Timeline - Michael Crichton [191]
Chris fumbled under his doublet, reaching for his pouch.
De Kere snapped his fingers impatiently. “Come on, come on, hurry up.”
“Just a minute,” Chris said.
“You guys are all the same,” de Kere said. “Just like Doniger. You know what Doniger said? Don’t worry, Rob, we’re making new technology that will fix you up. It’s always new technology that will fix you up. But he didn’t make any new technology. He never intended to. He was just lying, the way he always does. My goddamn face.” He touched the scar that ran down the center. “It hurts all the time. Something about the bones. It aches. And my insides are screwed up. Hurts.”
De Kere held out his palm irritably. “Come on. You keep this up, and I’ll kill you now.”
Chris felt his fingers close around the canister. How far away would the gas work? Not at the distance of a sword. But there was no alternative.
Chris took a deep breath, and sprayed the gas. De Kere coughed, more irritated than surprised, and stepped forward. “You asshole,” he said. “You think that’s a bright idea? Real tricky. Tricky boy.”
He poked at Chris with the sword, jabbing him backward. Chris backed up.
“For that, I’m going to cut you open and let you watch your guts spill out.” And he swung upward, but Chris dodged it easily, and he thought, It’s had some effect. He sprayed again, closer to de Kere’s face, then ducked as the sword swung and struck the floor, knocking over one of the basins.
De Kere wobbled, but he was still on his feet. Chris sprayed a third time, and de Kere somehow remained standing. He swung, the blade hissing; Chris dodged it, but the blade sliced his arm above the right elbow. Blood dripped from the wound, spattering on the floor. The canister fell from his hand.
De Kere grinned. “Tricks don’t work here,” he said. “This is the real thing. Real sword. Watch it happen, pal.”
He prepared to swing again. He was still unsteady, but growing stronger quickly. Chris ducked as the blade whined over his head and slashed into the stacked bags of powder. The air was filled with gray particles. Chris stepped back again, and this time felt his foot against a basin on the floor. He started to kick it aside, then noticed its weight beneath his foot. It wasn’t one of the powder basins, it was a heavy paste. And it had a harsh smell. He recognized it immediately: it was the smell of quicklime.
Which meant the basin at his feet was filled with automatic fire.
Quickly, Chris bent over and lifted the basin in his hands.
De Kere paused.
He knew what it was.
Chris took the moment of hesitation and threw the basin directly at de Kere’s face. It struck him in the chest, the brown paste spattering his face and arms and body.
De Kere snarled.
Chris needed water. Where was there water? He looked around, desperate, but he already knew the answer: there was no water in this room. He was backed into a corner now. De Kere smiled. “No water?” he said. “Too bad, tricky boy.” He held his sword horizontally in front of him, and moved forward. Chris felt the stone against his back, and knew that he was finished. At least the others might get away.
He watched de Kere approach, slowly, confidently. He could smell de Kere’s breath; he was close enough to spit on him.
Spit on him.
In the instant that he thought it, Chris spat on de Kere—not in the face, but in the chest. De Kere snorted, disgusted: the kid couldn’t even spit. Wherever spittle touched the paste, it began to smoke and sputter.
De Kere looked down, horrified.
Chris spat again. And again.
The hissing was louder. There were the first sparks. In a moment, de Kere would burst into flames. Frantic, de Kere brushed at the paste with his fingers, but only spread it; now it was sizzling and crackling on his fingertips, from the moisture of his skin.
“Watch it happen, pal,” Chris said.
He ran for the door. Behind him, he heard a whump! as de Kere burst into flame. Chris glanced back to see that the knight’s entire upper body was engulfed in fire. De Kere was staring at him through the flames.
Then Chris ran. As hard and as fast as he could,