He Lover of Death (41 page)

Just at that moment Death whispered something. Senka pricked up his ears, but he couldn’t make out the words. Except for one: ‘late’. What did that mean?

So that was why she’d thrown Erast Petrovich out on his ear! She was afraid her love would cost him his life!

And she didn’t give me the push because I’m just a kid to her, either,
Senka told himself, straightening up his shoulders.

Mr Nameless had come up with a smart plan, no denying that. Do away with all of the stinking reptiles at the same time. Only how was he going to handle them without a weapon?

The engineer continued as if he had heard Senka’s question: ‘Gentlemen and spiders, p-please put your pocket cannons away. I c-came here without a firearm because we can’t shoot in this b-basement in any case. I had time to make a close study of the v-vaults, they are in very bad repair, held up by n-nothing but a wish and a promise. One shot or, indeed, a l-loud shout will be enough to bring the Holy T-Trinity down on top of us.’

‘The Holy Trinity?’ Solntsev echoed nervously.

‘Not the Father, the S-Son and the Holy Ghost,’ Erast Petrovich said with a smile, ‘but the Ch-Church of the Holy Trinity in Serebryanniki. At this m-moment we are precisely below its f-foundations, I checked a historical map of Moscow. The b-buildings of the State Mint used to stand here.’

‘He’s lying through his teeth,’ said the Ghoul, shaking his head. ‘The Trinity can’t collapse, it’s made of stone.’

Instead of answering, the engineer clapped his hands loudly. The heap of earth and rubble blocking the doorway shook, and small stones showered down from the top of it.

‘A-agh!’ gasped Senka, choking on his own cry, and put his hand over his mouth.

But the others didn’t hear him – they were all gazing around wildly and gasping in fright. The superintendent even covered his head with his hands.

Death looked round at Senka for the first time since she had dug her elbow into him. She touched his forehead gently with her finger and whispered: ‘Don’t be afraid, everything will be all right.’

He was going to say: ‘There’s no one afraid here’, but she turned away again before he could.

Erast Petrovich waited for the spiders to stop twitching and said in a loud, commanding voice: ‘Before you d-determine which of you will leave here alive, I s-suggest you tip your bullets out on the f-floor. One accidental shot, and there will be n-no victors.’

‘A
sound idea,’ said Boxman, the first to respond.

Deadeye agreed.
‘A
bullet has no brains, that goes without saying.’

Well, of course! Those two didn’t need revolvers, Deadeye probably didn’t even have one.

The Prince narrowed his eyes in fury and hissed:

‘I’ll bite your rotten throats out!’ He threw open the cylinder of his revolver and tipped out the bullets.

The Ghoul hesitated for a moment, but a few more stones tumbled down off the top of the heap, and that convinced him.

The superintendent really didn’t want to part with his Colt. He glanced desperately at the way out, wondering whether he could leg it, but Erast Petrovich was blocking the way.

‘Come now, Your Honour,’ said Boxman, aiming his revolver at his superior’s forehead. ‘Do as you’re told!’

The superintendent tried to open the cylinder, but his hands were shaking. So he just flung the revolver away – it clanged against the floor, spun round a few times then stopped.

Boxman was the last to get rid of his bullets. ‘That’s better,’ he grunted, rolling up his sleeves. ‘Those popguns are nothing but trouble. Right, then, let’s get down to it and see who comes off best. Only keep it quiet! The first one to yell is the first to die!’

The Prince took his knuckleduster from his pocket. Deadeye backed away into the wall and shook his wrist, and a bright blade glinted between his fingers like a silvery fish. The Ghoul bent down, picked a silver rod up off a pile and swung it a couple of times. It whistled through the air. Even the superintendent wasn’t going to be left out. He ran into a corner, clicked something, and a narrow strip of steel leapt from his fist – the same knife he’d used to peel his apple at the station.

The engineer simply walked forward, taking springy steps with his legs slightly bent. Good for Erast Petrovich, the brainbox, he’d twisted them round his little finger. Now he’d start thrashing away with those arms and legs, Japanese-style.

Senka touched Death on the shoulder, as if to say: Watch what happens now! But she said: ‘Ah, how well it’s all turning out, it’s like the answer to a prayer. Let go of me, Senka.’

She turned round, kissed him quickly on the side of the head and ran out into the middle of the chamber. ‘And here I am, Death! Speak of the devil!’

