He didn't waste a moment longer, therefore, but opened the door again and lunged through. As he'd expected, the two men had their backs to him, watching the door that had smears of his blood all over it. Servants, butlers or something, wearing stripy nightshirts and nightcaps and with bare feet. He hit the nearest as hard as he could on the back of the head with the hilt of his knife and the other man gave a cry or surprise and alarm, stumbling back away from him. Malone decided he wasn't a threat and ignored him, running away from him down the corridor towards the central part of the mansion. There was a lot of movement ahead of him, some very close. A maid in a nightdress suddenly appeared, screamed and disappeared through a door.
“A dog man!” he heard someone saying behind him. “A bloody half raised dog! Not a human at all! Completely savage! He went that way!”
Malone had been in the Brigadier's mansion enough times to know how they were laid out, and he headed towards where he expected the stairs up to the main family bedrooms to be. In his heart of hearts, though, he'd given up any hope of being able to accomplish his mission. It was all going wrong! His plan had been to sneak around the house while everyone was asleep. Kill Benjamin in his sleep and escape before anyone knew he'd even been there. They would wake up in the morning, be shocked when they discovered the killing...
Now, though, the whole house was awake, and there were no doubt at least two, possibly more, trained killers between him and Benjamin. And even if he got past them, Benjamin himself was the most dangerous of all. As an adoptee, he almost certainly had the ability to cast curses, and most nobleman were trained in the use of duelling weapons as well. Malone was as good as dead.
He took a deep breath to steady his nerves. Every soldier knew they might find themselves in a situation like this sooner or later. He knew exactly what the Brigadier would do if he were here instead of him. His face would show not the slightest change of expression. He would simply ready himself to sell his life as dearly as possible. Very well, that’s what he would do. There would be no more butlers and maids ahead of him, he knew, and nothing he’d seen or heard suggested that Benjamin had other family members living with him. If he continued on towards the family bedrooms he would find himself facing trained killers. Benjamin's goons and bodyguards. That was good. It meant he could just kill everyone he came across until one of them killed him. He took a tighter grip of his knife, therefore, and took another deep breath before continuing on his way.
His left arm was throbbing painfully. He tried to ignore it. Ahead was a flight of stairs, and standing half way up was a man he recognised. Dennis Wilks. One of the men who’d accompanied him when John Martin had brought him to meet Benjamin the first time. He'd been John Martin's henchman then. Now that John Martin had been taken to be adopted, Dennis Wilks had evidently been hired by Benjamin.
The way to survive a fight, the Brigadier had always said, was by fighting, but attacking Dennis would be suicide. The man had a pistol in his hand and, being up the stairs, had the benefit of the high ground. Malone had to make Dennis come to him. He allowed himself to be seen, therefore, then skidded to a halt, his bare feet slipping on the varnished wooden floor. Then he ran back the way he’d come. There was a gunshot and Malone felt the bullet parting his hair as it zipped past his head. “There he is! Heading for the east sitting room!” Malone heard thumping footsteps on the stairs as the man pounded after him.
In a battle between a man with a gun and a man with a knife, the gunman would always win if they were separated by more than four feet, but if they were closer than that the knifeman had the advantage. Malone had to draw him in close, therefore. He ducked into the first room he came to; a room that seemed to be filled only with shelves on which finely decorated porcelain plates were standing. He hid behind the door and tried to control his panicked breathing. If Dennis Wilks was lacking enough in discipline to just come running in...
He wasn't. Dennis came to a stop just outside the door, and a moment later he heard another man join him. Sid, he presumed. “He's in there?”
“Yep. Just waiting for us to go running in, straight onto his knife.” He raised his voice. “That right, mate? You think we're that stupid? Why don’t you come on out and save His Lorsdship the trouble of calling in his ‘special friend’?”
He’s talking about the Radiant, Malone realised. Human wizards needed physical contact to use their ontological abilities, but the Radiant could curse him from outside the building. An attack against which there was no defence and from which there was no hope of escape. It wouldn't even need to curse him all the way back to the small dog from which he'd been raised. It could curse him just half way back, leaving him human enough to answer questions but with hands that lacked the dexterity to hold a knife. Malone felt cold sweat breaking out across his body as terror gripped him. For the past five years since his parents died, every scrap of humanity he'd gained from the Brigadier had been a victory. A triumph that had thrilled and delighted him. Full humanity had been a dream that lay like a golden prize on the horizon. Far, far away. An impossible distance, but which he’d dreamed of maybe being able to achieve one day. The idea of all he’d gained being stripped away from him...
He began to tremble. His hand grew so sweaty that the knife grew slippery in his grip. He felt blind panic closing in on him, like a huge wolf stalking him in the darkness. He saw a glow coming in through the window and spun around to see the dangling tentacles of the Radiant just inches from the glass. His legs grew weak under him. He had to steady himself against the wall to keep from falling. He knew he was just moments away from begging, from throwing away his pride and dignity in an attempt to save his humanity...
