Chapter Thirty-Four

Because of the mutie hearing that the four surviving members of the Family seemed to possess, Ryan had whispered to Krysty, Mildred and Doc not to let on about his sight returning, to wait until they were alone in their room.
When J.B. and Jak returned, about fifteen minutes later, they were each taken aside by Mildred and told the exciting news, both of them warned not to show any reaction.
They had brought some bread and butter and several jars of preservesstrawberry, blueberry and lemon cheeseas well as a couple of bottles of pre-dark wine that Jak had found in a dusty corner of the cellar.
"A Sancerre and a very good claret," Doc pronounced. "I can tell you that those bottles will either be the nectar of the gods, or, if they have not been properly tended, then they will taste like rancid camel piss."
Sadly they had not been properly tended and were both bitter and deeply undrinkable.
"Still, there's the best of Adam's brewery, from a barrel out near the rear entrance to the house," J.B. said. "Least the water's good and wholesome. Only thing in this rad-blasted place that is."
"Can we get out that way?" Ryan asked.
"Sure. But why bother, Ryan? Front door's bolted from the inside. Not locked. Guess it's done to stop any would-be assassin getting in and trying to wipe out the Family. Doesn't stop anyone from getting out."
"From what we've seen about their invulnerability they'd have a tough job," Mildred said.
"I don't know." Ryan allowed Krysty to spread his bread with the fruit jelly in case anyone watched from the slabs of deep shadow above them.
"Got a plan, lover?" she asked.
"Let's finish up down here and get to our room. Take my arm to guide me, Krysty ."


"I WAS WONDERING WHETHER a house like this might not have secret passages in it," Doc said, once they were all gathered safely together in Ryan and Krysty's bedroom. "Maybe a priest's bolt hole that could hide a rat or a ferret or a weasel or some other sneaking wildwooder?"
"Good thought, Doc," Ryan said, pitching his voice low. "Gather around close. Jak, open the window if you can. Windy night might also help to confuse any listeners."
Once that was done they all sat on the bed.
"First things first," Mildred stated. "I need to check your eye, Ryan."
"All right. But make it quick. Every moment that those sick bastards have Dean in their power is a triple-dangerous moment. I know they said they'd not harm him as long as we cooperated, but I don't trust them as far as I could throw them."
For several minutes Mildred carried out what tests she could, making Ryan move around the room, staring up at the oil lamps, spending some time with him in front of the opened windows, testing the extent of his vision.
"Definitely some return of sight, Ryan. Nothing much to write home about. Not yet. But a quantum leap forward from total blindness."
"Will it carry on improving?" Doc asked. "Remember a man I knew called John Stuart who had a horsea real championcalled the Old Campaigner. John was losing his sight, but he decided he wanted to ride her one more time. And all the boys around the ring"
"We heard that story before, Doc," Krysty interrupted. "Good story, but we heard it."
"You asked if it would carry on getting better, Doc," Mildred said. "Answer is, I had no way of knowing if Ryan would ever see again. Even the blurry lights with a hazy halo around each of them. Even the slightest movement. Since I didn't know that, then there's no way I can give you a continuing prognosis. I just hope it carries on improving."
"When did you first think you might be able to see?" Krysty asked.
Ryan hesitated. "Can't really say. Just sort of noticed that bright light seemed to be penetrating."
"Bright lights." J.B. said. "Now that's something we should talk about."
The discussion, argument and planning went on for several hours.
Ryan had never come across a situation where the enemy appeared to be literally indestructible.
That, combined with the fact that the Family held Dean as hostage against the good behavior and obedience of the others, meant that composing a combat strategy was uniquely difficult. Normally their powerful weaponry lay heavy on their side of the scales. Here it seemed almost valueless.
Much of the discussion centered on just how immortal the surviving Corneliuses were.
"One was crushed to death in a logjam on the river," Ryan said.
"And other burned. Means can be chilled. But have to completely whack them. Mebbe decapitate?" Jak was playing with one of his throwing knives, tossing it from hand to hand. Suddenly he lobbed it in the air and caught the needled tip between his teeth, smiling at the others' surprise. "Old Lakota hunting trick," he said. "But my blades not much use here against Family."
"Wish we had some grens. I reckon that a few implodes might get rid of them, for good and all." J.B. shook his head. "But we don't have grens."
"I still like the idea of taking Norman as our hostage and offering a deal for Dean," Mildred said. "Why is everyone so opposed to it, John?"
"Because none of us thinks there's the smallest hope of the Family being interested in a deal like that. They do want Dean, and they don't seem to care all that much for Norman. Just a kind of servant, anyway."
Mildred stood and stretched, then walked to the window and peered out. "Day's about done and we still don't have much of a plan."
"We got the makings of one," Ryan argued. "Just have to throw the dice and see what comes up. Then make our moves. Keep on triple red."
"The Family said that they'd have worked out a scheme for using us by tomorrow. They likely won't expect us to try anything until we've heard what their plan is. Might not expect any rebellion. They likely reckon we're cowed like those poor bastards in Bramton."
J.B. was pacing the floor, furiously polishing his glasses. "Like the old vampires, they seem to do most of their living from dusk to dawn. I still think we might do better to wait and try and hit them in daylight. When they might be locked away in their rooms, sleeping."
"I personally favor the idea of creeping into their vault, where they must sleep in coffins filled with graveyard dirt. And striking them through their evil hearts with a sharpened stake of good oak."
"Probably be about as successful as my attempt with the crucifix, Doc," Mildred said. "I figure they'd just laugh at a sharp stake."
Doc sighed. "I fear that you're right."
Ryan clapped his hands gently to attract everyone's attention. "Come on, people," he said quietly. "Trader used to say that the best ace-on-the-line plan was the one that the enemy expected least of all. J.B.'s right about them moving out and about during the time of darkness. So that's when we hit them. Around midnight. When they'll least expect us to go against them." He gazed around at the pale blurs that were the faces of his companions. "Pluck away Dean from their hold and head at top speed for Redoubt 47. And for the gateway and a jump out of here."


