A Prince Among Men Part 12

"I insist."

Nym slashed her hands down and a wall of s.h.i.+mmer appeared between her and Bennett. Bennett gestured again and sent another, larger ball of fire at them. The sphere burst on Nym's s.h.i.+eld. John felt the heat. That was enough for him. He grabbed Arthur's arm.

"We've got to get out of here."

Bennett's hands started weaving in complex patterns; Nym's too. Lights flashed as energies leapt between them. John's hair stood on end and he felt flares of heat wash over him.

There was a service elevator in the back of the exhibit gallery. It was installed for the convenience of the prepara-tors, but it offered another way out than the doorway that Bennett blocked. John's combox would unlock it. He tugged on Arthur's arm.

"Come on."

The man resisted. In the glare of the flaring energies, John could see the man's expression s.h.i.+ft rapidly. There was naked fear there, and other emotions as well: determination, anger, and frustration. Beneath John's hand, he trembled with pa.s.sions. Clearly Arthur wanted to do something more than stand and watch this wizardly duel. The fear seemed strongest.

That was something John understood. This magic stuff was scary, real scary, when it wasn't in a book or a vid. His guts felt like something was stirring them around. He hoped that all he was feeling was fear, and not the insidious effects of some spell designed to turn him inside out. All John wanted right now was to get out of there.

"Unless you can throw spells, there's nothing to be done. Come on."

Arthur let John tug him behind the case, putting something between them and the sorcerers, before stopping again. He stared at the contending magicians.

"Sure, it's a great show," John babbled. "But, like, we're outcla.s.sed. Come on."

John tugged on Arthur's arm, but again he resisted. Some weak puppy. It was like trying to move a statue.

Maybe he had a reason to stay. Maybe there was something he could do. John had to ask. "Can you do magic?"

"No."

With that word, Arthur gave in to John's insistent tugging, allowing himself to be led away. John got him around the corner before releasing his arm and racing ahead to punch the call b.u.t.ton for the elevator. For a miracle, the car was on their floor, and the doors hissed open immediately. The doors were closing, sealing them in the elevator car, when John realized that Arthur had spoken comprehensibly.

"You speak English?"

"Speak."

Was that an answer or a command? "Then maybe you can tell me what's going on?"

"Slow."

What was slow? Geez, don't tell me King Arthur is an idiot. Maybe his brain was fried from sleeping too long. The doors opened; it was time to move again. Once John got somebody to take charge, everything would get sorted out. He bolted from the elevator.

"Come on. Come on. We'll call the police."

After a moment's hesitation, Arthur followed him. John didn't wait for him, but hurried through the staff areas behind the gift shop. The lobby was lit with strange lights flickering down through the stairwell, and a gaggle of screeching boggles scattered from the landing as John raced across the open s.p.a.ce. He nearly fell over one of the things, but caught himself on the framework of the archway into the orientation wing.

Almost there. He looked back to see Arthur trotting after Mm. The guy was looking around like a lost tourist.

"Come on!"

Arthur picked up his pace. Satisfied, John took the last few yards to the entrance of the watch room. John slammed the door open and flung himself down in front of the security console. Before he called the cops, he wanted to see what was happening upstairs. There was still a small chance that this was all a dream.

d.a.m.n small.

John punched in the commands to put the gallery camera on screen while Arthur started prowling the watch room. John heard him open the closet door just as the gallery vid camera came on line.

When it came up, the image was almost white, all glare and flash. John had to turn the contrast all the way down before he could see anything. Even then, it was hard to be sure what was going on through all the fireworks. He checked the motion sensors. As far as they were concerned, nothing was moving up there. Bizarre.

Arthur returned to his side. In Ms right hand, the guy held one of the demo swords from the outreach collection. Naked as a jaybird and the first thing he grabs is a weapon! Hope he knows how to handle that thing. The blade's edge glittered coldly. Geez, he'd picked the only sharp one in the bunch. Maybe it would be better if this guy didn't know how to handle a sword.

Time to call the cops.

As he reached for the phone, a prompt appeared on the monitor and started flas.h.i.+ng: "Malfunction station three."

Now what? Station three was the rear service entrance. Before John could acknowledge the prompt, it disappeared. it wasn't supposed to do that.

