Not again, Blade reflected, sprinting to the stand and barging through the slender trees. Not until he broke from cover and saw the mausoleums did he realize he was at the border of the yard.
There was no sign of the thing.
Damn!
Furious at losing it, Blade walked into the open and looked in all directions. Where had the creature gone? Despite its demonstrated fleetness, the thing couldn't have crossed the yard in the time he took to reach the edge of the woods. Was it hiding behind one of the tombs?
Unslinging the rifle, he moved to the nearest mausoleum and circled it.
Nothing.
Blade went to the next, then the next, and nowhere was there a clue to the creature's whereabouts. Mystified, he moved to the middle of the yard and halted. Now he didn't have any proof to show Hickok and Geronimo.
All that effort had been wasted.
A sharp gust of wind from the north caused the trees to rustle and brought something with it—the faint sound of music.
Shocked, Blade gazed at the darkened castle. Were his ears playing tricks on him or did he really hear the soft strains of a melodious instrumental wafting through the air? As he strode toward the structure, the volume increased slightly. There could be no doubt. Somewhere in the bowels of the edifice someone was playing music.
He considered fetching his friends and letting them hear for themselves, but what if the music stopped before they came back? Neither of them would believe him. They'd laugh in his face and claim he was going off the deep end, and being humiliated once a night was more than enough for him.
Blade debated whether to investigate further, then thought of his friends slumbering unprotected back at camp. Reluctantly, he retraced his footsteps. At daybreak he would return to the castle and find a way in.
Somehow, he intuitively knew the secret to the many mysteries they'd encountered lay within that foreboding monument from ancient times.
He covered half the distance when a guttural snarl off to his left drew him up short. Was it a mutation or a normal predator? His eyes roving over the murky vegetation, he proceeded warily. Between the 45-70 and his Bowies he should be able to handle anything that came along except for dinosaur-sized beasts with glowing red eyes.
Blade reached the camp without mishap and found his buddies still sleeping peacefully. He immediately fed fuel to the fire, and when the flames were high enough he sat back and draped his forearms on his knees. Jenny's beautiful image filled his thoughts, so he spent the next hour reviewing their disagreement over when to bind and another argument they'd had over what to name their first boy. She'd been so proud of him after his Naming, and a discussion about the importance of selecting the perfect name led to a consideration of the ones they'd want to bestow on their own children. Both of them liked Judy or Lisa for a girl, but they clashed where their future male offspring were concerned. Jenny wanted to call their firstborn boy Gabriel. Blade wanted a more colorful name, but his wife-to-be absolutely refused to have any son of hers be called Tarzan.
The remaining hours until daylight were uneventful. Blade kept the fire roaring, making two additional trips to gather wood before the first streaks of light tinged the eastern sky. He rose and stretched, grateful the night was over.
Unexpectedly, from the direction of the castle, came a series of three strident, sustained musical notes.
Hickok and Geronimo were on their feet before the sounds faded. The gunman's hands hovered over his Colts as he swung from side to side, not yet fully awake but trying to identify the source of the noise.
"What the blazes was that?"
"Sounded like a bugle or a trumpet," Blade speculated.
"Who'd be playing music at this time of day?" Hickok asked grumpily.
"They should have their head examined."
"This day begins as strangely as the last one ended," Geronimo commented.
"I'm glad both of you heard that bugle," Blade said.
"You are?" Geronimo responded.
"Yep. Because now you'll believe me when I tell you I heard music last night when I was standing near the mausoleums."
Geronimo was all interest. "What were you doing there?"
"I chased one of those nymphs."
A protracted groan issued from Hickok. "Terrific," he muttered. "I'm not up five minutes and already we're talking about the phantom fairies."
"Why don't we eat breakfast, then investigate the castle," Blade suggested.
"Do we get to kick in the door if no one answers our knock?" Hickok inquired.
"Yes. I get the feeling someone is playing us for fools, and I want to get to the bottom of this whole business."
"Okay. Then count me in, pard."
