“Everybody but the gaudy sluts out looking for us,” J.B. said, pulling out his Navy scope and peering through. “And I’ll be damned if they might also be hunting for us.”
“Something sure put a round up the baron’s ass,” Ryan agreed, leveling his longblaster. “And Gaza doesn’t even know about the temple yet.”
“Might be because we have blasters,” Dean suggested, joining the adults.
“Or type of blasters,” Jak said, gesturing at the Uzi machine gun. “Some villes never seen rapidfire. Only legend.”
“That must be it,” Krysty said softly, crouching low in the roof shadows. “Our blasters. They think we’re spies for Trader.”
Cradling the Steyr in both hands, Ryan scowled at the notion. “Fireblast! That makes sense. Okay, get back in fast before we’re seen.”
Quickly and silently, the companions scrambled down the ancient ladder back into the pump room, but as Krysty started to leave she felt compelled to look toward the keep rising above the ville, as if something were forcing her attention there. Then the urge was gone, carried away by the chill desert wind.
The last to leave the rooftop, Ryan left the locking bolt open to speed their escape. A plan was already forming in his mind, something he had never done before. But it seemed like their only chance to leave this pesthole without fighting Gaza and Hawk.
“Okay, new plan. Jak, help J.B. to rig the feeder pipe to blow when somebody enters this room. Krysty, Dean, buy us some time by using the shackles from Doc’s table to chain the locking bar on the front door in place. Make it triple-hard for them to get inside. Mildred, give them cover.”
“And I, sir?” Doc demanded. The man hadn’t joined them in the brief sojourn onto the rooftop, and was using his ebony stick as a cane when he thought nobody was watching. Ryan didn’t blame the man. A whipping took a lot out of a person, left him feeling bruised deep inside as if he had rad sickness. It was a testament to the old man that he was up and moving.
“Sit and rest, Doc. We’re going to be moving fast soon, and you will only get us chilled moving slow,” Ryan directed, then saw a determined look of indignation grow on the scholar’s face.
“Better yet, go make firebrands,” Ryan said. “All you can, fast as you can. We leave here in five minutes.”
“At once, my dear Ryan! I shall serve where Icarus failed.”
“Shut up, ya old coot,” Mildred chided, “and get cracking.”
“What about you, Dad?” Dean asked, pausing in the open doorway of the pump room, one foot in the armory. “Going back up on the roof to do some sniping at the guards on the front gate?”
“Not yet,” the one-eyed man answered, going to the master valve assembly on the feeder pipe and cracking the knuckles on both hands. “I’m going to set the Scorpion God free.”
Chapter Fourteen
Going to a wall niche, Ryan removed an oil lantern, blew out the wick and very carefully poured a few drops of the mineral oil onto the base of the valve. Setting the lantern aside, he took the wheel in both hands, braced himself and started applying pressure. The wheel turned only a smallest distance then seemed to become stuck. The man knew that he had to do this gently, too much force too soon and the spindle could snap.
Dean started forward to help, but J.B. held the boy back. There was no room for another set of hands on the wheel; it was a one-person job.
Ryan’s hands turned white, sweat appearing on his brow as he continued to exert himself more and more. One of his feet slipped and he almost lost his grip, but dug in even harder.
There was a terrible crack, and for an instant Ryan knew for certain that he had broken the spindle, then with a squeal of metal the wheel came free and began to spin easily. The meters swung high at the rush of water throbbing through the slim bleeder pipe, the length going into the wall shaking from the water coursing through it. Softly from the room beyond came a splashing sound as a torrent of water flooded the stone basin to overflow in only moments and then started to spread across the temple floor.