Timeline. Part 59

Kate said to Chris, "Do you have the ceramic?"

"Yes. I have it." He brought it out of his pocket, turned it to press the b.u.t.ton.

"There's not enough s.p.a.ce."

"There's s.p.a.ce ...," Chris said.

"No. You need two meters on all sides, remember?"

They were surrounded by fire. "You won't find that anywhere in this courtyard," Marek said.

"That's right," the Professor said. "We have to go to the next courtyard."

Kate looked ahead. The gatehouse leading to the outer courtyard was forty yards away. But within the gatehouse, the portcullis was up. In fact, it didn't look as if the gate was guarded at all; the soldiers had all abandoned it, to fight the intruders.

"How much time?"

"Five minutes."

"Okay," the Professor said. "Let's get moving."

They moved at a trot through the fiery courtyard, sidestepping flames and battling soldiers. The Professor and Kate were in the lead. Marek, wincing with the pain in his leg, followed behind. And Chris, worried about Marek, brought up the rear.

Kate reached the first gate. There were no guards at all. They ran through the gate, pa.s.sing beneath the spikes of the raised portcullis. They entered the middle courtyard. "Oh no," Kate said.

All of Oliver's soldiers were garrisoned in the middle court, and there seemed to be hundreds of knights and pages running back and forth, shouting to the men on the battlements, carrying weapons and provisions.

"No room here," the Professor said. "We'll have to go through the next gate. Outside the castle."

"Outside?" Kate said. "We'll never even get across this courtyard."

Marek came hobbling up, panting. He took one look at the courtyard and said, "h.o.a.rding."

"Yes," the Professor said, nodding. He pointed up at the walls. "The h.o.a.rding."

The h.o.a.rding was the enclosed wooden pa.s.sageway built along the outside rim of the walls. It was a covered fighting platform that enabled soldiers to shoot down at attacking troops. They might be able to move along the h.o.a.rding and make their way to the far side of the courtyard, and the far gatehouse.

Marek said, "Where's Chris?"

They looked back into the central courtyard.

They didn't see him anywhere.

Chris had been following Marek, thinking that perhaps he would have to carry Marek and wondering whether he could, when suddenly he was shoved to one side, slammed bodily against a wall. He heard a voice behind him say in perfect English, "Not you, pal. You stay here." And he felt the point of a sword jabbed in his back.

He turned to see Robert de Kere standing in front of him, holding his sword. De Kere grabbed him roughly by the collar, shoved him against another wall. Chris saw with alarm that they were just outside the a.r.s.enal. With the courtyard in flames, this was not the place to be.

De Kere didn't seem to care. He smiled. "In fact," he said, "none of you b.a.s.t.a.r.ds are going anywhere."

"Why is that?" Chris said, keeping his eye on the sword.

"Because you have their marker, pal."

"No I don't."

"I can hear your transmissions, remember?" De Kere held out his hand. "Come on, give it to me."

He grabbed Chris again, and shoved him through the door. Chris stumbled into the a.r.s.enal. It was empty now, the soldiers having fled. All around him were stacked bags of gunpowder. The basins where the soldiers had been grinding still lay on the floor.

"Your f.u.c.king Professor," de Kere said, seeing the bowls. "Think you know so much. Give it to me."

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 G.o.dd.a.m.n face." He touched the scar that ran down the center. "It hurts all the time. Something about the bones. It aches 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 a.s.shole," 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! 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. 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, he ran. Away from the a.r.s.enal.

At the middle gate, the others saw him running toward them. He was waving his hands. They didn't understand why. They stood in the center of the gate, waiting for him to catch up.

He was shouting, "Go, go!" and gesturing for them to move around the corner. Marek looked back, and saw flames begin to leap up through the windows of the a.r.s.enal.

"Move!" he said. He pushed the others through the gate and into the next courtyard.

Chris came running through the gate and Marek grabbed his arm, pulling him to cover, just as the a.r.s.enal exploded. A great sphere of flame rose about the wall; the entire courtyard was bathed in fiery light. Soldiers and tents and horses were knocked flat by the shock wave. There was smoke and confusion everywhere.

"Forget the h.o.a.rding," the Professor said. "Let's go." And they ran straight across the courtyard. They could see the final gatehouse directly ahead.

00:02:22.

In the control room, there were screams and cheers. Kramer was jumping up and down. Gordon was pounding Stern on the back. The monitor was showing field fluctuations again. Intense and powerful.

"They're coming home!" Kramer yelled.

Stern looked at the video screens, which showed the tanks in the room below. The technicians had already filled several s.h.i.+elds with water, and the s.h.i.+elds were holding. The remaining tanks were still being filled, though the water level was nearing the top.

"How much time?" he said.

"Two minutes twenty."

"How long to fill the tanks?"

"Two minutes ten."

Stern bit his lip. "We going to make it?"

"You bet your a.s.s we are," Gordon said.

Stern turned back to the field fluctuations. They were growing stronger and clearer, the false colors s.h.i.+mmering on the spikes. The unstable mountain peak was now stable, protruding above the surface, taking form. "How many are coming back?" he said. But he already knew the answer, because the mountain peak was dividing into separate ridges.

"Three," the technician said. "Looks like three coming back."

00:01:44.

The outermost gatehouse was closed: the heavy grill of the portcullis was down and the drawbridge had been raised. Five guards now lay sprawled on the ground, and Marek was raising the portcullis just enough so they could pa.s.s beneath it. But the drawbridge was still shut fast.

"How do we get it open?" Chris said.

Marek was looking at the chains, which ran into the gatehouse itself. "Up there," he said, pointing above. There was a winch mechanism on the second floor.

"You stay here," Marek said. "I'll do it."

"Come right back," Kate said.

"Don't worry. I will."

Hobbling up a spiral staircase, Marek came into a small stone room, narrow and bare, and dominated by the iron winch that raised the drawbridge. Here he saw an elderly man, white-haired, shaking with fear as he held an iron bar in the links of the chain. This iron bar was keeping the drawbridge closed. Marek shoved the old man aside and pulled the bar free. The chain rattled; the drawbridge began to lower. Marek watched it go down. He looked at his counter, and was startled to see that it said 00:01:19.

"Andre." He heard Chris in his earpiece. "Come on."

"I'm on my way."

Marek turned to go. Then he heard running feet, and realized that there were soldiers on the roof of the guardhouse, coming down to see why the drawbridge was being lowered. If he left the room now, they would immediately stop the drawbridge from lowering any farther.

Marek knew what this meant. He had to stay longer.

On the ground floor below, Chris watched the drawbridge as it lowered, chains clanking. Through the opening, he could see dark sky and stars. Chris said, "Andre, come on."

"There's soldiers."

"So?"

"I have to guard the chain."

"What do you mean?" Chris said.

Marek didn't answer. Chris heard a grunt, and a scream of pain. Marek was up there, fighting. Chris watched the drawbridge continue to descend. He looked at the Professor. But the Professor's face was expressionless.