Blade picked up his rifle. "I'll go bag us some game."
"There's no need to go hunting on my account," Geronimo said. "I like to eat a light meal in the morning. Jerky and water will do me just fine."
"Same here. I'm not in the mood for stuffed pigeon with all the trimmings," Hickok added.
"Suit yourself."
They sat near the fire and munched on the venison while all around them the woodland came alive with the songs of birds and the rustling of animals.
"Tell me more about the thing you went after?" Hickok prompted.
"There's not much to reveal because I couldn't get a good look at it. All I know is the creature is light colored and runs faster than I do."
"Must be part cheetah," Geronimo quipped.
"Why didn't you shoot the critter?" Hickok asked.
"It didn't make a move to attack. Besides, what if the thing is part human?" Blade replied.
"Then it shouldn't be waltzin' around monster-infested country in the middle of nowhere," Hickok declared. "Any lamebrain stupid enough to pull such a stunt deserves to have his fool head blown off."
Geronimo glanced at the buckskin-clad Warrior. "Need I point out that we are waltzing around monster-infected country in the middle of nowhere?"
"It's different with us."
"How so?"
"We know what we're doing."
Geronimo turned to Blade. "Did any of that make sense to you?"
"No."
"Good. For a second there, I thought it was me."
"Was that another cut?" Hickok wanted to know.
After finishing their meal, they doused the fire, donned their backpacks and tramped toward the castle. Geronimo took the lead. On all sides birds greeted the rising of the sun by joining in full chorus.
Breathing in the crisp air, Blade felt invigorated. Gone were the doubts and subtle fears of the night before. He was supremely confident they'd be able to deal with any threat, overcome any obstacle.
Geronimo constantly searched for tracks. When they reached the general area where the red-eyed monstrosity had been, he crouched. "Hey, take a look at this."
Butterflies fluttered in Blade's stomach when he laid eyes on more of the gigantic three-toed tracks.
"Now we know what makes those," Hickok remarked.
"These seem a bit smaller than the ones we saw yesterday," Geronimo mentioned.
"They look the same to me," the gunfighter said.
"What's your opinion, Blade?" Geronimo asked.
The giant pursed his lips thoughtfully. He honestly couldn't decide whether there was a size difference, but he did know he didn't like the idea of two of the brutes being abroad. "I don't know," he said.
"We're lucky none have shown up near the Home," Geronimo stated.
Hickok chuckled. "If we're lucky, maybe some of those wood nymphs will follow us back to the compound. We can set a snare and catch one of the rascals. I'm sure the rest of the Family will be tickled pink to see a genuine wonder in person. Or whatever."
"I can't wait until you see one yourself," Blade said.
"I hope you won't get upset if I don't hold my breath."
Geronimo took the point again, his eyes glued to the soil. "If there were other creatures here last night, they didn't leave a single
footprint?"
" If?" Blade repeated.
"You know what I mean."
"Certainly. You're a graduate of the Hickok school of blathering idiocy."
"Whoa!" Hickok exclaimed. "Now that definitely was a cut."
"Perish forbid."
The gunfighter snickered. "No doubt about it. You've definitely been spendin' too much time with Plato. You're startin' to use the same highfalutin words he does."
"At least he speaks English."
"Wow. Another cut. You're on a roll, pard."
A short while later they were close enough to distinguish the large individual stones composing the battlement. In anxious silence they neared the east side of the castle when they heard a familiar sound.
The buzzing of the miniature plane.
Chapter Seven
Warily the three youths neared the castle wall, using every available cover. At the edge of the forest, when they hid behind trees and scanned the blue sky, it didn't take long to spot their aerial nemesis.
The small plane was flying in a circle around the castle, just above the turrets, continually performing the same pattern.
"What do you reckon it's doing?" Hickok whispered.
"Looking for us," Geronimo guessed.
Blade regarded the aircraft solemnly. Whoever controlled the plane would employ it to try and stop them from entering. He'd made the mistake of letting the craft dive-bomb them yesterday; he wasn't about to let history repeat itself. "Gernimo, take it down."
