Chapter Twenty-Seven

When he came around again he was lying on a bed, sensing a number of people surrounding him.
"Krysty?" he breathed, just able to hear his own voice dropping into stillness.
"Here, lover. Don't try and talk. Your throat's been badly bruised. Mildred thinks the voice box could've been damaged. If Doc hadn't come along"
"Thanks, Doc."
"Think nothing of it, dear friend. I only wish I had come a little earlier, when my trusty Le Mat could have chilled your lethal enemy."
"You see him?"
"No. When I ventured into the corridor my door stuck and I had to push it hard for several seconds. I don't know what woke me. You were lying down at the far end, in the darkness beneath a wall lamp. I thought you dead." The old man's voice broke with emotion.
"Not yet. Critical but not desperate."
J.B.'s voice cut through. "You got any idea what hit you, Ryan? The attic door was locked, and the shutters and bars in place. Could only have come in from the lower floors. From outside the house."
Ryan shook his head. "No. Attic door was open."
"Locked when Doc fetched us to you."
"Is everyone safe? Dean there?"
"Sure, Dad." A hand rested on his arm.
"Forde not here." Jak's voice came from somewhere over near the window.
Ryan remembered. "Anyone see him?"
A moment of silence. He could imagine everyone looking at everyone else.
The Armorer answered Ryan. "Doesn't look like anyone saw him. Too worried for you. Guess he must still be in his room. Probably slept right through the trouble."
Ryan swung his legs over the side of the bed. A hand reached and steadied him. "Noise I heard was right by his room, and I was outside it when I was attacked."
"I'll go look," Jak stated.
Ryan shook his head. "No. Not on your own. J.B., go with him. Take the Uzi with you. Whatever got me isn't going to be stopped by a single bullet. I never felt such strength and raw power in my whole life."
"Should we all go?" Mildred asked. "Safety in numbers and all that stuff."
Ryan shook his head again. "No. We were told not to wander at night. We can find out in the morning what might have happened. Less disturbance now, the better."
"Might be a clue on the movie that Johannes took," Dean suggested.
Ryan reached and rubbed at his sore neck, wincing at the pain. "That's I'd forgotten the film. He was pleased, wasn't he? Said he'd discovered something that would amaze us. And that he'd done some secret filming."
"Thomas Cornelius knew about the film, didn't he?" Mildred said slowly, thinking back. "And Johannes wondered how he knew. Remember?"
"Sure," Ryan answered. "And something woke me. Something down that end."
"Didn't wake the rest of us," Krysty said. "I slept much more deeply than usual. And I got a headache behind the eyes. You think we might've been"
"Drugged!" Mildred exclaimed. "Those pretty, sweet liqueurs Norman offered."
"But we all had some of that," Dean said. "How come Dad woke up when he did?"
"Because I never finished my drink. Gave it to you, lover, didn't I?"
"Yes, you did. Gaia! Don't like the smell of all this, friends."
J.B. stood and worked the action on the Uzi. "You ready, Jak?"
"Sure."
"Then, let's go recce."
Ryan sat again, waiting quietly for the two friends to return. The attack had left him close to the edge of clinical shock, and he wished that he could have something hot and sweet to drink. It struck him that he didn't even know how much of the night had gone by.
"What's the time?" he asked.
"Close on five," Doc replied. "The light through yonder window is beginning to break and it is the dawn."
"Want to lie down, Ryan?"
"No, thanks, Mildred. Throat's feeling a bit better." He decided not to mention the illusion that he'd bad out in the passage after the near throttling, the moment when he'd thought that he could see the light of the torch. Since it hadn't lasted long enough for him to even hope, there seemed no point in mentioning it to the others.
There was no conversation while they waited for Jak and J.B. to return. Mildred walked quietly over to the door and peered along the gloomy corridor.
"Nothing," she whispered. "Looks like they must've gone into Forde's bedroom."
Ryan lay down, straining his hearing to try to catch any sound from outside.
But both the Armorer and Jak were masters at silent movement, and they were back in the room with the door closed behind them before he heard any clue to their return.
"He all right?" The question came from Dean. "Is Johannes all right?"
Ryan knew.
As soon as he heard the long hesitation from Jak and J.B., he knew.
It was the Armorer who finally broke the silence. "He's chilled."
"Master Forde is dead?" Doc said disbelievingly. "How can he be dead?"
"Easy," Jak replied. "Murdered."
"Should I go look at him?" Mildred asked. "Anything I could do for him?"
J.B. answered her. "Nothing. We tried to close his eyes, but they were so wide the lids wouldn't clamp down. He'd been butchered. Seems likely it was the same man or men that Ryan encountered in the passage."
"Signs of great strength?" Ryan felt himself beginning to sweat again with the instant memory of the immense power of the thing that had gripped him and held him so tight.
"Yeah." Jak coughed and cleared his throat. "Head turned clear around to look over back. Spine snapped like dry twig. Beaten. Ribs so broke the jagged ends stuck out through skin."
"Arms broken," J.B. added. "Thighbone protruding through the pants he'd been wearing. Face as bruised and black as a high-plains thundercloud. Doubt that you'd have recognized him if you hadn't known."
"Drying blood all over bed. Came from eyes and nose and ears and mouth, well as places where bones snapped out of skin. Bad sight."
Jak went to the corner of the room and poured himself a cup of water from the blue-and-white bowl, dashing some of it onto his face.
The Armorer sat on the bed beside Ryan, touching him on the shoulder. "One other thing."
"His films and stuff."
"Yeah. That a guess?"
"Sort of. I wondered why the killer would go for Johannes Forde, rather than any of us. And why he'd been put right away from the rest of us with an empty room between him and us. Like they wanted him isolated."
"You think it was the Family?" Krysty asked.
Ryan moved his head from side to side, feeling the tightness in his throat. "Johannes took films. Last time, Elric didn't appear on them. Some technical problem. Could be they really don't like being put on movies."
"Why?" the Armorer asked.
"Could be lots of reasons," Ryan replied. "I'm starting to wonder if this place is a fraud. Their history. Barons for so long. Could be they're all well-known chillers and they just don't want their faces flashed around on film in case they get recognized."
He could sense that his idea hadn't gone down all that well among the friends.
"They've smashed all his equipment," J.B. said. "All the film's been pulled out and mangled and torn. Doesn't look like any could be saved."
"Projector broken, as well?" Doc probed. "Guess they'd want that spoiled, too."
"You got a theory about them, Doc?" Ryan asked. "Let's all share it."
The old man shook his head. "I am only too aware of the reputation that I have with all of you. A foolish, time-trawled dotard whose brain and imagination carry him too often into dark woods and pastures peculiar. No, don't contradict me." He laughed. "Not that any of you were about to do so. No, I have an idea that falls into the land of faerie and should not yet be exposed to the ridicule of others." He hesitated a moment. "But, whatever my guess, I can only urge the greatest caution while in this place and with these people. The greatest caution."