The motion sensors were registering movement near the service entrance, so John called up the vid camera that covered the rear entrance. The magical battle in the gallery disappeared from the screen, replaced by a much darker scene. Cloaked in the night, several figures hunched against the wall of the museum building. One of them, considerably shorter than the others, stood by the control box with a dark object in his hand. Several wires led from that object to the control box. That was all John saw before the image went black.

John heard the distant rumble of the loading-dock door opening. Pointlessly, he looked in that general direction. From the corner of his eye, he saw Arthur look up, as though he was searching the sky for thunder. John turned back to the console, cutting in the camera inside the loading bay. Men carrying guns rushed in. John recognized two of them: McAlister and Surimato. What the h.e.l.l was the FBI doing raiding the museum?

The camera went dead, then the whole security console blinked: telltale lights, monitor, submonitor, everything. When they flickered back to life, everything looked normal, but somehow John didn't think everything was normal. He tried to call up a diagnostic, but the console didn't acknowledge his attempt.

Things were getting very strange.

A gunshot thundered somewhere in the building.

Weren't federal agents supposed to issue warnings first? He hadn't heard anything like a warning. He picked up the phone and found the line dead.

More gunshots erupted from upstairs, then a whumping noise like nothing John had ever heard. Someone started to scream in agony.

John didn't understand what was going on, but it was obvious that the museum was not a healthy place to be at the moment. Nym's advice to leave sounded very good. Very wise.

He shoved his chair back, Arthur's nakedness flas.h.i.+ng in his peripheral vision. It was cold outside; the guy would freeze. John panicked for a second, then remembered that there were clothes where Arthur had found the sword. Stupid costume stuff, but warmer than naked skin. John dove for the closet and hauled out the first things he saw. He tossed the handful to Arthur, who caught the floppy ma.s.s without fouling his blade.

Maybe he did know how to handle that thing.

"Let's go," John said as he ran out of the room.

At least this Arthur guy wasn't completely in the ozone. He followed John to the door and shrugged into one of the long robes while John fiddled with the lock. The noise from upstairs made John nervous, and he kept fumbling with the key.

"Haste," said Arthur.

John looked up to see him, sword held ready, staring across the lobby to the stairwell. Something heavy was clumping down the stairs. Motivated, John slotted the key and turned the heavy mechanism. He tugged on the door, but the ma.s.sive steel valve resisted. Arthur gripped it with his free hand, and together they swung it open.

Chill air blasted in. It was cold outside, but they ran out into the night anyway. Intent on putting distance between himself and the museum, John didn't look back. He headed up Randolph Road, toward the rezcoms. The only thing he heard behind him was the slap of Arthur's bare feet on the road surface.

The Woodman Armory Museum looked dark and quiet as I lolger cut the engine and let the rental car roll down the hill from the rezcoms. The streets were deserted: not surprising; il was half past one in the morning and this was a quiet town. But the parking lot was empty too, not even the watchman's car.

Something wasn't right.

He pulled over where Randolph Road met Barber Avenue, instead of proceeding ahead into the lot as he had planned. I he museum sat across the intersection. He scanned the area. No obvious damage, no suspicious activity. The banner announcing the imminent opening of an exhibit on Romano-Bnthonic things rippled in the cold breeze. Beneath it one of the main entrance's heavy steel doors was open, offering an incongruous invitation.

Dr. Spae reached for her door handle and Holger hit the lock override before she could get it open. She turned to him, ready to question his judgment, but her mouth snapped shut when she saw him draw his Glock. The appearance of the pistol put a disapproving glare on her face.

He nodded toward the museum. "Door's open, Doctor. Alarm must be going off."

"I don't hear anything."

"Some alarms are silent. The local police are likely on their way."

"I don't hear any sirens."

"That doesn't mean the police are not responding."

"Unlock the door," she demanded.

"We should wait a little bit, Doctor."

"You wait. I need to see inside."

"I don't think that it is advisable at this time."

"The activity has stopped now. The traces will soon fade and there won't be any point in getting inside."

"The lack of activity doesn't mean that whoever attracted your attention has left."

"You are obstructing this investigation."

