Stones Of Power - The Complete Chronicles Of The Jerusalem Man Part 33

'Just so, Pastor.'

'But why?'

'On a whim,' snarled Shannow. 'I have no time for Brigands.'

'Nor I. I am a man of G.o.d.'

'I think not.' Shannow moved forward swiftly and, with his left hand, took hold of the lapels of Ridder's black jacket, pulling the man to him. 'Open your mouth.'

The terrified man did so and Shannow slid the muzzle of the pistol between his teeth.

'Now listen to me, Pastor, and note every word. You are going to take me to the two men you brought in here today and then we are going to leave together, all four of us. It is your only chance for life - you understand?'

Ridder nodded.

'Now, in case you think that once we are away from here your men will help you, bear this in mind: I am not a man who is afraid to die - and I will take you on the journey to h.e.l.l with me.'

Shannow withdrew the pistol and sheathed it. 'Wipe the sweat from your face, Pastor, and let us go.'

Together the two men walked into the corridor and down several flights of stairs. Shannow was soon lost within the maze of the building as they pa.s.sed one shadow-haunted corridor after another. The air was musty and several times they pa.s.sed sentries who stood to attention as Ridder went by. At last they emerged into a dimly lit hall where six men sat at a table dicing for copper coins. All were armed with handguns and knives.

'Prepare the lift,' said Ridder and the men moved swiftly to a series of pulleys and ropes beside an open shaft. A burly man with huge forearms cranked an iron handle and after a few seconds a large box rose into view. Ridder stepped inside and Shannow followed; within the box was a handbell on a rope. With a sickening lurch the box descended into darkness; Shannow blinked sweat from his eyes as the lift continued its descent.

After what seemed a lifetime, they reached another level and Ridder rang the handbell.

The lift stopped and the two men emerged into a dimly lit tunnel filled with the stench of human excrement.

Shannow gagged and swallowed hard. Ridder stood gesturing to a series of bolted doors.

'I don't know which one they are in. But they'll be here somewhere.'

'Open every door.'

'Are you mad? We'll be torn limb from limb.'

'How many people are down here?'

'About fifty people. And maybe sixty Wolvers.'

Shannow's jaw tightened, for there were only six doors. 'You keep twenty people locked up in each of these? And you call yourself a man of G.o.d?' Shannow's rage exploded and he struck Ridder on the side of the head, hurtling the man from his feet. 'Get up and open the doors - every G.o.d-cursed one of them!'

Ridder crawled to the first, then turned. 'You don't understand. This whole community needs the mine. They're my responsibility - caring for my flock. I wouldn't have used people if I hadn't been forced to. I used Wolvers, but the lung fever killed scores of them.'

'Open the door, Pastor. Let's see your flock.'

Ridder pushed the bolt clear and swung the door open. Nothing moved in the darkness within.

'Now the others.'

'For G.o.d's sake . . .'

'You talk of G.o.d down here?' shouted Shannow. A dark shape moved into the half light and he stepped back in shock. The creature was maybe five feet in height and covered with fur; its face was long, caricaturing a wolf or dog, but its eyes were human. It was naked and covered in sores. More creatures came into sight, ignoring the two men. They limped to a chest by the far wall and stood apathetically, staring at nothing.

'What's in the chest?' asked Shannow.

'Their tools. They think it's work-time.'

'All the doors, Ridder!' The white-haired pastor stumbled from one dungeon to the next.

From the last but one room the bloodied face of Batik could be seen above the smaller Wolvers.

'Shannow?'

'Over here, man. Quickly!'

Batik pushed his way through the milling slaves and Shannow handed him his percussion pistol.

'Stay down here with that creature,' he said, pointing at Ridder. 'I'll send the lift back. Try to get all of them to understand that they're free.'

'They'll only be rounded up again - let's get out while we can.'

'Do as I say, Batik, or I'll leave you here. Where's Archer?'

'Unconscious. They beat him badly and we'll have to carry him out.'

'Get something arranged,' said Shannow, stepping into the lift.

'Easy for you to say,' snapped Batik. 'I'll just stay down here with the wolf beasts and arrange a stretcher!'

'Fine,' said Shannow, ringing the handbell. The lift lurched upwards and once more the journey seemed interminable, but finally he came into the light where the six men laboured at the winch and stepped out.

