A horrific scream from inside the mansion rent the evening air. I was running back towards the kitchens before I knew what was happening — my only thought to ensure Mr Alex’s safety. I was passed on my journey by a fat cook, who was bellowing like a foghorn and brandishing a bloody cleaver. She went by still squawking, intent only on fleeing into the night. Good riddance, I thought, the look in her eye hinted at some rare strain of madness I wanted no part of. But she was far from the only harbinger of chaos in that vicinity. From further inside Tiverton Hall came the sounds of erupting battle; more screams, crashes, gunshots and varied explosions both large and small. How had this happened so fast? I was at a momentary loss to comprehend.
Once inside the kitchen I stumbled over a sandled foot. Its owner was unbothered by my clumsiness, as he was very much dead. This however was not the oddest thing about him. He was clad in a rough black habit, as a monk or priest might wear. Upon the breast was embroidered a queer yellow glyph, strangely nauseating to the eye. The wooden mask that partially covered his mangled features showed every sign of recently being split by a cooking cleaver. Pained a sickly hue, it bore striking resemblance to the sort worn by a Greek chorus, but twisted into a hideous shriek. Next to the body lay a short ugly blade I took to be this ruffian’s weapon. I picked it up, though it felt alien in my hand. My estimation of the departed cook went up a notch — at least she had accounted for one of the buggers. Shame a full regiment of them seemed to be attacking the mansion.
I made haste to locate the guvnor, with a mind to escorting him from the premises — that was all that mattered right now, the mysterious young lady could wait. I exited the kitchens and made for our rooms. It was not easy going — plenty more gate-crashers, of a monastic variety, dressed just like the cook’s victim, were engaged in running battles with the screaming house-staff, and rushing hither and thither about the halls as if in search of something. It wasn’t hard to guess what item they were after.
I found our rooms deserted, or so it seemed. The suitcase lay open on the bed; the revolver missing. The sword cane was also gone. Sir Percy’s words to Mr Alex came back to me — his blasted book was ‘locked safely in the library’ — that would be where the guvnor was heading. Cursing his scatter brained heroics I made haste to follow in his tracks.
At least I would have if not distracted by a clatter from the adjoining bathroom. As I spun to meet any challenge the door flew open and another black robbed monk rushed at me, blood curdling scream upon his lips and flashing scimitar raised above his masked head. I sidestepped, not a moment too soon, and slashed my own blade across his exposed belly. The chap went down with a wet splat of erupting innards. I concluded it was high time to fetch ‘is lordship and vacate this madhouse once and for all.
I bound down the stairs again, arriving at a main hall which was rapidly filling with smoke. The smattering of marauders still standing seemed to be heading down the long panelled corridor leading to the west wing. Judging by the screams and gunfire coming from that direction I guessed that was the location of Sir Percy’s library — and my runaway employer. Looking down the passage I could see the backs of a great many black cowls crowding to get in on the fight. I was going to have to find another way in and out.
Cautiously I exited the front doors, stepping over the fallen bodies of defenders and attackers alike. Somewhere to the rear Tiverton Hall was on fire, the flames lending an apocalyptic glow to the scuttling clouds. A short way along the building’s façade a deluge of flashes and crashes hinted at events inside. I ran down the steps and made for the library windows, which were set low along the front of the house.
Clambering between shrubbery I peered through the dirty pains. The floor of the library was a good deal below ground level — getting in wouldn’t be the problem, getting out would be another matter.
Sure enough there below me was ‘is lordship, revolver and cane-sword in hand, fending off surging foes from behind the cover of an overturned table. He seemed to be enjoying himself, but the situation did not inspire confidence. The library was a long hall divided lengthways by high shelves of books, many of which were now bullet riddled and smouldering. Twenty yards further down the room our opponents held the only doorway. The guvnor was backed into a dead end, wreathed in smoke and soon to be overrun — the attackers had him pinned. At the far end I could see a barred cabinet containing Sir Percy’s precious book. Several black cowled figures were having-at-it with sledge hammers, as yet to no avail. The only encouraging detail was a wheeled book ladder, half way along, which might facilitate our escape.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
There was no question for it, I had to go in. The hilt of my blade made short work of the leaded glass, and in a trice I was dropping through the opening. Landing heavily on my feet I scuttled over to ‘is lordship, running the gauntlet of scattered pot-shots.
