fighting platform that enabled soldiers to shoot down at attacking troops. They might be able to move along the hoarding and make their way to the far side of the courtyard, and the far gatehouse.
Marek said, 'Where's Chris?'
They looked back into the central courtyard.
They didn't see him anywhere.
Chris had been following Marek, thinking that perhaps he would have to carry Marek and wondering whether he could, when suddenly he was shoved to one side, slammed bodily against a wall. He heard a voice behind him say in perfect English, 'Not you, pal. You stay here.' And he felt the point of a sword jabbed in his back.
He turned to see Robert de Kere standing in front of him, holding his sword. De Kere grabbed him roughly by the collar, shoved him against another wall. Chris saw with alarm that they were just outside the arsenal. With the courtyard in flames, this was not the place to be.
De Kere didn't seem to care. He smiled. 'In fact,' he said, 'none of you bastards are going anywhere.'
'Why is that?' Chris said, keeping his eye on the sword.
'Because you have their marker, pal.'
'No I don't.'
'I can hear your transmissions, remember?' De Kere held out his hand. 'Come on, give it to me.'
He grabbed Chris again, and shoved him through the door. Chris stumbled into the arsenal. It was empty now, the soldiers having fled. All around him were stacked bags of gunpowder. The basins where the soldiers had been grinding still lay on the floor.
'Your fucking Professor,' de Kere said, seeing the bowls. 'Think you know so much. Give it to me.'
Chris fumbled under his doublet, reaching for his pouch.
De Kere snapped his fingers impatiently. 'Come on, come on, hurry up.'
'Just a minute,' Chris said.
'You guys are all the same,' de Kere said. 'Just like Doniger. You know what Doniger said? Don't worry, Rob, we're making new technology that will fix you up. It's always new technology that will fix you up. But he didn't make any new technology. He never intended to. He was just lying, the way he always does. My goddamn face.' He touched the scar that ran down the center. 'It hurts all the time. Something about the bones. It aches. And my insides are screwed up. Hurts.'
De Kere held out his palm irritably. 'Come on. You keep this up, and I'll kill you now.'
Chris felt his fingers close around the canister. How far away would the gas work? Not at the distance of a sword. But there was no alternative.
Chris took a deep breath, and sprayed the gas. De Kere coughed, more irritated than surprised, and stepped forward. 'You asshole,' he said. 'You think that's a bright idea? Real tricky. Tricky boy.'
He poked at Chris with the sword, jabbing him backward. Chris backed up.
'For that, I'm going to cut you open and let you watch your guts spill out.' And he swung upward, but Chris dodged it easily, and he thought, It's had some effect. He sprayed again, closer to de Kere's face, then ducked as the sword swung and struck the floor, knocking over one of the basins.
De Kere wobbled, but he was still on his feet. Chris sprayed a third time, and de Kere somehow remained standing. He swung, the blade hissing; Chris dodged it, but the blade sliced his arm above the right elbow. Blood dripped from the wound, spattering on the floor. The canister fell from his hand.
De Kere grinned. 'Tricks don't work here,' he said. 'This is the real thing. Real sword. Watch it happen, pal.'
He prepared to swing again. He was still unsteady, but growing stronger quickly. Chris ducked as the blade whined over his head and slashed into the stacked bags of powder. The air was filled with gray particles. Chris stepped back again, and this time felt his foot against a basin on the floor. He started to kick it aside, then noticed its weight beneath his foot. It wasn't one of the powder basins, it was a heavy paste. And it had a harsh smell. He recognized it immediately: it was the smell of quicklime.
Which meant the basin at his feet was filled with automatic fire.
Quickly, Chris bent over and lifted the basin in his hands.
De Kere paused.
He knew what it was.
Chris took the moment of hesitation and threw the basin directly at de Kere's face. It struck him in the chest, the brown paste spattering his face and arms and body.
De Kere snarled.
Chris needed water. Where was there water? He looked around, desperate, but he already knew the answer: there was no water in this room. He was backed into a corner now. De Kere smiled. 'No water?' he said. 'Too bad, tricky boy.' He held his sword horizontally in front of him, and moved forward. Chris felt the stone against his back, and knew that he was finished. At least the others might get away.
He watched de Kere approach, slowly, confidently. He could smell de Kere's breath; he was close enough to spit on him.
Spit on him.
In the instant that he thought it, Chris spat on de Kere - not in the face, but in the chest. De Kere snorted, disgusted: the kid couldn't even spit. Wherever spittle touched the paste, it began to smoke and sputter.
De Kere looked down, horrified.
Chris spat again. And again.
The hissing was louder. There were the first sparks. In a moment, de Kere would burst into flames. Frantic, de Kere brushed at the paste with his fingers, but only spread it; now it was sizzling and crackling on his fingertips, from the moisture of his skin.
'Watch it happen, pal,' Chris said.
He ran for the door. Behind him, he heard a whump! as de Kere burst into flame. Chris glanced back to see that the knight's entire upper body was engulfed in fire. De Kere was staring at him through the flames.
Then Chris ran. As hard and as fast as he could, he ran. Away from the arsenal. :
At the middle gate, the others saw him running toward them. He was waving his hands. They didn't understand why. They stood in the center of the gate, waiting for him to catch up.
He was shouting, 'Go, go!' and gesturing for them to move around the corner. Marek looked back, and saw flames begin to leap up through the windows of the arsenal.
'Move!' he said. He pushed the others through the gate and into the next courtyard.
Chris came running through the gate and Marek grabbed his arm, pulling him to cover, just as the arsenal exploded. A great sphere of flame rose about the wall; the entire courtyard was bathed in fiery light. Soldiers and tents and horses were knocked flat by the shock wave. There was smoke and confusion everywhere.
'Forget the hoarding,' the Professor said. 'Let's go.' And they ran straight across the courtyard. They could see the final gatehouse directly ahead.
00:02:22
In the control room, there were screams and cheers. Kramer was jumping up and down. Gordon was pounding Stern on the back. The monitor was showing field fluctuations again. Intense and powerful.
'They're coming home!' Kramer yelled.
Stern looked at the video screens, which showed the tanks in the room below. The technicians had already filled several shields with water, and the shields were holding. The remaining tanks were still being filled, though the water level was nearing the top.
'How much time?' he said.
'Two minutes twenty.'
'How long to fill the tanks?'
'Two minutes ten.'
Stern bit his lip. 'We going to make it?'
'You bet your ass we are,' Gordon said.