He reached for his pride like a drowning man reaching for a lifeline. There were two armed men just outside the door. If he rushed them, they’d kill him, but he'd die with his humanity intact and maybe he'd be able to kill one of them first. It wouldn’t be the same kind of victory as killing Benjamin would have been, but it would be something. A much better, much cleaner way to die. There was no knowing how long he had before the Radiant struck, so he braced himself. He rubbed the sweat from the palms of his hands so he could grip the knife properly, and prepared to launch himself in an all out attack.
“You've got him?” said a new voice, and to Malone’s astonishment and excitement it was a voice he recognised. Benjamin! He halted, therefore, and waited. Maybe his chance would still come.
“He's in there,” replied Dennis. “In the plate room.”
“The crockery room, if you please, Mister Wilks. Very well, let's see who it is.”
Malone heard footsteps approach and stop just behind the two bodyguards. “Hello, there,” he heard. “Welcome to my house. Why don’t you tell me who you are and what you're doing here?"
Play for time, Malone thought. If I can keep him talking, maybe he'll make a mistake. It was a thin hope, he knew, but it was the only hope he had. He also knew they'd recognise him the moment they got a proper look at him, so there was no point in lying.
“My name is Malone,” he said, therefore. “We've met before. I came here with John Martin.”
“Of course!” said Dennis Wilks. “I thought I recognised him. John's dog man. His new deputy. Seems you were right to have doubts about him, My Lord.”
“Indeed. Are you here to kill me, Malone?”
“That was the idea,” Malone admitted. “You’re trying to bring down the Empire. I wanted to stop you.”
Benjamin laughed. “And you thought killing me would save the Empire? I'm afraid things have gone too far for that, my friend. It's gone beyond the point where the death of one man will make any difference, one way or the other. Why don’t you come out of there so we can talk about it like civilised people?”
“The moment I step out, they'll shoot me.”
“No they won't. They'll only shoot you in self defence. Throw your weapon out, then come out with your hands up and you won't be harmed. You have my word. On the other hand, if you stay put, my friend out there will throw you half way back to being a dog. Not so far back that you won't be able to talk, you understand. We are going to have that conversation, I promise you. The only question is how human you’ll be when we have it.”
For a moment, desperate, crazy ideas went through Malone's head. Benjamin would be standing behind Dennis and Sid. If Malone rushed them, perhaps he could get past the two heavies and stab the nobleman before they could stop him. He almost laughed aloud. The two thugs would gun him down the moment he made a move. Or perhaps he could pretend to surrender, then attack Benjamin when their guard was down.
They would never relax their vigilance, though, he knew. Not until they had him properly restrained. They were far too professional for that. Surrender, then. A genuine surrender, in the hope that, at some point, an opportunity would come for him to escape and complete his self appointed mission. Or just escape. Just getting away would be enough of a victory at this point. Why hadn't he listened to Mornwell? He could have gone to the Kelvon authorities, given testimony in a court of law. Okay, he might have been prosecuted and executed for killing the government agents, but at least he would have known that Benjamin would be brought to justice. Now, though, his death would accomplish nothing.
There's still hope, he told himself grimly. So long as I live, there’s hope. At least I told Mornwell about Benjamin before I came here. At least I had that much sense. Maybe Mornwell will find some way to get Benjamin. Hired hit men or something. People who know their business, who won't make the same mistakes I did. He might be long dead by then, but the possibility still gave him some comfort. And in the meantime, just stay alive! Do whatever you have to do to stay alive, because so long as you live, there’s still hope.
“Alright,” he said therefore. “You win. I'm coming out.” He held his arm out to the side, so they could see the knife in his hand, then dropped it. Then he stepped out from behind the door.
Sid and Dennis were both aiming guns at him while Benjamin stood behind, dressed in a silken dressing gown. “Good man,” he said. “Very sensible. Sid, find something to tie his hands with.”
The man holstered his pistol and went away, coming back a moment later with a long bootlace. He gestured for Malone to turn around, then tied his wrists, jerking the bootlace tight enough to make Malone gasp with pain.
“Master Longbottom is angry with you, as you can probably tell,” said Benjamin conversationally. “You killed Zeus and Apollo, the dogs. He cared deeply for those dogs. Oversaw their adoption by their illustrious predecessors; Ares and Athena. He was very fond of them.”
“Stupid names for dogs,” said Malone, twisting his wrists in an futile attempt to ease the pain.
“They're named after gods,” the nobleman explained. “Gods of the Hetin folk, or so the Radiants tell me. They've told me a great deal about the Hetin folk. They know that I have a fascination with their civilisation. Apparently, they have a museum somewhere, full of Hetin artefacts. I look forward to seeing it one day, when they take me to complete my adoption. We can talk about that later, though. Right now, I have a bed I want to get back to. This is no time for a civilised man to be up and about.” He turned to his henchmen. “Please take him to the guest room downstairs.”
Dennis grabbed Malone's arm and gave him a savage jerk that almost pulled him off his feet. Then he pushed him along the corridor. “I hope you got a good look at the sky yesterday,” he said, “because you’ve seen it for the last time.”
He then led Malone toward the stairs that led down to Lord Benjamin Hedley's private dungeon.