The Amtrak Wars - Ironmaster Part 16

He threw his weight against the door. The ma.s.sive slab swung away from him on groaning timbers and came to rest against the left-hand wall, revealing the pa.s.sageway on the other side. It was still roofed in but the jagged ceiling of boulders didn't get any lower. And it wasn't dark any more.

Ye-ess... it's all so simple when you know how...

As he stood there, hands on hips, admiring his handiwork, the horse brushed past him and trotted on up the narrow cleft and out into the daylight beyond.

ood riddance...

Having sat astride the beast for close on six hours, Steve was in no condition to catch it - and he certainly didn't intend to get on again.

He turned back and took a closer look at the door. The slab of rock matched its surroundings perfectly but it was only a few inches thick.

It had been fixed to a ma.s.sive timber frame which was lined with several densely packed layers of cotton waste - presumably to stop the slab sounding hollow. It pivoted on thickly greased black iron bearings, its weight being partly supported by a line of wheels running on radiused timbers buried in the floor.

The door was locked in position by two vertically mounted timbers that engaged square sockets in the roof and floor. A lever on the inside face of the door performed the same function as Steve's knife. When lowered, the lever caused the iron-shod bolts to engage, and to retract when raised. Steve made a mental note of the locking mechanism, tested it once more, then withdrew his knife and put it away.

Swinging the door back across the pathway, Steve wedged a small rock in front of it, leaving himself enough s.p.a.ce to slip through in case he had to get out in a hurry. Up to now, he had let the horse carry him in whatever direction it chose and, by a combination of luck and circ.u.mstance, he had managed to stay on it and out of serious trouble.

But from here on in he had to move carefully. Steve's knowledge of horses did not extend much farther than knowing they had a leg at each

; corner, ate gra.s.s, drank water and were absolute murder to ride, but he was bright enough to realise that the animal's urge to get through the rock door was fuelled by a homing instinct. The upward path the horse had followed could only lead to one place - the hide-out of the wild bunch. You don't need to have graduated from the Flight Academy to figure that out. But that obvious conclusion merely led to another question. Was anyone at home?

The answer - if affirmative - was likely to appear at any moment. The horse, which he had been glad to see the back of, would soon - if it had not done so already come to the attention of whoever was up there.

And since it could not open the door by itself, someone whether driven by idle curiosity or neighbourly concern - was bound to come looking for the rider. Yet another bad tactical error. Hence the partly open door.

Steve weighed up the options. From the way things were going when he left the valley, it was highly unlikely that any of the wild bunch would make it back home.

That left their reserve team, or supporters, if they had any, or ...

maybe servants. Slaves. Plainfolk Mutes, who might give him a hand.

The horse's eagerness to get through the door was proof there was something up there. And it was crazy to have come all this way without taking a look. Especially after enduring so much discomfort. An unattended base might yield rich pickings. Like food, for instance.

Steve's mouth watered at the prospect. It was no good staying where he was.

The distance between the walls was less than the length of his quarterstaff and, with no place to hide, he would be an easy target for a bowman. He could either beat a hasty retreat or go forward to give himself room to manoeuvre.

Acting on the dictum that attack was the best form of defence, Steve advanced swiftly, quarterstaff held at the ready. Fifty long-legged strides brought him out into the daylight beyond the rockfall that had turned the cleft into a tunnel; another thirty brought an amazing sight into view. The flat-topped mountain had a hollow core with a roughly circular base fringed with fallen rocks.

Steve clambered quickly up into the untidy pile of huge boulders that lay to the left of the entrance ramp and made a rapid appraisal of the scene that now confronted him.

The interior walls of the mountain rose steeply upwards like the sides of Tennessee Valley Deep - the accommodation shaft at Roosevelt/Santa Fe where Steve's kinfolk were quartered. The resemblance was heightened by the three tiers of caves which ringed the uneven rock floor. Whether they were man-made or natural was hard to tell, but the network of inclines and terraces that allowed access to the upper level was, without doubt, the work of Iron Masters - and there were dozens of them, swarming all over the place!