JAK HAD DISCOVERED on one of his earliest recces through the house that the servants' quarters were completely separate from the rest of the mansion, in a west wing with its own locked and barred entrance.
The Family only seemed to let them out when they needed them in the kitchen or to do any cleaning or washing.
But after eight o'clock at night the main section of the place was deserted. Except for the ubiquitous Norman.
Ryan's sight was improving all the time, and he decided to go out of their bedroom and hunt for food, along with Krysty and J.B.
There was an ancient clock in the tower at the east flank of the house. A discordant bell chimed the quarters. At the hour a creaking door at the top of the clock face snapped open and out came a pair of jerky mechanical figures, a knight in armor, about half life-size, the metal of its cuirass stained green with verdi-gris, followed by old Father Death, a grinning skeleton, wrapped in the folds of a carved linen cloak, clutching a long silver scythe that it swung every couple of seconds in the general direction of the knight.
Both figures revolved twice, then Death struck the bell with the blade of the scythe.
Ten times.
"Two hours to go," Ryan whispered, leading the way down the wide sweep of the staircase toward the dining room and the kitchen beyond it.
"Odd feeling," J.B. commented, "making our way through the heart of a deeply hostile ville without having to worry about sec men. Must be a first."
"How's the eye, lover?"
The lighting in the house was subdued, with many of the ornamental lamps turned right off, the rest giving out only dim pools of watery gold.
But Ryan still found that he could see fairly well. There was a kind of tunneling to his sight, with a sharp spot at the center of his eye and increasing blurring the farther he looked toward the side.
"Not bad," he replied. "When we get to the kitchen it might be worth taking something extra."
"Now, why would the guests of the Cornelius Family be wanting to take some extra food?" Norman asked from the side of a long, bedraggled wall hanging. "Wouldn't be they were thinking of leaving, would it? If they did, then the little lad's life would be measured in short, panting, throttling, choking, sobbing moments. It can't be that."
"We thought we might not come down to breakfast tomorrow," Krysty said quickly. "Show them that they haven't got us beaten. Eat in our rooms."
Norman put his head on one side, index finger touching the dimple on his right cheek. "Well, my advice would be to avoid any conflict. In the morning their tempers can be particularly bad. I recall Melmoth ripping an arm off a scullery maid because she spilled some rich blood-thick soup on his hand."
"Perhaps you know best," Ryan said. "All right if we just go and help ourselves to some food for tonight?"
"Of course, dear heart, of course." He moved closer, his eyes fixed on Ryan's face. "Did I see you making your unaided way down the stairs, lovie? Is your eye recovered? Because if it is, then I think the Family would be interested. Especially little Mary, who has such a special care for you, Ryan."
"Are you immortal, Norman?" Krysty asked, taking the few steps that brought her right up to the little man, towering over him by several inches.
"Not I, my fire-headed kestrel."
She placed the middle finger of her right hand on the center of his forehead, holding it there for a moment while she closed her own bright green eyes. Norman staggered suddenly and would have fallen if she hadn't supported him by the arm.
"If you're not immortal, then you could find how easy death can come calling," she whispered menacingly. "It can come in waking and in sleeping. Remember that, little man."
He pulled away pettishly, his face contorted with anger and hatred. "Think your pathetic power'll help against them, lady? I'll live to dance and smile on your grave."
He spun and stalked away, the sound of his clicking high heels fading gradually into the stillness.
"You sure enough put the fear of Gaia into him, lover," Ryan said.
"Didn't want him pressing you about how well you could see. We don't hold too many cards in this game, so we might as well keep what we've got close to our chests."
Ryan nodded. "Yeah. Let's just grab some bread and whatever and get back to our room."
"And make ready for the move," Krysty added.
"Two hours." Ryan peered at his wrist chron, able to read the tiny digital display for the first time in days. "One hour and fifty-four minutes."