Pointer did not duck or prance but instead stood still defiantly, watching as the musket balls dropped to the earth before his paws, sparking against stones or burrowing wormholes in the soft clay.
‘Hah!’ he crowed. ‘Did you ever hear the word “ballistics”, morons? Those old muskets you got there don’t have the range to hit me. What you need is a cannon.’
‘I would not waste a cannonball on you, hound,’ said Garrick through clenched teeth, and such were his powers of projection that Pointer could clearly hear him.
‘I tell you what, Garrick,’ called Pointer. ‘I’m gonna stand still with my eyes closed for a whole minute. I can’t say any fairer than that. Surely one of you crack shots on that wall has got a rifle with a bit of range. Easy shot.’
The dog drew himself up straight and stood stock-still, mocking every man jack on the wall, but could not contain himself for the whole minute. After ten seconds he opened one eye.
‘What? No one is taking the shot? Well, then, you gotta come out here, Garrick. Let’s duke it out. Why don’t you suck the juice right outta my brain like you did with my friend Rosa? You try to grab my skull and I try to bite your face off and we’ll see who wins. I am calling you out, Witchfinder. This is a formal challenge.’
Garrick’s mood darkened; he knew from centuries’ experience that this was a dangerous time for him strategy-wise, as he tended to become deeply offended by the slightest slight and abandon his plans in favour of direct and usually violent action, a behaviour pattern that had cost him an entire platoon when he was a colonel for the British army at Alexandria.
You do not respond to taunts well, Alby, he thought to himself. You knows this. So don’t let yourself see red.
The dog was prancing again, his dark body rippling with muscle and red light from the rift above.
‘I’m waiting, Garrick. Let’s see those magic hands at work. You can take me, can’t you?’ Pointer was so excited that he interrupted his own trash-talking for a series of yelps and barks, then wrestled control of his doggy side. ‘Are you gonna stand there in front of all those true believers and take abuse from a dog?’
Garrick heard the squeak of leather, the clank of metal and the hiss of coarse cloth as every person on the wall turned to peek at him, waiting for his reaction.
What you need to do, Alby, he told himself, is take control of this situation. Play it over the top, but inside stay controlled.
And so Garrick lashed out at the man to his left, not caring who it was, particularly as it was simply a show of authority. The man tumbled backwards into the compound itself.
‘Can you fools not see?’ Albert Garrick roared. ‘Have we learned nothing from Bonaparte?’
Cryer, to his right, had the temerity to ask, ‘And who is that, master? Some class of a Frenchman perhaps?’
Garrick raged on. ‘That is not important. We have serious business to attend to and the witch summons her familiar as a distraction. Can you not see it? Is it not blindingly obvious?’
Garrick stopped speaking. His mouth still moved but no sound issued forth.
A distraction.
One of the basic tenets of stage magic. Distract the audience. Make them look where you wish them to look, so they will not see the trick.
Riley’s distracting them all with this sideshow freak.
How could he have been so stupid?
While they were standing there mooning at a blasted hound, the real trick was happening on the other side of the stage, as it were.
The far gate.
Cryer pawed his shoulder. ‘Master, should I send forth some men? A handful to deal with that abomination. I am happy to lead them myself.’
‘No!’ cried Garrick, truly enraged now and fearful that he may have already missed a trick. ‘The opposite wall. Move the entire watch. I want all eyes on the opposite side of the wall. Now. With utmost haste.’
Garrick turned with great speed, his cloak rising with the twirl, and leaped from the wall. Though he heard his ankle snap on landing, he raced through the town, ignoring the excruciating pain, for he knew the bone would heal momentarily. Behind him he heard the bustle of men doing his bidding. Smaller free-roaming livestock scattered before him, as well as children; the womenfolk shrank back towards the nearest shadows, terrified that they might be accused.
Garrick lurched onward, and it occurred to him that the bone might set crooked and he would limp for the rest of his days, but still he would not pause. The boy had dealt him the oldest trick card in the deck and Garrick himself had picked it up like a gulpy mark on his first trip to the big city.
‘Riley!’ Garrick cried as he ran, forcing his pain into those two syllables. ‘Riley!’ He swore to himself that if he had been foiled again by the boy then he would rain hell-on-earth down on this town.
Garrick approached the town square and the ring of guards drew themselves up almost on tiptoes at his coming. There was Chevie in the centre, still secured to the stake.
Or was she?
For was that not another trick in the illusionist’s arsenal? Deception.
He expected to see Chevron Savano and therefore that is what he saw. Further investigation was needed. Albert Garrick barged through the circle of guards. Spitting venom and growling he was. More animal than human he seemed, with his bent-over lurch and his long fingers grazing the dirt. Up the pyre he scrambled, his injured ankle prodded by kindling. Even though Chevie was right there in front of his face, tethered before him, he did not believe it till his nose was an inch from her own, and then he jerked himself backwards as the Timekey under her clothing suddenly beeped softly, waking from electronic slumber.
He had forgotten about the key.
For him to be taken by the wormhole now could mean anything. He certainly would be master of nothing in the quantum sea. Garrick did not know if he could survive its caress again. So far its gifts to him had been of great benefit, but on the next trip surely Lady Time would redress the balance and curse him in some manner or other. The wormhole’s claws would scrabble into his mind and strip away his powers and perhaps even his huma
nity.
Here on earth, however, with my feet on the ground, I am the master.
For all his grandiose thoughts, Garrick was skittish with the Timekey in his environs. He descended quickly from his perch on the pyre to solid ground, and as he backed away the Timekey burbled and calmed, returning once more to its sleeping state.
Garrick sat on a log nearby and set to tugging off his boot, each tug causing great discomfort to his injured ankle. When the boot came free, his foot dangled and the bones grated sickeningly.
One more debit to your account, Riley my son, he thought, then gripped his foot in both hands and wrenched it into an approximation of its proper position. The agony was an excruciation and a reminder of his own vulnerability.
Garrick cocked his head, listening for the hiss-crackle of the quantum foam healing his wounds, as it had done for centuries. The healing had just completed when Cryer arrived, breathless from running.
‘Master Garrick, the wall is guarded. The witch’s minions are nowhere in sight.’
Tugging on his high boot again, Garrick addressed Cryer. ‘The witch’s familiar is coming. Make no mistake, Constable. Tell the men to remain vigilant. This is the night for which God created us both, good Master Godfrey. This very night. And the wrath of our Lord is in my hands and I shall bring it down on any man who turns from his post. On any man who so much as blinks for too long. I have grappled with this familiar before, and he is more dangerous than his witch.’ Garrick rotated his foot and aside from minor twinges the healing was satisfactory. ‘Now go. Patrol the wall.’
‘Yes, master. And what of you?’
Garrick stood and took some experimental paces, grunting with satisfaction.
‘I shall stay here, with the witch in my direct vision. Neither devilment nor diversions shall distract me. I shall neither eat nor drink till the gates of hell are closed for all eternity.’
Cryer’s eyes were bright. ‘Please, master, let me remain at your side. I am worthy. I am ready for any duty.’
At that moment Garrick decided Cryer would be the one to activate the Timekey when the time came. The man would be happy to give his life – for when the wormhole took Chevron Savano it would surely take Cryer too, and neither would survive the journey.