"That's our girl," I said. "What happened after that?"
He pointed next door. "She went into Mrs. Rotariu's boarding-house, stayed quite a while."
I jumped out of the car. "Okay, let's go."
Doc stayed right where he was. "You said she stayed quite a while. Did you see her come out then?"
"I sure did. Came over and said goodbye to me. Then she called a taxi. Boy, that lady sure can whistle!"
"I don't suppose you happened to overhear..."
"Palace Hotel on West Fifty-First Street," said the old guy.
Doc looked at me. "Do you know it?"
"I know it," I said. "We'd better get moving."
Doc still didn't move. He was looking hard at the old man. "If there's anything else you can tell us..."
"I don't like to mess in other folks" business, but that young lady treated me real nice. You sure you're friends of hers?"
"I give you my word."
"After she mashed Mr. Ricotti and went off next door, some other man appeared in the shop and helped him up. They was whispering together quite a while, then Mr. Ricotti made some phone calls. I was out in the workroom so I couldn't hear so good. But it sounded like they was planning something - something to do with the lady. Mr. Ricotti went and got changed, then he drove off in his car."
"What about the other man?" asked Doc.
"He just kind of disappeared. Didn't see him come, didn't see him go."
"What did he look like?"
Somehow I knew the answer, even before the old man spoke. "He was a tall, skinny guy..."
"Thank you," said the Doctor and jumped back in the car. I reached for my pocket but the old man shook his head. "You just go and take good care of that young lady."
As we drove away I said, "She'll be okay, Doc. I'll be surprised if the place is still standing." I tried to sound cheerful but I was worried sick.
Doc wasn't fooled. "I know just how capable Ace is, Mr. Dekker, but she's inclined to be headstrong. And from what we've heard, she was walking into a trap."
Ace awoke with a thick head and a furry tongue and found she was looking at herself.
The self she was looking at lay flat on its back on a purple quilt, and it was wearing black silk teddies: a combined vest- and-pants garment Ace had bought when she first came to Chicago. That was all the figure was wearing, and Ace wondered fuzzily how she came to be lying on a strange bed in only her underwear.
She remembered the doped coffee and came wide awake. She was looking at her own reflection in a mirror on the ceiling - and someone was looking down at her. It was the blonde woman from the boarding house. She'd changed her ratty fur for a shabby red silk evening gown.
Ace struggled to a sitting position, hugging her knees under her chin. "Who took my clothes?"
"I did, honey," said the woman. "With some help from Tony Ricotti - the guy you beat up in the flower shop. I think he enjoyed it." She saw the look on Ace's face and laughed. "Don't worry, nothing else happened, not yet. Tony wanted you to be awake so's you'd enjoy it, and Little Charley downstairs made the Mickey too strong."
"Give me back my clothes."
"They're in the pawnshop, honey, three blocks away. You won't need many clothes in your new career."
Ace swung her legs off the side of the bed and stood up. The woman backed away.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"Out of here."
"Like that?"
"I'm not shy," said Ace.
The woman pressed a bell in the wall and Tony Ricotti appeared. There was another man with him, a shambling pasty-faced giant with a round head and blobby features.
"There you are, Joe," said Ricotti. "Ain't she worth every last dollar you paid me?"
The man called Joe nodded. "Sure is!" he said in a husky voice.
"Only me first, right?" said Ricotti.
"Maybe you better let me give you some help, on account of she's so tough..."
The two men moved towards her. Ace backed away. There was so little room, and there were two of them, three with the woman.
They heard shots from downstairs.
I parked the Buick by a fire-hydrant right outside the Palace Hotel and we both jumped out.
"When we get inside just let me handle things," I said.
Doc wasn't listening. We marched through the lobby and into the bar where a handful of hard-looking types were sitting down at the tables, knocking back their booze and chatting to a bunch of dames who looked even tougher than they did.
I'd planned to order drinks and make a few discreet enquiries, but Doc was in no mood for discretion. He pulled the sawn-off from under his coat and fired one barrel into the ceiling. "If I could have your attention please?"