"I'm trying to avoid problems. There may not be a threat just now, but the situation remains difficult. If we are found in there by the local police, we will have to do more explaining than the Department would care for."

"We'll just have to be gone before they arrive."

"Too late. The locals are already arriving," he told her.

A police car had just taken the turnoff from Route 12 onto the lower end of Barber Avenue. It pulled over and cut its lights. Though Holger had a clear view, the position selected by the cruiser's driver would be concealed from the museum by the slope of the hill. Two officers got out of the vehicle; their watchful looks up the hill toward the museum confirmed that they had come to investigate, but they made no move to start up the hill. As yet, they showed no interest in Holger and Spae's car.

Spae cursed the cops' arrival and cursed Holger for wasting her opportunity. He let her words roll past him; her safety was his responsibility. Charging into an unknown situation without backup was just plain stupid.

What were the cops waiting for? Reinforcements? That suggested they knew there was trouble inside. Maybe they in exercising simple, reasonable caution, although he wouldn't have expected that from Americans.

two more cars arrived. A quartet of new arrivals joined the officers on the street corner for a conference. No immediate action was taken.

So the first pair hadn't just been waiting for reinforcements to conduct a simple search. One backup car would have been enough to respond to a silent alarm. Two indicated i more complicated situation, but the lack of anything other limn patrolmen made a truly serious situation unlikely.

"Doctor," Holger said, formulating a plan as he spoke.

Will you agree that we cannot enter the building now without attracting the attention of the local police?"

"You've made sure of that."

"I think we might persuade them to take us in with them." He reholstered the Glock. "if you will follow my lead."

".Just get me in there."

They left the rental car and started down the hill. The air was colder than it had been earlier in the night. Holger refas-lened his coat; he shouldn't need to get to the Glock for a while. A cop noticed them approaching and nudged one of his fellows. The conversation among the officers faltered and Ihey all turned to look.

"Let me do the talking," Holger whispered to Spae. "Try not to let them see your face clearly. Huddle in your coat like it's cold."

"It is cold."

"Exactly why they won't question it."

He hoped she'd go along. Specialists like her rarely showed common sense.

They were close enough to the policemen now.

He tugged at his hat in greeting, using the opportunity to pull it a little lower and put more of his face in shadow, and said, "Good evening, Officers."

Eyebrows were raised and glances exchanged among the officers. One, sergeant stripes showing on his heavy coat, stepped forward.

"Pretty cold for a late-night stroll, isn't it, folks?"

"Colder than I'd like. Later, too, Sergeant Willis." Holger got the name from the man's name badge. He held out his hand. "I'm Holger Kun, with the EC Commission on Antiquities. This is Dr. Spae, one of our specialists."

Puzzled but reacting to normal courtesy, the officer shook Holger's hand. One of the others whispered to his partner, "Yamana didn't waste any time, did he?"

"I'm sure you understand our concern," Holger said to the sergeant.

"Just what did Mr. Yamana tell you?"

Holger didn't know who Yamana was. "Actually Ms. Sat-sumi notified us. She wasn't very specific, though. Just what is the problem at the museum?"

Mentioning the museum seemed to be the last thing needed for the sergeant to place Holger's noncommittal statements into a framework that made sense to the officer. To the sergeant's mind, Holger had proven he was part of what was happening and, therefore, safe to speak to.

"We're not entirely sure, Mr. Kun. We had a blip in the security feed from the museum. Happens all the time, but when the duty monitor put in a call to the watchman to confirm the malfunction, all she got was a dead line. Monitor feed was still on line, though, so it's probably just a dead phone line. Standard procedure requires us to check it out."

"Oh, dear," Holger said, trying to sound as though he had just put something together. The sergeant's eyes narrowed satisfactorily. "I'm afraid things might be more serious. The front door was open."

"You didn't go in?" Willis asked.

"No. Of course not. We saw your cars down here at about the same time and thought you would know what was going on."

"Smart move. There could still be perps inside." Willis sounded relieved.

"Perps?" Spae asked.

"Perpetrators, ma'am. Criminals."

Spae harrumphed.

The sergeant gave her a flash smile of rigid politeness and turned back to Holger. "Did you see anyone near the museum?"