The Guardian

by Christopher Kenworthy

  Carver renewed his assault with the mallet, until the chamber rang with the din, and then tried a third time. This time the staple gave unexpectedly, and he fell backwards, landing on the mallet and bruising his back.

  He swore murderously, and moved his attack to a second set of manacles, and then a third.

  He fastened the wrist rings together to give himself a piece of chain over six feet long, than took it to the trap and found a purchase for one end round one hinge of the trap.

  And then he remembered the television camera.

  “Goddamn!” He peered up at the blank glass eye staring at him from the corner of the cell. There seemed to be no way of telling whether the camera was working or not.

  Maybe with the impending sale, the people above would be too busy to watch their prisoners. After all, they thought Carver and the girls were safely locked away behind the steel gate.

  He smashed the camera lens anyway, and went back into the exercise room.

  “Amy, come and watch the trap. I have to climb down into the oubliette...”

  He broke off as Kiti suddenly convulsed and fell off the chair onto the floor.

  “Jesus! I was right!” He could hardy have more emphatic proof that the escape route was actually in the oubliette than the girl’s instant collapse at the very mention of the word.

  Amy was looking harassed, but no more. Obviously the same degree of conditioning had not been used on her. Or maybe she did not know quite the same amount of detail about the route as Kiti.

  He was still faced with the problem of how to find the entrance to the tunnel or whatever form of escape had been provided. And he did not want to be down the trap without anybody above it to help him get out.

  Amy listened to his explanation, moved Kiti into a more comfortable position on her side, and made sure she had not swallowed her tongue. Then she followed him into the torture chamber. He noticed that after one brief examination, she ignored the imprisoned guards altogether.

  Carver explained what he wanted her to do, and let himself over the edge of the trap, feeling with his feet for the end of the chain. Once he had jammed the manacle there between his feet, he let himself down until his head was below the level of the trap and peered around.

  At once, he saw it. There was a square opening at the very top of the shaft, under the lip of the trap. It was about four feet away from him, and closed with a large metal door rather like an oven door, with a simple latch.

  Carver looked up. From the underside it was obvious that the trap and the stones sealing the top of the shaft had been put in during the reclamation of the castle. The mortar was relatively recent. The shaft itself was a good deal larger than it appeared from above, and had been capped off with a platform of stone, in the centre of which the trapdoor formed the entrance.

  Fastened against the underside of the masonry plug there was a curious device like a hinged cage, with a lever set into its side. Carver reached out and pulled the lever, then grabbed for the cage as it swung towards him.

  It stopped when it hit his body, and he realised that, when in place, it formed a platform four feet lower than the trap.

  Muscles cracking with the strain, he hauled himself past the cage and back up into the torture chamber.

  With the chain and his body out of the way, the cage swung to fill the trap, and locked into place with a spring catch. Gingerly, he lowered himself into it and found himself looking straight at the hidden door. The barred side of the cage formed a bridge between the platform and the door, once in place.

  Carver examined the latch on the door closely, but could see no sign of wiring or any evidence that the door was booby-trapped in any way. After all, he reasoned, why bother? The only people in a position to see it were the wretched victims who had been tossed down the hole, and if they were not dead when thrown in, they would very soon be.

  Trying hard not to inhale more than he needed, he climbed back through the trap yet again, and explained to Amy that they must go down the hole and into the passage beyond.

  “You’d better get Kiti, and try and keep her calm,” he was saying, when there was a sound of movement outside.

  Amy was halfway across the chamber when the door slammed suddenly shut. Carver threw his weight against it, but Kiti must have locked it on the outside.

  Through the thick door, he could just hear the sound of hysterical sobbing, but pounding and shouting produced no other response.

  “I guess she just couldn’t face actually coming in here,” he said to Amy, and turned in time to surprise a look of jeering amusement on the face of Ducher.

  “Don’t laugh too much, dummy, or I’ll drop you over the edge to join the boys below,” he said and watched the jeer vanish instantly.

  “We can’t go without her,” Amy protested.

  “Okay, get her in here,” he said brutally, and when she began to protest angrily: “So you tell me what we do, then.”

  He dropped into the cage, reached out and opened the door into the passage, and flinched back when a sudden half-seen movement in the dark caught the torchlight. A fat rat scuttered off down the passage in front of them. Amy shuddered.

  “I cannot bear rats,” she said in a brittle voice.

  “You don’t seem to mind working for them,” said Carver harshly. He was not keen on rats himself, and the thought of what this particular rat and its friends must live on caused a surge of nausea.

  Eager to get out of the stench, he leaned forward and crawled into the passageway on his hands and knees. A little further forward, he found, the tunnel floor sloped down away from him, though the roof continued on the same level. Twenty yards further on there was a flight of steps, and the tunnel dropped away into the gloom.

  There was a muttered exclamation behind him and Amy cannoned into him.

  “Get on,” she said crossly. “I hate this place.”

