square in the ribs just to the left of the sternum, the second was three inches higher, and the third was directly into Konstantin’s face at almost point-blank range.
“I —!” Marechal made to say something, but was so angry that the words caught in his throat. Finally, “Traitor!” spluttered out, blackened with petulant rage, and he pointed the pistol at the corpse as if to fire again. Miss Ambersleigh, who had cried out at the first shot, but was now somewhere beyond belief, sobbed in horror at the gesture, and Marechal, grimacing like a thwarted schoolyard bully, turned away.
Cabal was very disappointed by this development; he had been hoping that Marechal would empty the gun in a furious ecstasy, making it much easier for Cabal to murder him quickly and efficiently before he had a chance to reload. No, not murder, he reminded himself. It would be self-defence. Ah, the novelty of it.
Marechal looked around the room, daring anybody to speak, before returning his full attention to Cabal. He levelled his revolver, but Cabal was studying his watch yet again, this time with some perplexity. “What the hell are you gawping at, Cabal?” spat Marechal. He was already regretting shooting the colonel; he would have had to go, of course, but it could have been done less messily. It also meant that he couldn’t just shoot Cabal immediately, as he so urgently desired, without looking like an utter maniac. He made a conscious attempt to recover some dignity. “I’ve got a gun here, and you can’t drag your eyes off your watch. What is the matter with you?”
“Me? Well, apart from having a revolver aimed at me, very little. My watch, I fear, is running a little slow.” He finally looked at Marechal. “You know,” he added, taking Marechal into his confidence, “I had a feeling I should have dragged the explanations out for another minute or two.”
“They were quite long enough.”
“Well, I would have thought so, but without time to take proper titrations to make sure the concentrations were as advertised — and, of course, this hardly represents standard laboratory conditions with respect to temperature and pressure — my calculations might have been a little off. So frustrating.”
There was a distant
“Ah,” said Cabal, happily. “There we go.”
“What was that?” Marechal narrowed his eyes and aimed his revolver directly at Cabal’s head. “What have you done, Cabal?”
“Blown up No. 1 Etheric Line Guide. That’s the forward port one, isn’t it, Captain?”
But Captain Schten had already left the salon at a run. Cabal watched the door swing to after him, then confided to Marechal, “He’s probably got a lot on his mind at the moment.”
“You’ve done what, Cabal?” Marechal, pale and suddenly sweating, looked at Cabal over his revolver. He wanted so very much to fire, but he had an ugly feeling that he had been outmanoeuvred.
“I’ve outmanoeuvred you,” said Cabal, confirming those fears. “That first one was on a timer. The others — ”
“Others?”
“Of course, there are others. Not much of a threat if there’s no chance of escalation, is there? The others, as I was saying, are on long timers, but have a rather cunning anti-tamper device I came up with at short notice. It’s wonderful what you can hash together with the contents of a general grocery store and a pharmaceutical chemist’s shop. I suppose,” he said, stroking his chin thoughtfully, “I should really have mentioned that to Captain Schten before he rushed off. The business about the anti-tamper devices, that is; I don’t imagine grocers and chemists are very high on his agenda at present.”
Marechal was at the door in a few long strides. As he opened it, a steward almost ran into him from the other side. “Find the captain!” snapped Marechal, gripping the man fiercely by the shoulders. “Tell him not to disturb any devices he finds! Tell him Cabal has planted bombs and the slightest interference could set them off!” He released the man, who simply stood there wincing at his freshly bruised biceps. “
Marechal wheeled around to face Cabal. “Very well, you whey-faced bastard. What do you hope to gain by this?”
Cabal, ignoring the slight, considered thoughtfully for a moment, calculated to irritate the count within the limits of his small temper. “I desired to put you in a position where you or — more accurately — the captain and the homicidal Fraulein Satunin would feel restrained from killing me. That’s one. I am also of the strong opinion that this aeroship should turn around and head back to Parila. That’s two. I must admit, I was not expecting you to be here when I arrived, Count, but since you are, I think the Senzans should have a chance to chat with you. That’s three, and final.”
Marechal stared at him; angrily, yes, but also rather sulkily. He shook his head heavily. “Forlorn hopes all.” He returned to his barstool, picking up an empty ashtray from a table in passing, lit a new cigarette, and regarded Cabal as a headmaster nearing retirement might regard a troublesome schoolboy who defies all attempts at discipline. “I don’t understand you, Cabal. You were free and clear. You don’t give a damn about what happens in this part of the world. Why would you come back? Bombs or no bombs, you’re not leaving this ship alive. I — ” He shook his head again. “I don’t understand you.”
“I’m aware of that,” said Cabal. “If you did, you would have gift-wrapped the
“Don’t give yourself airs, Cabal.”
“He isn’t.” Leonie Barrow’s voice was quiet but clear. With Marechal’s eyes on her, she said, “Cabal is more dangerous than you can believe, Count. Both the angels and the devils fear him. He’s a monster, but an evenhanded one. I know he is capable of the most appalling acts of evil.” Her glance moved to Cabal, who was listening dispassionately. “I believe he is also capable of great good. But to predict which he will do next isn’t easy or safe.”
Marechal grimaced. “What is your association with this man? Public relations or something?”
“I loathe him,” she said with sudden venom. Then, more quietly, “And I admire him. You’re right; he didn’t have to come back. He’s taken a big risk, but I know he’s taken bigger. I can’t tell you whether he’s a monster or playing the hero right now, but I know one thing. You made the biggest mistake of your life when you made an enemy of him.”
Cabal raised an eyebrow and smiled a smile at Count Marechal so dry that you couldn’t have dragged a molecule of water out of it with fuming sulphuric acid. “I sound quite mythical, don’t I, Marechal? What wonders shall I perform next?”
“You can perform them from beyond the grave, Cabal. You’ve made a mistake.”
“Oh?” said Cabal, mildly curious. He drew out his pocket watch and checked it. “And what would that be?”
“You’ve told us that the other bombs have long timers. Soon we shall be across the border. There are cleared areas there. We can set the ship down and the engineers can deal with your bombs without fear of crashing out of the sky. Not that you’ll be there to see it. Checkmate, Cabal.” He drew back his pistol’s hammer slowly, with every sign of enjoyment.
“You would have a point, except that you have made an assumption. That I told the truth about the bombs.”
Marechal narrowed his eyes. “There are no more bombs, are there?”
“Oh, there are bombs. Just no anti-tamper fuses. I mean to say, as Miss Barrow so kindly intimated, I
“Even better,” Marechal said, smiling. “My only concern was that a heavy landing might trigger them. Thank you for removing that last lingering anxiety.”
“Oh, my pleasure. Really. But … I also lied about the timed fuses.”
Marechal’s smile slid off his face like a stunned monkey from a buttered banyan. “What?”
“They’re not actually very long.”
At which point the second bomb exploded.