He had that all right. It was as quiet as a morgue in the off season.
"We're looking for a young lady who's being held here by force," said Doc. "Hand her over and we'll be on our way. No one has to get hurt."
The bartender grabbed for something under the bar. Doc blasted liquor bottles from the shelves, firing close enough to the guy's head to part his hair with buckshot. He broke the sawn-off and reloaded in one swift movement.
I reached over the bar and took the gun from the stunned bartender's hand. "Hey Doc, this is Ace's Browning!" I grabbed the bartender's tie and hauled him over the counter. "Where is she, creep?"
He was choking too much to answer, but he pointed frantically upwards. We heard a shot and a scream from upstairs.
"Cover me, Doc!" I yelled, and saw him backing towards the door. I pulled out my .45 and ran for the stairs, a gun in each hand. I took the stairs two at a time and paused at the top. Another scream came from down the corridor, and I saw light spilling out from an open door.
I sprinted along the corridor and looked into the room. There was a blonde dame by the door, a gun on the floor and a heaving pile of bodies on the bed. I kicked the gun into the corner, threw the dame out into the corridor and she squawked and ran off. I turned my attention to the bed.
The pile seemed to made up of two guys, with a lot of bare female arms and legs underneath. The guy nearest to me had a big round head I thought I recognized. I slammed the barrel of the .45 against it hard. Joe Saltis grunted, went limp and rolled off the bed.
I grabbed for the other man, but Ace was already taking care of him. She had two long bare legs wrapped around his neck in a scissor-lock. As I watched she gave a final squeeze and the guy went limp., Ace disentangled herself and scrambled to her feet.
"What kept you, Dekker?"
I looked admiringly at what was left of her outfit. "You certainly take this Lady in Black thing seriously."
She gave me a belt on the ear, threw herself into my arms and kissed me, then burst into tears. I stood hugging her for a moment and I'm damned if I wasn't nearly crying too.
Ace looked up at me and smiled through her tears. "What the hell's going on here, Dekker? We're supposed to be tough."
"We are tough," I said. I yanked open the wardrobe, grabbed a purple silk robe and tossed it to Ace, passing her the Browning at the same time.
She slipped into the robe and we ran along the corridor and down the stairs. Doc was still making like Wyatt Earp at the door to the bar. He heard us coming down and backed towards us, still covering the bar with the shotgun.
We crossed the lobby and just as we reached the main door a voice croaked, "Hold it, you bitch!"
I looked up and saw the guy Ace had throttled at the top of the stairs. He looked in pretty bad shape, but he'd got his breath and his gun back. He shook his head and staggered a little, the gun barrel waving to and fro.
We all three froze - but we all had guns in our hands. I could feel Ace tense as she prepared to fire.
Doc said, "Ace."
In a low voice Ace said, "He took off my clothes when I was unconscious. He was coming back to rape me."
"Is that a reason to kill him?"
Ace sighed. "I suppose not."
"The he
ll it isn't," I said.
The guy fired - and missed. I put two slugs through his pump and he fell backwards out of sight. We went out of the door and headed for the Buick. No one followed us.
21 THE BATTLE
A group of armed and angry men had gathered in the rebel HQ. A fierce debate was raging. Some wanted to dig in and defend the dome. Others, led by Tarak, were all for going on the attack.
Romana suggested a third option. "Why don't you send a messenger under a flag of truce and ask for a meeting?"
"I won't ask anyone to volunteer to be killed," said Tarak. "The Black Guard would hang any messenger from us on sight."
"I'll go myself if you're all afraid."
Tarak shook his head. "There's nothing to say, not now." He glanced towards Kalmar's cubicle, where the old man's cleaned-up body lay in state, candles burning at head and feet.
"Of course there is," said Romana. She looked round the circle of angry faces. "Tarak, did you kill Lord Veran? Did anyone here kill him?" There was no reply. "Exactly - and yet the Lords and the Black Guard are all convinced you did, just as you're all convinced the Lords killed Kalmar."