  Carver moved to one side and let her past him, then returned to the shaft mouth, checked that the door could be opened from this side and then closed it. Opening the door made a loud scraping noise which would warn them if in her hysteria Kiti decided to change sides again and released the two guards in the torture chamber.

  He doubted if she would even be able to overcome her hysteria enough to open the chamber door, but on the other hand she had shown no hysteria at all before when she had been in the exercise room, and he was at a loss as to why her reaction had been so extreme now.

  It could be to do with the situation in which she found herself, of course. Or maybe the act of breaking away from Sigmund Dark’s domination had ruined her self control.

  Or maybe it was all a trick.

  Ahead, in the darkness, something moved.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  Gehn laid down his Uzi between a tray of canapés and a pyramid of crystal goblets and moved ponderously to his left to start constructing a similar pyramid with goblets taken from a plastic crate.

  He moved ponderously because he was taking enormous care not to turn his back on his employer, or to get too far away from his weapon. He had, it was true, got his Ruger properly holstered on his hip now, but if it came to a shoot out, he would rather have fire power at least equal to Dark. In any case, the wounds in his back hurt, and he was experiencing a surprising shortness of breath.

  The big man was at the far end of the big room, adjusting the hang of a set of coloured drapes which hung between a rail high on the wall and the floor. There were similar drapes in colours of orange, crimson and white all round the Hall, masking the stones and giving the impression that he was in an enormous tent.

  The effect was deliberate, and intended, Dark said, to make the Arab customers feel at home. It also made the place look less grim.

  On previous sale days it had also concealed the guards from the guests, though not the guests from the guards. Standing between the drapes and the walls, it was quite easy to see through them into the brighter lighting of the room. Vision
in the opposite direction was not nearly so good.

  On today’s sale it would have the opposite effect of preventing the guests from noticing that there were no guards. They were so used to being securely guarded that if they discovered there was no security here, it would signal instantly that something was amiss. Then, as Dark had pointed out, they might feel disinclined to stay – and, worse, to pay.

  “You will have your work cut out today, Gehn,” Dark had told him. “You must be the gate guard and later the door guard and in between you must bring the boys and girls up here.”

  Gehn considered the prospect cautiously. It certainly made sense for him to be the visible symbol of security. By changing his uniform and kepi at least once, he could give the impression of being more than one man.

  The slaves themselves would do most of the entertaining, once the guests arrived. That, after all, would be their function for the rest of their lives. But first the guests must be vetted at the gate.

  As soon as the buyers had collected, the slaves would be brought to them, and they would make their selection.

  Once they had paid – in cash or by bankers’ order – they would leave with their merchandise. Experience said that the whole affair would be over by midday, and the guests gone by 12.30 pm.

  He moved the Uzi and then himself further down the table and constructed another pyramid.

  Behind the table was a series of crates in which red wine bottles stood with their corks already started. The first crate had its corks off, and the wine was breathing and being allowed to reach room temperature.

  Further along the wall stood several cold boxes in which champagne, fruit juices for the Moslem guests and bottles of mineral water were being kept cool.

  There were platters of canapés and sweets everywhere, their contents protected for the moment by sheets of transparent plastic. Ordinarily these would be held in the kitchens and brought up only as and when they were needed, but with the staff stiffening in their quarters, that system was now impossible.

  There were two hundred glasses out now, and Gehn picked up his Uzi and walked over to the far wall, where there were chairs and tables arranged in half moons facing the room.

  This was where the customers would view the merchandise.

  One by one, the boys and girls would be called over to talk, to be “interviewed” as Sigmund Dark put it. When they were approved, they would stay.

  The whole process would take about an hour and a half. Then the men would signal their retinues, the chauffeurs would bring the cars and master and slave would climb in.

  Gehn made sure the glasses and water bottles were laid out where they should be, and gave each table a quick wipe over with a duster.

  Sigmund Dark was still at the opposite end of the room, fiddling with the drapes. Without letting his employer totally out of his sight, Gehn swept a look around the room, noting as he did so that he could still see the high, small windows on the outer wall of the keep through the drapes.

  The windows were unprotected, but looked out over a sheer drop of a thousand feet. Neither Gehn nor Dark expected trouble from the honey-buzzards which were the only creatures capable of approaching them from that side.

  “All prepared?” Dark, carrying his own Uzi at his side, walked slowly down the room, his eyes busy. He paused once to adjust the shape of a fan of cutlery and appreciate the play of the roof lights through the crystal pyramids.

  “Then I think we are ready to receive our guests,” he said. “Come with me.”

  Gehn followed him through the passage and stairway at the end of the hall, moving like some great soft footed bear, cradling the Uzi in his arms, safety catch off and muzzle pointing at his employer.

  They emerged into the office room and Dark, still moving softly and quickly, led the way through and into the bedroom.

  “Kiti?” he called. There was no reply, just as there had been none for the past three hours. Even Dark was now having to accept that Kiti was gone.

  He had refused point blank even to entertain the idea when they had first emerged from the dungeons. Convinced of his domination, he had searched through his own suite, and then through the upper part of the slaves’ tower.