NORMAN BROUGHT THEM the tragic news of the murder. It was just a little after six and the building was stirring, the smell of fresh baking bread drifting up from the first floor.
Ryan had insisted that they should be ignorant of the death of Johannes Forde, to avoid any suspicion falling on them. So they were all suitably shocked at the announcement.
"We believe that someone from the ville, who bore a grudge against us, broke in. A door had been forced around the back by the garden. Master Thomas has suggested that the films taken by Johannes might have upset the villagers. Poor, sentimental and superstitious folks. They could have believed that Johannes was, somehow, robbing them of their spirits."
"Their immortal souls," Doc said. "Is that not a better way of putting it?"
"Perhaps. Yes, perhaps."
Ryan had pressed the butler over the precise manner of Forde's passing.
"He had been badly beaten, as though by a strong man in a rage, with all of his possessions scattered and torn apart. We shall ask questions in Bramton. Oh, yes, indeed, we shall."
"Nobody saw or heard anything?" Ryan asked.. "Must've made some noise, way you tell it?"
Norman shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. He wore rings on most of his fingers and they were clicking nervously, one against another.
"The house has thick walls and floors and ceilings," he said finally.
"And there was nothing at all left of his films?" Mildred asked.
"Sadly, not. It would have been interesting to view the material he shot here."
"But how?" began Dean, who was sitting on the bed beside his father, who reached across and rested his hand gently on the boy's shoulder, his fingers gripping him tightly, cutting off the words.
"My son was about to ask how long it would be before breakfast. Not the most tactful thing for him to say after such sad news of a friend."
" I Yeah, I guess it was. Sorry, Dad. Stupe of me not to think."
"That's all right."
Norman giggled, the high heels of his shoes rapping out a positive fandango of nerves. "Well, I can give the lad the answer. For those who feel like eating, there will be a light breakfast served in ten minutes' time."
"We'll be there," Ryan said, standing, his hand still on Dean's shoulder.
"What about burial of Forde?" Jak asked. "You look after that for us?"
"Of course we can. He shall have as good a burial as any chrisom child."

Ryan nodded. "Thanks."


NORMAN HAD GONE ON AHEAD, leaving them to make their own way along the passage and down the wide stairs. Dean insisted on helping his father.
"Wouldn't mind a look at Johannes's body," Mildred said. "Be just a minute."
She was gone for about three minutes, while they waited for her near the top of the staircase.
"Not just beaten to hell and back," she said. "Someone also drained most of the blood from his carcass."
Ryan picked his careful way down the stairs, his mind trying to unravel this latest macabre twist.
"Really bright sun," said Krysty at his side. "Spearing through the shutters here."
Ryan could feel the warmth and he turned his head in that direction, hesitating as he thought that he actually saw a glint of molten golden light from his right eye.
But, like before, he couldn't be sure, and the moment quickly passed.