'Where's Meneer Ridder?' asked the burly man with the huge arms.

'He'll be along,' said Shannow, producing his pistol. 'Lower the lift.'

'What the h.e.l.l is this?'

'This is death, my friend, unless you do exactly as you are told. Lower the lift.'

'You think you can take us all?'

Shannow's gun exploded and a man was smashed back into the far wall, a bullet through his heart.

'You think I can't?' he hissed.

The burly man turned the winch as if his life depended on it...

Which it did.

Within an hour most of the slaves had been lifted to the next level, but as Batik pointed out several of the Wolvers refused to leave, sitting silently staring at the tool-chest. Batik was not even sure they had understood his urgings.

Shannow went below and saw them, crouched in a half-circle around the chest. It was not locked and he opened it; inside were a dozen pick-handles and a stack of blades. He handed them to the waiting Wolvers, who stood and moved into a line facing the black tunnel that led to the mine. Shannow went to the hunched figure at the front of the line and gently took him by the shoulders, turning him to face the lift. When the Wolver moved obediently towards the shaft, the others followed.

Shannow rang the handbell and waited below as the box moved out of sight. Then he checked the six dungeons. In one he found seven bodies, small and emaciated; in another, two corpses had begun to rot and the stench was almost overwhelming. He forced himself to check the other rooms, and in the last he found Ridder crouching against the wall.

"It's not my fault,' said Ridder, staring down at the body of a child of around eleven.

'How long is it since you visited these cells?'

'Not for a year. It's not my fault. The mine had to work -you see that, don't you? Hundreds of people rely on it.'

'Get up, Pastor. It's time to go.'

'No, you can't take them away. People will see them and they'll blame me. They won't understand.'

'Stay here, then,' said Shannow and he left the man squatting in a corner and moved back into the tunnel. Batik had sent down the lift and he stepped inside and rang the bell.

On the upper level, Batik had disarmed the guards and had laid Archer's unconscious body across the table the men had used for their dice-game. Shannow examined the black man's swollen features; he had been beaten badly.

'Who did this?' he asked Batik.

'The man Riggs and a half-dozen others. I tried to help him, but he wouldn't help himself; he just stood there and took it. It seemed to make them more angry and when he fell, they started kicking him.'

'Why did they do it?'

'He simply told them he wouldn't work for them - that he would sooner just starve to death.'

Shannow moved to the guards. 'You,' he said, pointing to the burly man, 'lead us out of here. The rest of you can help carry my friend.'

'Are you going to let them live?' asked a man, pus.h.i.+ng himself through the milling Wolvers. Shannow turned to see a wasted scarecrow of a figure, with a matted blond beard streaked with filth. He was naked but for a stained leather loin-cloth, and his upper body was a ma.s.s of sores.

'We need them, my friend,' said Shannow softly. 'Hold your anger.'

'My son is down there - and my wife. They died in that black hole.' - 'But we're not free yet,' said Shannow. 'Trust me.'

He took the man by the arm and led him to Batik, collecting a double-barrelled flintlock pistol that the h.e.l.lborn had taken from one of the guards and pressing it into the man's hand.

'We may have to fight our way out. Take your revenge then.'

Shannow looked around the room and saw there were close to ninety people packing the chamber. He signalled the guards to lift Archer and then led the way into the tunnel beyond. Batik was at the rear. Shannow c.o.c.ked his pistol and walked behind the guard he had chosen to lead. Slowly the column of slaves moved through the bowels of the castle, the air freshening as they climbed towards the light. Finally they came into a high-walled corridor where far above them the dawn light shone in majestic shafts through arched windows. A chittering noise broke from the Wolvers, who raised their skinny arms, hands stretching towards the golden glow.

Ahead was a double door of studded oak and the guard began to move more swiftly.

'Stop!' said Shannow, but the man merely dived for the floor and the doors began to open.

'Down!' bellowed Shannow, dropping to his knees, his pistol coming up as the muzzles of several rifles appeared in the open doorway. Shannow fired, and the first rifleman pitched from sight. The corridor was filled with deafening explosions. Sh.e.l.ls whistled past Shannow and his own gun boomed twice more, then there was silence. He flicked open the cylinder guard and reloaded his pistol, then ran forward, hugging the wall. A rifleman stepped into sight and Shannow put two shots in his chest.

