ‘We must telephone to the police . . . No. They have cut the wires?’
‘And smashed your shortwave.’
‘Then one of us must go for help.’ Gus flexed his arms and shoulders. I had to admire the quickness with which his mind worked; he had considered and comprehended the possibilities before I could explain them. He went on, ‘They would also immobilize the boats, yes. Very well. I shall swim to the other side. Vicky will lock herself in the cellar with the gun, and you to protect her . . .’
‘Or vice versa,’ said John, as Gus studied him dubiously. ‘Tell him, Vicky. He seems to lack confidence in me.’
Looking at Gus, I almost believed he could do it. John was the subject of my concern now. The last blow on the head hadn’t done him any good. He caught my eye and grinned, in the old mocking fashion.
‘I’d prefer to take my chances with Mother Nature,’ he said. ‘Maybe we won’t have to swim. Come along.’
Another spatter of rain struck stingingly into my face as we crossed the barnyard. Thunder rumbled distantly. A shaft of light streaked the sky to the north.
‘Did you see that?’ I grabbed John’s arm.
He let out a hiss of pain and shook me off. ‘What?’
‘Lightning. Only it wasn’t. Thunder comes after the flash, not before.’
‘Flashlight?’
‘Looked like it.’
‘Damn. I thought we’d have more time.’
‘Tell me what to do,’ Gus said calmly.
‘Run,’ John said, and set the example.
After hanging coyly around all day, the storm had made up its mind to move in. Lightning wove patterns jagged as the designs on Celtic goldwork across the tarnished silver of the sky. The rain began in earnest as we approached the garden; within seconds I was soaked to the skin, and water was running down the path like a little river. Gus hobbled like the Hunchback of Notre Dame, but he hobbled fast, and he was more surefooted