James Axler – Cold Asylum

It was very stiff, and it took all of their considerable joint strength to shift it.

“More,” the Armourer gasped.

They felt a hideous grinding sensation, and the steel bar jerked, almost pulling itself from their hands. But they clung on, forcing it farther.

“Fireblast!”

The lights in the mill flickered. Came on again with a desperate brightness, then dimmed once more.

“Bit more,” Ryan panted.

They threw everything at it, finally wrenching the control all the way down. The noise was unimaginable.

And stopped.

The lever flopped out of their hands like a broken-backed snake and clattered to the floor.

All of the lights went out.

The only sound now was the racing river outside the open door and the rumbling of the chem storm, with its hissing torrents of rain.

Ryan was first out to join the others, feeling clumsy in the borrowed clothes, blinking in the downpour. He glanced once more at his chron.

“Hunt’s been on for nearly two minutes,” he said. “But they won’t be organized yet. Time for us to try the ville. So far, so good, friends.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Sun Crest was in pitch darkness, but none of the hunting party had the least idea that there was anything wrong.

They had surged from the main gates of the ville into the teeth of the chem storm. As Ryan Cawdor had predicted, the weather had produced chaos for the dozens of riders and their baying pack of dogs.

Two of the leading sec men’s mounts went down on the cobbles of the inner yard as soon as the signal was given, bringing down another ten in flailing, cursing confusion.

By the time some sort of order had been restored, helped by the savage whip of Mistress Marie, and they were out near the edge of the forest in reasonable discipline, nearly two whole minutes had been wasted.

Despite the raging chem storm, they all knew that time was still massively on their side, and not one of the huge gang of sweating, soaked hunters was worried.

Which isn’t quite true.

Sec Sergeant Harry Guiteau had a strange, nagging doubt at the back of his mind, a doubt that made him push his men on into the forest. He allowed the hounds to run free as they tried to pick up a scent from the sodden mud underfoot.

Marie Mandeville was riding like a fury, her long black hair already streaming water, the flanks of her stallion specked with crimson droplets where the Mexican spurs were doing their vicious work.

Her father was jogging comfortably along, beaming at all of his men, whistling to himself.

There was utter confusion for at least two more minutes, where the trails parted, until the belling of a group of the hounds showed they’d finally caught a scent.

“For the river!” shouted one of the pretty boys who rode as close to Marie as they dared.

His cry turned the moment and everyone set off toward the stone bridge at a flailing gallop, whooping and cheering at the thought that the hunt might turn out to be blessedly short, so they could all make haste back to the ville for hot baths, drink and food.

“Didn’t figure the old Trader’s man for a double-stupe,” Guiteau said to himself, spitting out a mouthful of cold rainwater. “No way.”

SUN CREST WAS in total darkness, and even from outside the rain-drenched walls, it was possible to hear shouts of concern.

The door stood at the base of the north tower, with its ornate Gothic pinnacles and mullioned windows. An electric sec alarm was at its center, as well as a large iron knocker in the shape of a bear’s paw.

Ryan lifted the knocker and let it fall, hearing the deep sound echo away.

Nothing happened.

The storm was still raging, with almost constant thunder and lightning, though Ryan had thought, a few moments ago, that he might have caught the sound of baying dogs through a second or two of silence.

He hammered again with the knocker. The maroon overalls were soaked through, their color almost black. Ryan gripped his panga in his right hand, concealed behind his back. J.B. was flattened against the wall to his left, the others lined up behind him, ready for the move if someone opened the door.