She bent down and picked up the pistol the superintendent had thrown away, held it in both hands and cocked the hammer. ‘Thank you, Erast Pretrovich,’ she said to the stupefied engineer. ‘This was a very good idea. You can go now, you’re not needed here any more. Take Senya with you, and make haste. And you, my sweet little lovers,’ she said, turning towards the others, ‘will stay here with me.’

The Prince growled and darted towards her, but Death pointed the pistol at the ceiling. ‘Stop! I’ll fire! Or do you think I’m afraid to?’

Even the bold Prince backed away at that, her shout was so convincing.

‘Don’t d-do this!’ said Mr Nameless, recovering his senses. ‘Please, l-leave, you will only spoil everything.’

She tossed her head and her big eyes flashed. ‘Oh no! How could I leave, when God has shown me such kindness? I was always afraid that I would end up lying lifeless in my coffin and everyone would come and look. Now no one will see me dead, and there’ll be no need to bury me. The kind earth will shelter me.’

Senka saw Boxman edge over to the Ghoul and the Prince and whisper something to them. But Erast Petrovich wasn’t looking at them, only at Death.

‘There’s no reason for you to die!’ he shouted. ‘Just because you’ve convinced yourself that—’

‘Now!’ Boxman gasped, and all three of them – Boxman, the Prince and the Ghoul – flung themselves on the engineer.

The constable crashed into Erast Petrovich with all the weight of his massive carcass, pinned him against the wall, grabbed hold of his wrists and pulled the engineer’s arms out as if he was on a cross.

‘Get his legs!’ Boxman wheezed. ‘He’s a great kicker!’

The Prince and the Ghoul squatted down on their haunches and grabbed hold of Mr Nameless’s legs. He twitched like a fish on a hook, but he couldn’t break free.

‘Let him go!’ Death shrieked, and pointed the revolver, but she didn’t fire.

‘Hey, you, Four-eyes, take that gun off her!’ the constable ordered.

Deadeye moved directly towards Death, reciting in a cajoling voice: ‘Return to me, I beg you, cruel one, a youthful lover’s sacred pledge.’

She turned towards the Jack. ‘Don’t come any closer. Or I’ll kill you.’

But the slender hands clutching the revolver were shaking.

‘Shoot him! Don’t b-be afraid!’ Erast Petrovich shouted desperately, struggling to break loose.

But Boxman’s mighty hands held him in a vice-like grip, and the Ghoul and the Prince still kept hold of their prisoner.

‘Stop, you damned blockhead!’ the superintendent howled. ‘She’ll fire! You’ll get us all killed!’

The Jack’s thin lips stretched out into a smile. ‘Blockhead yourself! Mademoiselle won’t fire, she’s too concerned for the handsome man with the dark hair. That, my dear copper, is called love.’

He suddenly took two long, rapid strides, grabbed the Colt out of Death’s hands and flung it as far away as he could, to the entrance of the passage, then said calmly: ‘And now you can finish off Mr Know-all.’

‘What with, our teeth?’ hissed Boxman, crimson from the strain. ‘He’s a strong devil, we can barely hold him.’

‘Well then,’ Deadeye sighed, ‘it is the duty of the intelligentsia to help the people. Now, servant of law and order, move aside a little, if you please.’

The constable shifted over as far as he could and the Jack raised his knife, preparing to throw. Now the steel lightning would flash and that would be end of the American engineer Erast Petrovich Nameless.

The Colt was lying on the floor only two steps away from the passage, its burnished steel glittering as if it was winking at Senka: Well, Speedy, how about it?

Ah, to hell with it, he could only die once, it had to happen some time!

Senka dashed to the revolver, grabbed it and yelled: ‘Stop, Deadeye! I’ll take your life!’

Deadeye swung round and his sparse eyebrows inched up in surprise.

‘Bah, the seventh coming. That Speedy again. Why have you come back, you stupid little goose?’

‘Hey, kid!’ shouted the superintendent, pressing himself back against the wall. ‘Don’t even think about it! You don’t know! You can’t shoot in here! The whole place will collapse. We’ll be buried alive.’

‘L-Landslide!’ Erast Petrovich suddenly shouted out at the top of his voice.

Instantly there was a low rumble and the heap of earth and stone blocking off the doorway shuddered and collapsed. The superintendent screamed desperately as a solid, stocky figure dressed in black forced its way out through the rubble. It came tumbling out into the middle of the chamber like a rubber ball, and threw itself at the Jack, screeching like a warrior.

Masa!

Now that was a real miracle!

