A Sharpness On The Neck (Saberhagen's Dracula Book 9), Fred Saberhagen [some good books to read TXT] 📗

      “But something’s wrong. I can tell. Are your new papers in order?”

      “Everything has been taken care of, thanks to Legrand—except—one thing!”

      “It must be very important if it is going to delay us here!”

      She was having a hard time finding the right words.

      “Philip, I told you that I had met your father.”

      “What has my father to do with this?”

      “It is just that … in fact I met M’sieu Franklin at his rented estate at Passy—that’s just outside Paris…”

      “I didn’t realize you met him there. But what does it matter?”

      “…where he was living then, when I was a fourteen-year-old apprentice to my cousin. Oh, there was nothing wrong about that! I just didn’t want to tell you … because of something else.”

      “What?”

      “Because of the reason for my coming to Paris, alone, at the age of fourteen.”

      “Ah.” Something was coming; whatever it was, she must not be allowed to fear that it was going to matter to him. “Go on, Mellie.”

      “Well … it was years after you and your mother had departed for Martinique … there was a young man who loved me—yes, he truly did! Even though he was only sixteen at the time, and I was even younger…”

      “I think that I begin to understand.”

      “You do? Philip, I have a son, ten years old.”

      “My poor dear—you could have told me—”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

      The figure of Mr. Graves (what could he be standing on to look in that high window?) now raised one finger to its smiling lips, enjoining silence.

      Radcliffe complied. He even held his breath. But then, with the desperate certainty that silence wasn’t going to be good enough, that the figure at the window was likely to be soon discovered by those inside, he tore his gaze away, lest the people around him should begin to wonder what he was staring at. What he ought to do, inspiration urged, was to create some distraction so that the villains in the house with him would have their attention diverted away from the intruder, at least for a critical few seconds.

      When Philip had complained that his arm was bleeding, the knots on the cord that had bound his arms were undone, and his right arm completely freed. Now he should be able to untie and unwind the cords holding his left arm and his legs, but he would need at least several seconds to do so.

      He started to untie himself, but the heroic distraction proved unnecessary. A moment later, the glass in three windows simultaneously came crashing in.

* * * * * *

      The crucial phase of the break-in, which involved getting all the attackers into their chosen positions, had been timed for the moment when the attention of everyone inside would be on Philip and his horrified reaction to the beheading of an animal.

      Vlad Dracula had delayed his assault until Radcliffe was brought out to the barn; but he would not have delayed it much beyond that, even if Radu had been late in coming.

      It was also exquisitely timed with regard to Radu, to catch him just after his arrival, when he was gloating over his prisoner Radcliffe, at a moment when he’d be relatively off guard.

      A moment later, one door of the old barn burst in as well.

      People were screaming, roaring, in what sounded like more different voices than there were people present. All of the figures breaking into the barn, through several doors and windows at the same time, were masked—no, all save one.

      Neither Radu nor Mr. Graves were any longer to be seen. Instead there were two wolves, two great beasts locked in a snarling, sparring swirl of fur and teeth and glowing eyes.

      One mask-face standing in a doorway raised a shotgun, and an instant later a double blast tore splinters from a roof-supporting beam standing ten feet from where Radcliffe sat tearing frantically at his bonds. The body of the man standing beside the post, he who had been drinking cat’s blood a minute earlier, was flung violently away.

      Moving in ones and twos and threes, the masked breathers on Joe Keogh’s combat team were forcing their way in. Vlad Dracula’s entry, too, came with smashing force; and he was immediately occupied in a one-on-one struggle with the minor vampire.

* * *

      The majority of Radu’s associates in the barn had carried weapons with them from the house. Despite being taken by surprise, some of them fought back fiercely; one even had an assault rifle within reach.

      All of the enemy fought desperately; not one, apparently, thought only of getting away.

      The instant the last loop of cord fell free, Phil rolled out of his chair, and continued rolling across the floor. Meanwhile bullets were pounding into the barn’s walls above him, loosing a hail of splintered wood…

      His progress was not unopposed. One of the villains moved to intercept him, aiming a pistol at his midsection. Moving without thought of either fear or bravery, Phil flung himself forward, grappling for possession of the firearm. When he suddenly found he had control of it, he raised the metal weight and used it to hit his opponent over the head. The man slumped down, and Phil ran on.

      The twilight, inside and outside the barn, had now come alive with gunfire. Muzzle flashes spasmodically brightened the dimness inside the barn. It seemed that several members of each force were armed with automatic weapons.

      First one and then another Coleman lantern was shot out. Glass shattered and fuel spilled, but no fire caught on the stone floor.

* * *

      Someone or something tripped Radcliffe, and he went down hard. He realized that a woman had tackled him, and now a man was coming to help her out—the effort still seemed to be to capture Phil rather than to kill him. In the midst of his own struggle, Radcliffe caught a freeze-frame impression of Graves, in a form half-man and half-wolf, still grappling with his major enemy. The brothers seemed oblivious to the combat among lesser beings that raged around them.

*