Behind Shannow, the guard who had been leading them reached into his boot and produced a long-bladed knife. He rose silently 'and launched himself at the Jerusalem Man, but a shot rang out and he staggered. Shannow twisted and fired and the man slumped to the floor.

Batik sprinted along the other side of the corridor.

'Nice pistol,' he said. 'Pulls a little to the left.'

Shannow nodded and pointed to the right of the doorway and Batik sighed and c.o.c.ked his pistol. Moving forward at a run, he dived through the doorway and rolled on his shoulder.

Behind the door a crouching rifleman swung his weapon, but Batik shot him in the head before he could bring the barrel to bear. Sh.e.l.ls ricocheted off the marble floor, shrieking past Batik's head. He glanced up and saw he was in a huge hall edged by a wide inner balcony where other marksmen were kneeling, covering the door. He scrambled to his feet and hurled himself back into the corridor.

'Any other ideas?' he asked Shannow.

'Not at the moment.'

'That's just as well!'

Behind them four of the Wolvers were down and dying, the others crouching around them keening softly.

'Can you climb?' asked Shannow. Batik glanced up at the high windows.

'I'll break my neck.'

'All right, we'll just sit here and wait for a miracle.'

'I thought your G.o.d was good at those.'

'He helps those who help themselves,' said Shannow dryly.

Batik exchanged pistols with Shannow and pushed the fully loaded h.e.l.lborn gun into his belt. The wall below the window was constructed of solid marble blocks about two feet square; between each block was a crack which allowed a tentative grip. Batik placed his foot on the first block and began to climb. He was a powerful man, but before he had climbed more than fifteen feet his fingers were aching with the effort; at thirty feet, he began to curse Shannow. At forty feet he slipped. His feet scrabbled for purchase and all of his weight hung on the three fingers of his right hand. Sweat dripped into his eyes and he fought down panic, moving his foot slowly into position to take his weight. His arms began to tremble, but he took a deep breath and pushed on, hooking his arm over the ledge of the arched window. Light blinded him and he blinked rapidly; he was overlooking the main courtyard and could see men running from the walls to the steps below, leading into the hall.

Swiftly he straddled the ledge and leaned out. As he had feared, there was no easy way to the windows above the hall balcony, and now the drop was even worse. With a whispered curse he lowered himself to the first foothold and started to traverse the outer wall. He had moved some ten feet when a musket ball hit the stone beside his head and screamed off above him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a man on the gate turret hastily reloading his weapon.

Batik moved on. How long would it take to reload? Thirty seconds? A minute? His heart was pounding furiously as he reached the window and clamped his hand on the secure ledge. He risked another glance and saw the man aiming the rifle. Batik swung out, hanging by his right arm as the shot hit the ledge, chipping stone fragments which stung his hand. He hauled himself over the ledge and tumbled on to the balcony. Two men were kneeling there watching the doorway below, and they both turned as Batik fell. The h.e.l.lborn threw himself at them, knocking aside a musket barrel. The weapon fired. Batik cracked his fist against the man's chin and kicked out at the second rifleman, catching him in the chest and knocking him flat. The first man drew a knife and leapt forward; Batik blocked the man's knife-arm with a chopping blow, grabbed his hair and, with a tremendous surge of power, hurled him over the balcony wall. The man's scream was cut off as he hit the marble floor.

Batik pulled his pistol clear and swung on the second man, who was sitting motionless with his hands above his head. He was a youngster, maybe sixteen, with wide blue eyes and an open face too pretty to be called handsome.

Batik shot him between the eyes.

Across the hallway other riflemen had seen the action and opened fire. Batik dived to the floor and scrambled towards a stone pillar at one corner of the hall. From this position he had two fields of fire and could also see the stairwell which led to the balcony. He glanced at the riflemen opposite; there were three of them, each armed with muskets.

'Shannow!' he called. There's only three. You want me to kill them?'

At the other end of the hall Shannow grinned. 'Give them a chance to surrender,' he shouted.

Batik waited for several seconds. They haven't surrendered,' he said.

'Wait!' came a cry from the balcony. 'We don't want any more killing.'

Throw the muskets over the edge,' called Batik and three weapons clattered to the stone.

'And any pistols.' More weapons crashed to the floor. 'Now stand up where we can see you.'