Erast Petrovich immediately took advantage of his enemies’ confusion: the Prince went flying off in one direction, the Ghoul in the other. But the engineer still couldn’t break the grip of Boxman’s huge hands and, after a brief struggle, they collapsed on the floor, with the constable on top, pinning Mr Nameless down and still holding on tight to his wrists. The Ghoul and the Prince didn’t help Boxman this time – the two bandits’ hate was too strong. They grabbed each other and started rolling across the floor.

Deadeye flung a knife at Masa, but the Japanese squatted down in good time, and he dodged the second and third knives just as easily. But the Jack didn’t stop once he had exhausted the arsenal in his sleeve. He threw back the skirt of his long frock coat, and Senka saw a wooden cane attached to the belt of his trousers.

Senka remembered what Deadeye had in that cane – a big, long pen that was called a ‘foil’. And he hadn’t forgotten how smartly the Jack handled that terrible shiv either.

Deadeye put his left hand behind his back, moved one foot out in front and started edging forward, tracing out glittering circles with his whistling blade. Masa backed away. What else could he do, with only his bare hands!

‘I’ll fire! I’ll fire right now!’ Senka shouted, but no one even looked round.

So there he was, standing like a fool with a loaded revolver, and no one giving a rotten damn about him; everybody was too busy with their own business: Boxman was sitting on the engineer and trying to butt him in the face with his forehead; the Prince and the Ghoul were growling and screeching like two crazy dogs; Deadeye was driving Masa into a corner; Death was trying to drag the constable off Erast Petrovich (but what could she do against a great brute like that?); the superintendent was gazing around like a loony and holding his flick-knife out in front of him.

‘Don’t just stand there, yerbleedinonner!’ Boxman wheezed. ‘Can’t you see I can’t hold him? Stick him! We’ll settle things between us afterwards!

The villainous superintendent – and him supposed to be a servant of law and order! – went running across to stab the man on the floor. He threw Death aside and raised his hand, but she grabbed hold of his arm.

‘Look at me, you lousy bastards,’ Senka shouted in a tearful voice, waving the Colt. ‘I’m going to fire now and bury the damn lot of you!’

Solntsev shifted the knife to his left hand and stuck the blade in Death without even a sideways glance. She sat down on the floor with a look of sudden surprise on her face. In fact, her elegant eyebrows rose up in a strange expression of joy. She carefully put her hands over her wound, and Senka was horrified to see blood streaming out between her fingers.

‘Move over, damn you!’ the superintendent gasped, going down on his knees. ‘I’ll stick him in the neck!’

Senka stopped worrying about the Holy Trinity crushing everyone. Let it, if this was the way things were. He held the revolver out in front of him and pulled the trigger without even taking aim.

He was deafened straight off, didn’t even hear the shot properly, his ears were suddenly blocked, and that was all. A tongue of flame leapt out of the barrel, the superintendent’s head jerked to one side in dashing style, as if he was pointing out some direction, and his body instantly followed instructions by falling that way.

After that the end came very quickly, in a terrible, hollow silence.

The ceiling was all right, it didn’t collapse, it just dropped a scattering of dust and that was all. But Erast Petrovich managed to pull his left hand out from under Boxman, who had glanced round at the thunderous roar. The engineer made use of this hand by squeezing it into a fist and delivering a short, sharp blow to Boxman’s chin. The constable snorted and flopped over on his side like a bull at the slaughterhouse.

Senka turned in the other direction to shoot Deadeye as well, before he could jab that foil of his through Masa. But Senka’s help wasn’t needed. After driving the sensei into a corner, the Jack sprang forward, the arm with the foil uncoiled like a spring, and by rights he should have pinned the Japanese to the wall, but the blade just clattered against the stone as Masa skipped to the left and flicked his wrist. Something small and shiny flew out of his hand and Deadeye suddenly swayed like a floppy stuffed doll. He reached up feebly for his throat, but his hand never reached it. The Jack’s arms dropped limply, his knees buckled and he collapsed flat on his back. His head tipped backwards and Senka saw a steel star with sharp edges that had bitten deep into Deadeye’s throat. There was dark blood bubbling out around it, but Deadeye just lay there quietly, twitching his legs.

The Prince and the Ghoul had stopped rolling around and creating a ruckus too. Senka looked at them and saw that the back of the Ghoul’s head was all smashed in, it was covered in dark dents and bruises from the knuckleduster. And the smashed head was lying just where the Prince’s throat was supposed to be. The eyes of the man who had hated Senka so much were staring rigidly up at the ceiling. Would you believe it – all those times he’d threatened to rip someone’s throat out with his teeth, and someone had ripped his out for him. The Ghoul had drunk his fill of the Prince’s blood. The two spiders had devoured each other . . .