The Sword of Aradel (10 page)

By this time a small crowd had collected at the counter. Suddenly a lean, bald-headed man pressed close and picked up the coin. He studied it with narrowed eyes, then said quietly, “I'll give you twenty dollars for it, son.”

Brian had no idea what twenty dollars amounted to, but at a quick nod from Merra the transaction was made. He paid for their order with five of the pieces of paper, received some inferior coins in change, and was given two bags containing their food. It had been his intention to eat at a table, but Merra tugged urgently at his sleeve and he followed her outside.

“We must get away from here, Sir Brian,” she said in a rush. “It isn't just the man who bought the gold—he knows it's worth many times what he paid, and he's planning to follow us in the hope of buying more—but it's the others. I can pick up their thoughts. Tancred tells me two of the thieves who tried to take your sword came in behind us to buy food. I did not see them, but Tancred did, and he says they are coming out now to watch where we go. We'd better run!”

They ran. Brian led on a twisting course that took them away from the lighted paths and into the shadows under the trees. Long later, when he was sure no one was close enough to see them, they crept behind a mass of shrubbery and slumped to the grass, breathless and exhausted. The burgers were no longer hot, nor were the shakes very cold, but it hardly mattered. Ambrosia could not have tasted better, and they consumed every scrap.

Merra sighed wearily when she had finished. “I—I didn't know I was so tired. I'm afraid if I close my eyes …”

“Go ahead and close them,” he told her. “It's time you rested, for you didn't get much sleep before we came here. Tancred and I will keep watch.”

She curled up on the grass and was sound asleep almost on the instant. Brian had every intention of remaining awake, but he did not realize how badly he needed rest himself. When his head began to nod he fought to stay awake. The food he had eaten made it difficult. Finally he made the mistake of closing his eyes.

He was abruptly wakened by the frantic beating of Tancred's wings against his face. Because of the hard and uncertain life he had been forced to lead, he was wide awake and on his feet in seconds, standing at a crouch while his eyes raked the gloom. It took only seconds more to spot the dim figures closing in upon him, and to plan a defense against three knives and a club, and something small in the hand of one that might or might not be a weapon. Then he drew a deep breath, whipped out his sword, and charged.

The whirling blade caught the attacking figures by surprise. There were sudden screams of pain and fright. The knives and the club went flying. A fury of cursing was followed by quick explosions, and something stung his upper arm. Then he saw the cause of it, the last thief on his feet, and he quickly cut him down.

Brian paused, then froze at the sharp sound of whistles. He heard shouts, followed by the pound of approaching feet. Were more thieves coming to help those he'd bested? Now he felt the first stab of fear. But he had Merra to protect, and he clenched his teeth and prepared to charge the new group.

Lights flashed in his face. A man shouted, “Put down that sword, you fool! We're the police!”

Even then he might have charged, for the word meant nothing to him. But Merra's urgent cry stopped him in time, and he made no resistance when the men with badges closed in on him.

8

Prisoners

B
RIAN PROTESTED HOTLY WHEN THEY TOOK HIS
sword and equipment away, then became grimly silent when he realized the uselessness of argument. He and Merra were herded to a roadway in the park and forced into the rear of a wheeled machine. After a bewildering ride into the city, they stopped at a towering building and were taken upstairs to a large untidy room full of noise and hurrying people.

His anger broke out anew when a man at a desk began questioning him over and over, and refused to accept his replies. The man was an impatient person with a broad, red face who was called Sergeant Sykes, and he spoke a kind of English so different from his own that understanding was anything but easy.

“We'll start all over again,” Sergeant Sykes rapped out. “Now listen carefully. I want your full name, your age, and your father's name and address. Is that clear?”

“But—but I have given thee my name—not once but thrice! It is Brian. Hast thou not ears to hear?”

The broad face of Sergeant Sykes became a darker red. “Cut out that silly lingo and give me a straight answer! I asked for your full name and your address. How long is it going to take you to give it to me?”

Brian glanced at Merra. Her face had tightened with worry and fury. His hands clenched. “What right hast thou to question us and hold us prisoner? We are not thine enemies! Where is my sword and our belongings? I demand that thou returnest them and release us!”