"So they did," said Tarak. "Them or their damned Black Guard."
"Suppose you're both wrong? Suppose some third force killed them both, to get you and the Lords slaughtering each other?"
Tarak had different ideas. "I think Lord Veran genuinely wanted peace. Some other Lords didn't agree. One of them killed him, knowing I'd get the blame, and killed Kalmar as well to make sure we'd fight. Well, if war's what they want they can have it. Once we've defeated them, we can talk peace from a position of strength."
"If there's anyone left to talk," said Bernice, but no one took any notice.
There was the sound of voices at the entrance and Ivo came into the dome.
Romana hurried over to him. "Ivo, where have you been? I was beginning to worry."
"When you told me what had happened, I slipped away and hid out near the inn. I was able to get close enough to overhear their plans." He turned to Tarak. "They're going to attack you here, tonight. The whole Company, led by Varis and Lord Yarven."
"How long?"
"They were just starting to form up when I left."
"Then we can't stay here," said Tarak. "They'll just bottle us up and wait till we come out to be slaughtered or starve to death. We'll split up into small groups and take them in the forest, it's our only chance." He clapped Ivo on the shoulder. "Like old times with my father, eh Ivo?"
"I'd hoped those times were over," said Ivo. "Still, if we must fight, we must ... and we'd better win."
As the guerillas made their plans, Bernice said disgustedly, "No use talking to them now. Once men start playing soldiers ... What do we do now?"
"I'm going to slip away as soon as I can. You'd better come with me."
"Where to?"
"There's another Tower, a real one not a spaceship, on the far side of the forest. It belongs to one of the wealthiest and most powerful of the Lords. His name's Sargon."
"Whose side is he on?"
"He's been neutral so far. He's a scholar, a student of the Dark Times. He says that before the planet's past can be dealt with it must first be faced. He's even got a vampire museum in his castle. If we can only get him on our side..."
Bernice became aware of the weight of the signalling device in her pocket. "Shouldn't we send for the Doctor?"
"And land him in the middle of a pitched battle? What could he do except get killed? No, the situation's still too confused and we know too little. When things calm down and we've got more information..."
"You'd like to settle all this without the Doctor if you can, wouldn't you? Send for him when it's all over and say voila!"
"Yes, as a matter of fact I would," said Romana frankly. "But I'm not going to be stupid about it. As soon as I'm convinced the Doctor can help I'll send for him."
Bernice wasn't entirely convinced, but she decided to bide her time. Already Tarak's men were slipping away into the darkness in little groups. As the last party left Tarak said, "I'd advise you two to stay here. I can't leave anyone to guard you, I need every man."
"We don't need looking after," said Bernice. "We can take care of ourselves."
Tarak hurried away, but Ivo lingered for a moment. "Goodbye Lady Bernice, Lady Romana. I'm sorry it's come to this in spite of all your efforts. I must go with them now, or young Tarak will get them all killed."
"We tried, Ivo," said Romana. "When the time comes, we'll try again. Take care."
As Ivo hurried away down the tunnel, Romana turned to Bernice. "We'll give them a few minutes to get clear, then be on our way."
The Company of Black Guards rode through a dark and windy night, with a pale moon only occasionally visible through the storm-tossed clouds. On the edge of the forest, Captain Varis halted his men. "Take extra care from this point, all of you. In open country the advantage is with us, and we'll be in the open again when we get through the forest. Until then, keep a good look out."
"No need to worry lads," said Lord Yarven. "The peasants will still be skulking in their den. Let's go and burn them out!" Varis gave him an angry look, but there was nothing he could do. Yarven's rank allowed him to say and do what he wished with no fear of reproof.
The Company rode into the deeper darkness of the woods. On and on they rode, the trees seeming to close in around them. But there was no sign of the enemy.
Varis and Lord Yarven rode at the head of the column. Varis was tense and alert, gazing continually about him, looking back over his shoulder to check that the column was keeping together. Lord Yarven however trotted along easily, as if he was out on a hunting trip or some pleasure jaunt.
