RYAN AND THE ARMORER counted down the last seconds in unison. They both had knives drawn, as did the others, except Doc who had unsheathed his sword stick.
“Fifteen, fourteen”
A rumble of thunder seemed to shake the mill to its foundations.
“Eight, seven, six”
The lightning was purplish, streaked with a jagged pattern of neon pink, accompanied by the characteristic chem storm smell of sulfur and ozone.
“Two and one and go!”
Ryan was first up the stairs, careful not to slip on the wet, slick slabs of gray stone. There was a huge oak door, studded with iron bolts, and a whorled brass ring the only way of trying to open it. He grabbed at the handle, feeling it squirm away from his damp fingers. Then he had it, turning it to the left, aware of the latch lifting.
The place was throbbing with the ceaseless vibration of the great wheel turning, powering the generators that provided the ville with its electricity. The hall of the mill was deserted, with a staircase winding toward a higher floor.
Ryan’s fighting nerves told him that the clock was now running against them, ticking off their lives as the hunt began its remorseless pursuit.
The noise was so all pervading that it seemed to numb the other senses. Ryan sprinted up the angled stairs, rounded a corner and found himself almost on top of a pair of men in maroon overalls. They had their backs to him and were sitting at a long bank of dials and gauges.
It wasn’t a time for hesitation.
He had the panga out in a flash and hacked the head off the shoulders of the servant on the left, while J.B., with one of his pair of thin stilettos, stabbed the other in the heart.
Neither victim could have known what hit them, death plucking them from light to darkness in the beat of the heart.
The blood still fountained from the gashed neck of the one man as Ryan raced halfway up the next flight of stairs, the Armorer right behind him.
Reaching the very top of the mill, the men checked every side room and dusty landing.
“Empty,” J.B. pronounced, looking around the attic, under the eaves of the echoing building.
“Right. Let’s go wreck the power controls, then head for the ville.”
Back down to the second floor.
“Break everything you can,” Ryan said. “Everything. Is there a master control that’ll jam the wheel?”
“Do that and the mill could come apart. Most frightfully dangerous, my dear fellow.”
“Here,” Michael called.
Despite the tension and danger, Krysty laughed. “Never have guessed it was this lever.”
It was set in the outer wall, a great steel bar six feet long, painted a brilliant red. It was dusty, showing that it had hardly ever been used. The piece of card above it was also faded by the passage of time Warning! This Brakes Main Wheel Axle. Only Use In Emergency On Direct Order of Chief Miller. Do Not Engage While Power Is Being Generated.
Peeling off the gray stones to the right of the big lever was another, larger notice, which simply blared, in large crimson capital letters, the single word DANGER.
J.B. looked at it carefully, then turned and gave Ryan one of his rare smiles. “Best get everyone else outside, except you and me,” he said. “Could be sort of exciting.”
“Why?” Dean asked.
“Like going flat out on a war wag and then throwing her straight into reverse,” the Armourer replied.
“No arguments,” Ryan shouted above the bone-shaking rumble. “Wait around the corner, out of sight of the ville.” Another thought occurred to him. “Krysty, get the overalls off that dead man and give them to me.”
“The one without No, course. Too much blood.”
Mildred helped her as they stripped the stabbed man, tossing the maroon garment to Ryan.
“Great. Now wait out there.”
He struggled into the overalls, finding them a tight fit over his coat, but it would only be for a moment’s extra time, a moment that might be vital.
“Right. Let’s do it, J.B., and see what happens.”
They both gripped the lever, feeling it vibrate at their touch, as though it were connected to the heart of some monstrous beast, dwelling in subterranean caverns.