“Shut up!” The chill eye of their questioner turned icy. “You'll be lucky to be released in the next ten years if you don't get wise and cooperate. Do you have any idea of the spot you're in?”

“Spot?”

“Yes, spot! You're in real trouble! Joe,” he spoke to the uniformed man who had been silently watching the questioning, “bring me that junk you found on these kids.”

The man—it was one of the guards who had captured them—stepped through a door and returned presently with the sword and scabbard, the knives and pouches they had worn at their belts, and a curious metal object on the order of the ones some of the men in the room were wearing.

“You won't believe this,” said the guard named Joe, “but the boys have checked out this stuff, and it's
real
. The sword and scabbard are museum pieces! Lord knows what they're worth, but Brady figures the jewels alone would bring fifty grand on today's market.”

Sergeant Sykes whistled softly. A small crowd began to collect around them.

“And that's not all,” Joe hastened on. “Look at this!” He opened the pouches and dumped their golden contents upon the desk. “We've no way of knowing if the coins are authentic, but they are pure gold, and Brady says they might be a thousand years old. If so, they're collector's items and worth plenty.”

Men fingered the sword and the gold, then looked at Brian and Merra. Sergeant Sykes said, “And the pistol, Joe. What about it?”

“We picked it up at the girl's feet,” the guard replied. “Dippy's boys—the two that were able to talk before the ambulance came—say the pistol belongs to the girl and that she was shooting at them with it.” He shrugged. “Could be. The tough chicks are coming young these days. Anyway, we can't prove it by the fingerprints. They're smudged.”

“H'm. Any word from the hospital?”

“Not yet. But I'll tell you this, sarge. All five of that bunch were badly cut, and the interne on the second ambulance said he doubted one would live.”

“So!” The thin mouth in the broad face became even thinner. Sergeant Sykes looked at Brian, then at Merra. “What a nice pair you are! Illegal possession of a firearm. Assault with deadly weapons. Attempted murder—and it'll be murder if that punk dies. And on top of it all, this—” His hand touched the sword and the glittering coins. “Probably grand theft.” Abruptly the hand slapped the desk, so hard that the coins jumped. “Let's have it! Where'd you steal this stuff?”

It was several seconds before Brian could decipher enough of what he had heard to understand the accusations.

“Thou callest us thieves?” he said slowly.

“If you didn't steal it, then how did you get it?”

Brian fought to control himself. This cold, unbelieving, unfeeling world was almost worse in its way than Aradel under Albericus. In a voice that shook a little from his rising fury, he managed to say, “The sword, 'tis mine by right of combat, and fairly won! The gold, a gift from the Dryads to help in our quest!”

“Huh? Dry—what? You sure you didn't find it all in a garbage can?” The thin mouth curled in a sneer. “Phooey! I don't know where you got those trick costumes and that phony talk, but you're nothing but a pair of thieving punks and worse, in my opinion, than that bunch you cut up.” Suddenly he glared at Merra. “You! Where did you get that pistol?”

“Explain thyself!” she cried back. “I know not what a pistol be!”

“Nuts! You're a lying little witch. The weapon was found at your feet, and you were seen using it. Any kid your age who runs around nights packing a pistol—”

“Enough!” Brian exploded. “She telleth no falsehood!”

Before anyone could even guess what he was about to do, his hand had streaked out faster than the eye could follow and closed on his sword. The sword flashed from the scabbard and he leaped quickly back, giving himself room to use it.

“Now hear ye!” he yelled, his voice drowning out the sudden shouts and exclamations as men fell away from him, most of them instantly producing weapons like the thing called a pistol. Fury made him oblivious to any possible danger. “Hear ye, and hear ye well! We speak truth, yet ye mind us not! What manner of men be ye? We come as strangers, seeking a thing long lost, and are at once beset by thieves. We find refuge in the park, but they follow and attack. Verily, we are forced to fight for our lives! Yet ye swallow the tale of those scoundrels and thieves, and hear not the truth! What manner of men—”

“Put down that sword, you jackass!” Sergeant Sykes roared, kicking his chair aside.