He caught Varis's anxious gaze and smiled, teeth gleaming white in his bearded face. "I tell you there's nothing to worry about, my boy. This peasant rabble won't dare to attack a full patrol."
Varis wasn't so sure. Arrogant and overbearing as he was, he was an experienced soldier and a good commander. All his instincts told him that this was the time of maximum danger for his men.
"I'll be happier once we're out of the woods," he said, and suddenly realized the origin of that all too common phrase.
A forest is an uneasy place for mounted men. Confined to paths and tracks by the trees, they lose their freedom of action. With no room to turn they can't even retreat. They must ride on to face whatever awaits them. What awaited most of the men of this Guard Company was death.
It came first in the brief glimpse of a cloaked figure between the trees and the hiss of an arrow. A guard clutched his throat and fell from his horse. The horse reared, panicking those in front and behind it, and cursing riders fought to keep control of their horses.
More arrows sped through the trees and more men fell. A rope snaked out and dragged a rider choking from his horse. The waiting knife of a grey-cloaked guerilla finished him off before he could rise.
Ivo stepped from cover and swung his great staff like a club, smashing a rider clean out of the saddle.
In a fight in the open a cavalryman's main weapon is his horse, which he uses to ride his opponent down. Here in the forest the plunging, rearing horses were useless, as Varis soon realized. "Dismount, lads!" he roared. "Let the horses go and fight on foot. Form squares, back to back and defend each other!"
The soldiers slid from their panic-stricken horses and let them gallop clear. Back to back, in little groups of two and three, they met the attacking guerillas on foot.
Very soon the battle in the darkness started to even out. The soldiers were better armed, better disciplined, better protected in their jerkins of steel and leather. They might not be able to defeat their half-seen attackers, but at least they could stand them off. Swords and pikes flashed in the forest gloom as the desperate soldiers fought savagely for their lives, cutting and thrusting at the grey-cloaked figures.
Varis ran his sword through the body of an overconfident guerilla, kicked the dying man away with a booted f
oot and wrenched his sword free. Beside him Lord Yarven fought with ferocious efficiency, running his opponent neatly through the throat.
The guerillas began to fall back and some of the soldiers started to follow them. Varis saw the danger at once. In the depths of the forest the little groups of soldiers risked being cut off and cut down. "Fall back!" he called. "Fall back and regroup at the edge of the forest!"
As the retreat began, Varis thought grimly that at least he'd managed to avoid total disaster. True, he'd lost all his horses and some of his men - just how many he couldn't yet tell. But a fair number seemed to be still on their feet somewhere around him, falling back through the forest.
Then the vampires came.
They appeared silently from out of the darkness of the forest behind the retreating soldiers, sinking long sharp fangs into unprotected necks between jerkin and helmet. The spurting blood looked black in the fitful moonlight that filtered down between the trees.
Swinging round to face this new enemy, Varis saw shadowy figures all around him, cutting off any retreat. The figures had white faces, glittering eyes and long white fangs - though by now many of the fangs were red with blood. Some of the vampires wore flowing black cloaks, others were dressed in the rotting finery of their rank, richly ornamented robes and tunics now mouldering and decayed.
"Grave clothes!" thought Varis. "These are the clothes they were buried in, and now they've come back."
He saw one of his soldiers thrust a knife into the ribs of an attacking vampire, a tall, gaunt female whose skeletal limbs showed horribly through a tattered ball-gown of rotting silk. He saw the vampire pluck the knife from her side, smiling horribly, and launch herself at the terrified soldier, sinking her fangs deep into his neck.
Distracted by the horrible sights all around, Varis failed to see the guerilla who appeared behind him, sword raised.
A black-cloaked vampire sprang up before him, launching itself at his throat. Varis leaped aside, and the vampire collided with the attacking guerilla, bearing him to the ground. Just as satisfied with its new prey, it sank eager fangs into the guerilla's throat.
Doctor Who - [New Adventure 29] - [Vampire Trilogy 2] - Blood Harvest Page 18