"With pleasure," the Blackfoot replied, raising the Winchester to his right shoulder. He patiently aimed, tracking the craft's flight and waiting for the right moment.
"We don't have all day," Hickok said.
"Hold your horses," Geronimo retorted. The plane was over the southeast turret, its tiny propeller a blur, moving faster than a bird in flight. He inhaled deeply, steadied the barrel and fired.
A shower of sparks and metal exploded from the center of the aircraft, and it went into a steep spiral, tendrils of black and white smoke trailing in its wake. Narrowly missing the rampart, the plane slanted toward the edge of the woods, diving straight at the trio.
Blade awoke to the danger first. Such a small craft posed little threat, but the load it undoubtedly carried did. "Scatter" he shouted, turning and dashing northward. He prayed the others were doing the same. Five yards he covered. Ten. A wide tree trunk on the right offered the sanctuary he needed, and he ducked behind it at the same second the aircraft hit the earth.
The resultant explosion was deafening. Trees buckled or shook. The very ground trembled as if from a quake. Dust and leaves and bits of wood formed a choking cloud vastly larger than the one before.
Hugging the grass, Blade felt the ground move under him. He held his mouth down low to avoid breathing in the swirling cloud and waited for it to disperse. Dirt and jagged pieces of timber rained down, covering him from head to toe. Impatient to learn the fate of his friends, he peered at the spot where the plane struck but saw no movement.
Gradually the cloud dissipated. Blade rose and moved closer to the impact point. "Geronimo! Hickok! Where are you?"
Silence greeted his cry.
Over a dozen trees had been toppled or shattered by the explosion and littered the ground in a jumbled mass. Falling leaves formed a carpet over everything.
"Hickok! Geronimo!" Blade called out again.
"Over here," the Blackfoot responded, appearing from behind an oak situated 20 yards to the south.
"Where's Nathan?"
Geronimo blinked. "I don't know. I thought he was with you."
"I haven't seen him since we took cover."
They walked slowly toward the center of the blast area, scouring the tangled trunks and branches.
"Hickok!" Geronimo yelled. "Answer us!"
Anxiety tugged at Blade's mind. If anything had happened to the colorful gunfighter, he'd never forgive himself. The idea to travel to the castle had been exclusively his; he was directly responsible for the fate of his friends. He shoved a busted section of limb aside and bent down to peer under a fallen tree resting on top of another downed monarch of the forest.
"Hickok! Hickok!" Geronimo kept shouting, turning every which way.
"Quit playing games and tell us where you're at."
No answer was forthcoming.
Not until the two of them reached the middle of the flattened vegetation did Geronimo voice the concern uppermost on their minds.
"What if he's dead?"
"We won't stop searching until we find him."
"He must be buried under one of these trees," Geronimo guessed.
"Maybe he was flattened like a pancake."
Blade scanned the ground, dreading the very thought. "We don't know that," he said gruffly. "Don't assume the worst."
"He might be a royal pain in the neck sometimes, but deep down he's one of the most decent guys I know," Geronimo lamented. "You couldn't ask for a more loyal friend."
"Will you quit talking like he's dead?" Blade snapped.
Geronimo began moving brush, his features downcast. "I'd never tell him to his face, but I'm proud to know him. To tell the truth, I even liked his sense of humor."
From ten yards to the east, from under a pile of shorn branches and uprooted vegetation, came a triumphant bellow. "Aha! I heard that!"
"Uh-oh," Geronimo said.
Blade hastened over and got there just as the gunfighter succeeded in shoving the branches off and slowly stood. "Are you okay?"
"Oh, sure," Hickok replied, coughing. "I love being blown to smithereens."
"What happened?"
"I don't want to talk about it," Hickok stated, checking to ensure his prized revolvers were still in their holsters.
Blade brushed several leaves from the lean youth's left shoulder. "You had us worried to death. Why didn't you answer when we were shouting?