‘Ah, Bill — good man! We’re in a bit of a pickle. Revolver’s run dry. Don’t suppose you’re healed?’
I had to shout about the din of incoming fire. ‘We need to leave now, sir — back out the window!’
He looked at me aghast. ‘We were driven back, but we came to save Sir Percy’s book — damn hooligans have it cornered yonder.’
‘Forget the bloody book!’ I pulled up short. ‘What do you mean we?’
His lordship tipped his head over his shoulder, ‘Young lady is a crack shot — blighters would have rushed me long ago if it wasn’t for her.’
I looked past him across the aisle, through the swirling smoke, which had prevented me spotting her sooner. There, barricaded behind a tumbled bookcase and a rising mound of bodies, crouched a familiar ‘chamber maid’ in baggy uniform. Gun in hand she was reloading from a stash in her apron pocket. Hers was a weapon I’d never seen the like of, a large calibre revolver festooned with switches and blinking lights. A dazzlingly bright torch was slung beneath the barrel.
When the incoming rounds slackened ‘Wanda Sevastopol’ popped up and got off a brace of carefully aimed shots. Judging by the screams I felt certain they’d hit their mark. But when the young woman ducked back down again I noted the nearest sword wielding fanatics advanced one bookshelf closer. Soon we were destined to be swamped by our enemy’s sheer numbers. The girl bobbed up again to shoot, but this time her gun clicked empty. She looked down at it and sighed.
With a flash of inspiration I remembered what I was carrying on my back. I signalled for her attention. ‘Wanda’ glanced over at me and spotted the haversack — recognition dawned. We locked eyes again and an understanding passed between us. If I wanted to get the guvnor out alive I was going to have to trust this mysterious young woman, who had so long dogged our steps.
I didn’t hesitate, for more than an instant. Dropping my blade I quickly spun the bag around and reached inside, before tossing her a box of fresh shells. Catching single-handed she flicked it open and began reloading her weapon with practiced ease. She was soon raining fire on our enemy with deadly effect.
We kept up this relay for an indefinite time — couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, but it felt like an age — such is the nature of battle. The toll on our assailants was lethally severe — corpses mounted until they formed more of an obstacle than the fixtures and fittings we hid behind.
Shortly I detected a change for the better in the disposition of our opponents, perhaps they had learned their lesson. I chanced a look around our barricade; the remaining foe cautiously retreated, dragging away their injured. The reason for this change of tactics soon became clear. At the far end of the library one of their number manhandled Sir Percy up to the locked cabinet. Around his neck hung a key, which was yanked off without ceremony and applied to the lock. The cabinet was soon open and the manuscript plundered. A cry of victory went up from the attackers — no doubt they had what they’d come for. But not everyone was so pleased by this improvement in our situation.
‘The bounders have Sir Percy. We can’t have that!’ cried ‘is lordship, leaping from behind our barricade. In horror I watched him charge our retreating foe, armed only with the cane-sword and his pig-headed ignorance. I looked on helpless as black clad shapes swarmed around him. One of their number smashed him a good one to the back of the head with a knotted club. His eyes rolled skywards and he went down like a sack of spuds. Seemingly comatose he was hauled off, along with Sir Percy and that infernal book.
In despair I made to spring after him, but was hauled back by a hand of surprising strength. Miss Sevastopol yelled in my ear, ‘There’s too many for a frontal attack. I know where they’re going. We can head them off if we’re quick.’
Though it sickened me to my core I could see that she was right. As my new companion lay down a covering fire I ran to fetch the ladder. In a matter of moments I had wheeled it back to the broken window. We were soon clambering up and out into the darkness. As we did so, from somewhere deep inside the mansion, came a crash of splintering woodwork, followed by a blood curdling howl. What fresh surprises did this night hold in store? I wasn’t looking forward to finding out.