James Axler – Cold Asylum

The wing that held their rooms overlooked stables, then a double wall, the outer lower than the inner. Both were topped with coils of razor-sharp antipersonnel wire. Beyond that was the river, then an open area of cleared brush that ended in the rolling deeps of the forest.

It had poured with rain for a good three hours after the afternoon’s sport, and the river was visibly in turmoil, its foaming swollen surface shining in the moonlight.

The problem was that every single window was heavily barred and there was no time to try to cut them out. It came down to working their way along the passages, trying to keep moving downward and avoiding any of Baron Mandeville’s sec patrols, finding an outer door and then

Even that was so far ahead that Ryan hadn’t bothered to discuss any plan beyond that point. He felt reasonably confident that they could get away if they could break out of the confines of Sun Crest. The trail back to the hidden redoubt wasn’t difficult, and wouldn’t offer too much advantage to horsemen. Though they would then have to face the ghoulies again.

FROM THE BRIEF acquaintanceship with the tight regime of the ville, Ryan knew that it was only a matter of time before they encountered sec men. Marie might have cleared the upper floor to enable her young lover to return to his own room unseen, but the rest of the place would still be crawling with the maroon uniforms and their Armalites.

Ryan led the way, moving in their usual skirmish line.

Krysty was second, then Dean and Michael. Mildred and Doc preceded J.B., who guarded their rear. Everyone had a blaster drawn and ready.

Mildred had been the only one of the group to oppose their escape attempt. “Could be Michael misunderstood. There’s been no threat against us. Once we try to break out and start chilling Mandeville’s men, there’s no turning back.”

But she’d been overruled.

Ryan paused at the forking of the corridors. A narrow staircase spiraled to the left. He remembered that they’d come that way on their first night, following Mercy Weyman. She’d said something about it leading to a suite of tower rooms that held the baron’s collection of Bright Carvings.

Ryan took the right-hand passage, which he knew would eventually bring them into the gallery above the dining room, then a short set of broad stairs into the large hall. A few yards more and there was a door that opened to the inner courtyard.

And once there

Doc stepped on a creaking board, freezing with a pained expression on his face. “I must say that I’m most awfully sorry,” he whispered.

The ville was silent.

Stained-glass windows at a half landing showed the martyrdom of some early Christian saint, standing against a large wheel, pierced with dozens of golden arrows, his smooth face showing only a beatific and vaguely puzzled smile.

The moon filtered through the window, casting colored shadows across the band of friends.

The place was so still that Ryan could hear the faint distant pounding of the powerful water generator. Most of the wall and ceiling lamps had been switched off for the hours of darkness with only one in ten of them leaving small islands of light in the ocean of blackness.

The vast space of the banquet hall was almost impenetrable. Ryan moved into it from the bottom step of the flight of stairs, his left hand reaching out ahead of him to avoid bumping into one of the chairs or the long table itself.

Once they were safely across, they’d be within spitting distance of one of the outside doors.

The lights all came on at once, like a thunderbolt from a summer sky.

“One stupe move and all of you get to be dead, here and now.” The voice belonged to Sec Sergeant Harry Guiteau, leaning on the rail of the gallery, with twenty or thirty of his guards ranged around him, their Armalites covering the hall below.

Ryan noticed that there was someone standing close behind the man, in the shadows. All he could see was the sheen of her long black hair.

Chapter Thirty