The least you can do is explain."
Hickok bowed his head as if ashamed. "I tripped," he mumbled.
"You what?"
"Tripped. I was runnin' to beat the band when my foot got caught on this bush and down I went. Then the blamed plane hit, and I felt certain my number was up. The concussion must have knocked me out for a bit, because the next thing I knew I heard voices and there you guys were yakkin' about me."
"You were lucky," Blade said.
"Tell me about it."
Geronimo walked toward them, snickering. "Did I hear correctly, clumsy? You tripped?"
"And did I hear you say that you like my sense of humor?" Hickok countered.
"Me? Give me a break. The explosion rattled your brain."
"I heard you," Hickok stated. "Don't try to weasel your way out of this."
The Blackfoot straightened up indignantly. "Indians never weasel."
"Do they lie?"
"Definitely not."
"Then you're not an Indian."
"All right, already," Blade interjected. "We have more important things to concern us than Hickok's sense of humor."
"See?" The gunfighter beamed. "Even you admit I have one."
Sighing, Blade pivoted and started toward the castle. His gaze alighted on the base of the east wall, and surprise halted him in midstride. "Look!"
he exclaimed. The others focused on the building. Where before there stood a solid wall, there was now a wide crack running from the ground to a height of ten feet. The force of the explosion had wrenched the very foundation, causing the massive stones to shift and split . A yard wide at the bottom, the crack tapered to a few inches at the top. Beyond lay impenetrable darkness.
Stunned by the discovery, the three of them converged on the wall.
"I don't see nothing movin' in there," Hickok commented.
"Are we going in?" Geronimo asked.
"I am," Blade declared. "You two can stay outside if you want."
"What's that crack supposed to mean?" Hickok demanded. "One for all, remember? Where you go, big guy, we go."
"I
hate to say this," Geronimo said, "but Nathan is right."
The gunfighter chuckled. "Am I on a roll, or am I on a roll?"
Blade trained the Marlin on the opening and listened for strains of music or other sounds from within, but all he heard was the whisper of the breeze. He stopped at the wall and felt a cool draft on his face. A dank scent tingled his nostrils.
"Looks like the inside of Geronimo's noggin' in there," Hickok noted.
"Want me to make a torch?" the Blackfoot volunteered.
"Go ahead," Blade directed. He tentatively leaned into the crack and distinguished the outlines of a wide corridor but no sign of life. The interior resembled a tomb.
"I imagine whoever owned the flyin' contraption is a bit riled at us right about now," Hickok mentioned. "We'd best be extra careful."
"At least we won't have to worry about them using explosives on us when we're inside," Blade said.
"True, but who knows what other tricks these yahoos have up their sleeves?"
Blade leaned against the wall and waited for Geronimo to construct a makeshift torch.
First the Blackfoot selected a suitable length of straight limb, then chomped off the thin offshoots. Next he went to a pine tree and hacked away a section of bark, exposing the sap-coated trunk. Quickly he rubbed the thick end of the limb back and forth across the sap until it was caked with the sticky substance. Pivoting, he began collecting dried leaves into a pile. Once he had enough, he placed the end of the limb in the middle of the pile and used his left hand to pack the leaves onto the sap. Finally, he started a small fire with his flint, dipped the torch into the flames until it caught, then stamped out the fire.
"Here we go," Geronimo said, rejoining them.
Hickok feigned a yawn. "Is it still the twenty-first century?"
"Very funny."
"Let's go," Blade declared, easing through the crack. He moved a few feet and waited for the others. The moment Geronimo entered, the flickering torchlight illuminated the high corridor for a considerable distance, revealing stone walls and a stone floor.
"Reminds me of a cave," Hickok commented.
"Don't let your guard down for an instant," Blade cautioned, leading the way. He spied a recessed doorway on the right and stealthily headed toward it, bothered by the pervasive silence. There should be noise of some kind. He knew people were living there; he'd seen one of them. So where were they?
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