The Ghosts of N-Space - Barry Letts [83]
The Brigadier was under no illusion that the castle wall was defensible any longer. If the power which had possessed Maggie had passed into Max Vilmio, he could blast his way through any wooden barrier, no matter how thick; and that included the so far impregnable gate with its massive beam.
‘Back!’ he shouted, looking round into the darkness and hoping that the remaining members of his small force would be able to hear him. ‘Back to the keep!’
He ran down the stairs of the east tower and out into the middle of the bailey, by the pump. Stopping to see if there had been any reaction, he was relieved to hear the pounding footsteps of at least one of his charges – and a panting voice reiterating ‘Oh Lor’! Oh Lor’!’ as it went past. Jeremy, without a doubt.
He was followed moments later by a sedate trotting. It was Umberto, who passed closely enough to be seen and to see. Catching sight of the Brigadier waiting like the Captain 289
on the bridge of a sinking ship, he nodded to him politely, saying ‘Signore’, and disappeared at an even pace into the darkness.
But where was Mario? An old buffer like him might have been totally knocked sideways by the events of the last few hours, thought the Brigadier. He’d better go and see. It couldn’t be long before Vilmio made his next move.
But even as he heard a heavy thump on the gate, followed by the smell of burning wood, his uncle’s voice was borne thankfully towards him from the direction of the west tower.
‘Put me down! You think I am fireman to be lifted thus?
Put me down, I say!’
Roberto, who was proceeding in a stumbling rush with Mario slung across his shoulders, did not attempt to argue.
When he saw the Brigadier, he thankfully dumped his burden on the ground and together, one to each arm, they ran the little old man, legs dangling like a protesting toddler, to the relative safety of the keep.
Umberto was waiting by the iron-clad door in true butler style. But even as he slammed it, the whole bailey was lit up by the glare of the gate exploding into flame.
The Brigadier led the way at a run upstairs to the great hall where they would be able to see from the window what was going on. Already the light of the burning gate had 290
faded away as the entire structure vaporized. But it was possible to see quite clearly by the light of the moon rising from the eastern horizon the giant figure of Max Vilmio silhouetted in the empty archway of the gatehouse.
He stood for a moment, surveying his conquered territory, lightly balanced on the balls of his feet, ready for anything; and then moved forward into the moonlight.
‘With any luck, the door of the keep may hold,’ breathed the Brigadier, as if the enemy might be able to hear him through the thick stone walls.
‘Couldn’t we, oh, negotiate – or parley – or something?’
said Jeremy in a quaver. Nobody bothered to answer him.
Max was now in the middle of the open space. He stopped.
‘Hold on to your hats,’ said the Brigadier.
But at that moment, the sound came up the stairs of the bolts of the front door being drawn back, and the clanging crash of the door itself being flung open.
The Brigadier threw a glance behind him. ‘Where’s Mario?’ he said.
Then they saw him, dancing into view below them, skipping forward towards the static figure by the pump.
‘Good grief,’ said the Brigadier, ‘he’s got his blunderbuss!’
291
Max raised his left arm and pointed it at the little man.
But Mario was quicker; he’d already aimed his outrageous gun. He pulled the trigger.
The effect was surprising. As the assorted missiles tore into Max, he staggered back with a cry. Several bloody gashes had appeared across his face; and he threw his hands up to his eyes in a gesture that said quite plainly that they had been hit.
He took his arms down and spread them out in a questing manner, his head held back like Samson after his eyes had been gouged from his head.
With no attempt to aim, he let fly a bolt of fire from his left hand. But even if it had not wildly and harmlessly struck the stones