  When he finally realised she was gone, he had been at first stony faced and then gone into a white hot rage.

  Finally he had resorted to checking through the view screens, and discovered that the camera in the torture chamber was as dead as that in the exercise room.

  “Now, why do that?” he mused for a moment, then snapped out an oath.

  “The bitch has told them about the oubliette!”

  Gehn stared at him.

  “But they know about the oubliette, sir.” Even to his own ears his voice sounded strained and breathless, and Dark gave him a long, calculating stare.

  “There is a passage from the oubliette which comes out on the cliff face overlooking Bram, it used to be the main drain of the castle,” he said. “Evidently, Kiti has broken her conditioning and told them about it. There can be no other reason for them smashing the camera in the torture chamber.”

  Gehn considered the information.

  “What is there on the cliff face? Can they get back the castle from there?”

  “No,” said Dark. “It is an escape route only. At the end of the tunnel is a platform. You can see it from the roof, but it looks like merely a fault in the cliff. There is a knotted rope by which they can climb down to a ledge. The ledge runs across the cliff and into the cleft between the castle and the Rocher, under the drawbridge. From there, you can descend to the valley floor. It is perilous but possible. To climb up is impossible. To go round following the rocks and then come back up the road will take several hours.”

  “Then let them carry on,” said Gehn, wearily. His was hurting badly, and he could feel warm blood running down the cuts, which were stretched continuously by his movements belt felt tight, too.

  Dark rose.

  “There is a way of letting one of the Dobermans down onto the ledge. We will put Nero into the hole, and he can hold them up,” he said. “Are you all right?”

  “I am bleeding,” said Gehn. “And I feel breathless.”

  Dark examined his wounds again, re-bandaged them more plaster and gave him another injection.

  “Try to move about carefully. It will cut down on the bleeding. Keep your face to the guests, just in case,” he said. “The injection will help.”

  Already it was helping. Gehn felt more alert and the pain troubled him less. But he still felt breathless.

  “Shock,” said Dark. “It will wear off.”

  Together they released the big black and tan dog from its kennel in the garage and took it to the roof of the keep, where there was a workmen’s winch and derrick used for maintenance of the floodlights on the outside wall. Dark leaned over the battlements and peered down.

  “Line up the derrick over that window sill,” he said and Gehn craned awkwardly over and swung the metal arm.

  When he looked back, Dark was already fastening a large basket to the end of the rope, and at a word of command, the Doberman jumped into it.

  “He’s done this before,” thought Gehn, but he helped Dark lift the basket containing the dog onto the parapet and swing it out over the drop. The animal whined and showed the whites of his eyes, but his iron training kept him sitting in the basket.

  Dark lowered the basket with the electric winch, until a mark on the rope appeared at the drum.

  “He should be about there,” he said. “Tell me if he’s by the platform. It is just to the right of the window sill, looking straight down.”

  Gehn reported that the basket was a little above the ledge, and swung the derrick to line it up exactly, while Dark jockeyed the controls of the winch.

  At the first try, the basket caught and tipped alarmingly and the dog howled desperately. At the third, it caught again and this time the dog leaped from it onto the platform and disappeared
.

  “He’s gone off the platform,” Gehn reported, and Dark swore.

  “You mean he’s fallen?”

  “No, he’s on the ledge but I can’t see him.”

  “Then he’s in the tunnel. Let Carver get past that!” said Dark, in deeply satisfied tones. He turned away and was rewinding the rope when a car horn sounded far below.

  “They have started to arrive! Quick, down to the gatehouse and I will play the barman,” he said and together the two men clattered down the steps of the keep.

  Gehn made it to the gatehouse feeling strangely light headed. Standing in the shade of the gateway, he pulled himself upright and tried to ignore the nagging ache on his chest. A legionnaire, he prided himself, could tolerate any amount of pain without complaint.

  As the first big, shiny car swung through the gate, he saluted and directed it first to the steps of the keep, and then to a parking place on the far side of the courtyard, near the big, white gas tank. It would be cooler there and the driver of the first car to arrive deserved to benefit from the shade.

  A second horn sounded, and a third, and then he was busy directing and saluting for a long time. He tried to ignore the feeling of unreality which was stealing over him. More than once, he was forced to remind himself that these Arabs, once the natural enemies of the Legion, were now his friends.

  *

  The movement in the passage was accompanied by a low growl that set Carver’s hair on end.

  “A dog,” he whispered savagely. “Damn! I hate goddam dogs!”

  Amy froze behind him.

  “Not one of the Dobermans?” she hissed. “They are trained to kill on sight! They attack instantly!”

  “Gee, I’m glad you told me that! I thought it might be a lapdog that wandered in here to get out of the Sun,” he said.

  Then, he was too busy to say anything at all. The dog came from the dark like a snarling torpedo with teeth. For a second, he had the impression that the whole tunnel had turned into a gaping, slavering maw, and then he was on his back, trying desperately to keep the jaws away from his face.