“Give me thy word that we may go in peace, and I will put it away.”

“I'll put
you
away, you thieving punk! I'll put you away for good!”

Brian saw the man's hand swing up, pointing the pistol thing at him. His blade, flicking quickly from side to side to hold a half dozen men at a distance, became a sudden blur. The pistol thing exploded and flew off across the room. Sergeant Sykes, now white of face, fell back holding his hand.

“I don't believe it!” someone whispered. “The way that young idiot handles a sword! If we don't stop him—”

Brian was momentarily startled by the weapon's explosion, for it was much louder than the other explosions in the park had been. For the first time he thought of the burning sting in his left arm, then instantly forgot it as more men erupted into the room. They approached him warily, then suddenly rushed him when an opened blanket was flung in his face.

The sword was caught in the blanket like a fish in a net, and before he could free it they were upon him. He lost the sword but squirmed out of their grasp, kicking, fighting, hurling anything he could get his hands on. A few feet away Merra screamed her hate and laid about her with a heavy stick she had snatched from a desk. “Rotten wretches!” she yelled shrilly. “Rogues! Dogs! Whelps! A malediction on thee all!”

A woman's voice, high and clear and sharp as a razor, brought all action to an abrupt end. Brian, breathing rapidly, turned with the others and stared open-mouthed at the commanding Amazon who had come into the room. Tall and muscular, she was the sort, he knew instinctively, who would have definite opinions that might turn out to be troublesome.

“Brawling with minors, are you?” she said icily. “Sergeant Sykes, what is the meaning of this?”

Sergeant Sykes did not reply. He was leaning against the wall, eyes closed, holding a bloody handkerchief about a wounded hand. It was the guard named Joe who spoke.

“Mrs. Mayfield,” he began, “there was a gang fight in the park—”

“Lieutenant
Mayfield,” she corrected him. “And I will remind you again that I am in complete charge of juvenile offenders. They are to be brought to my office as soon as you have their names.”

“Yes, ma'am. I—we thought you were off duty this evening.”

“I was at night court. What's wrong with Sergeant Sykes?”

“That young rascal yonder cut him with a sword. I should warn you, ma'am; he's a ferocious devil—he ought to be handcuffed. The sergeant was just trying to get the facts about him when he went berserk. He's already cut up Dippy Scarri's gang and put them in the hospital. Three are in bad shape. One may die.”

“H'm. See that the sergeant gets medical attention. And bring that pair into my office along with the sword and all the other exhibits. But no handcuffs—unless the kids cause more trouble.”

Brian was propelled down a hall with Merra and thrust into a much smaller room containing a desk piled with papers and records, several chairs and a littered table, and some cabinets against a wall. He and Merra were given chairs at the table, facing the stern Amazon on the other side. The guard named Joe made room on the table for the sword and the other things, then gave a careful account of all that had happened, and took his seat near the door.

For a minute the big woman studied the objects curiously. She examined the sword, touched the gold and the paper money received at the eating place, and suddenly picked up a large piece of chalk from Merra's pouch.

“A strange assortment, this. A rare sword studded with valuable gems. Old gold, modern money, and a piece of what looks like natural chalk. I've heard they have it around Dover.” Abruptly she looked up, and in her clear, cold voice demanded, “What are you doing with a piece of natural chalk?”

Brian glanced at Merra. For the first time since they had arrived in this unknown land, there was a hint of mischief in her eyes.

“The chalk, good lady? We travel with it. And 'tis from the valley of the Loire, not Dover.”

Lieutenant Mayfield stiffened slightly. Obviously it was an answer she neither expected nor wanted.

“I will have no nonsense from either of you,” she bit out icily. “Nor will I stand for lies or evasions.” She paused, then said, “The chalk is very curious, though unimportant. But the sword and the gold
must
be accounted for. Where did you get them?”

Merra gave one of her elfin smiles. It was such a marked change from her screaming fury during the fight that Brian looked at her in surprise. She's up to something, he told himself.