The horse which had carried him into the heart of Big D was walking slowly towards the far side of the arena.

Steve shrank back into a small pit formed by three ma.s.sive chunks of rock as several j.a.ps ran out to meet the exhausted animal.

Well done, Brickman. This time you really have excelled yourself... He checked the skyline in case any guards were posted round the rim.

Nope. No danger from that direction. If there had been anyone on top of Big D he would have been met by a reception committee at the door.

Had they caught him in possession of the horse, helmet and sword of one of their compatriots they would, in all probability, have put two and two together to make five, and gone on to mark his card in no uncertain fas.h.i.+on.

To prevent any future misunderstandings, Steve stuffed the helmet and its straggling hairpiece into a nearby crevice and slid the sword into another. Having got over the initial shock of the latest twist to an event-filled day, his brain began to register the finer details.

As far as he could tell, there were only four fully active members of the wild bunch on duty; a fifth was hobbling towards the animated group around the horse with the' aid of a stick, helped by a sixth who had what looked like a bandage around his head. All the rest - maybe fifty or sixty people in all - were women and children of various ages, some babes-in-arms. There was no need to make an accurate head-count.

All that mattered was that there were just too G.o.dd.a.m.n many!

Steve mentally kissed goodbye to the prospect of several square meals and a night in a comfortable bed, and started to climb out of his hiding place. Two of the able-bodied men were now striding purposefully across the arena towards the entrance where he lay hidden, followed by two women and a small group of kids.

It was time to get going. When they found that the missing rider was not lying in the pa.s.sageway and that the door had been propped open, alarm bells would start ringing.

Steve started to ease himself out of his hidey-hole. The two j.a.ps at the head of the search party were still about fifty yards away. Just enough time to get clear. When he was halfway towards the rear edge of the rockpile he heard what sounded like several horses clattering up the pa.s.sageway. Christo! He dived back under cover and watched with a mixture of horror and surprise as eleven be-flagged samurai galloped up the entrance ramp and skidded to a halt in the arena. From the way they jerked around in their saddles they were clearly as surprised as he had been. Pulling out their swords, they wheeled about, jabbering excitedly. Steve couldn't understand a word but it was clear that these guys realised they'd hit the jackpot.

Their sudden appearance on the scene caused everybody else to panic.

With shrill cries of alarm, the women with the two front men picked up the two smallest children and herded the rest towards the caves around the edge of the arena. Everybody else ran for it too, including the remaining men - presumably to get something to fight with.

The pair that had been walking towards the entrance froze and went for their swords. There wasn't much else they could do. They were only yards away from the leading horses. It was a brave but futile gesture.

Before their swords were clear of their scabbards both were cut down with blows that severed one side of their neck from shoulder to clavicle.

The first wave of hors.e.m.e.n split into two and swept round both sides of the arena, riding down the stragglers; panic-stricken kids and women who had stopped to gather them up. Unable to reach safety, others ran back towards the centre and were mown down when several samurai in the second wave started firing arrows with deadly accuracy. Two dismounted and rapidly got to work with their swords on the people who had been bowled over by the charging riders. Some women reappeared with halberds and attempted to fight back, but it only made things worse.

Barely thirty seconds had elapsed and there were now bodies everywhere.

Steve felt torn in two. It wasn't his fight and there were no medals to be won by sticking his nose in, but he couldn't stomach the way these gooks were enjoying themselves. A year ago he had dropped napalm canisters on a cropfield which Mute children were trying to defend by throwing stones at his Skyhawk. He had done so with some hesitation, but he had still pulled the release handle. A lot had happened since then. But what could he do? He couldn't take on all eleven of them I The leader of the samurai wheeled his horse and shouted to one of the riders. Once again, Steve could not understand the words but he was able to grasp the meaning as the rider sheathed his blood-stained sword and headed back towards the entrance. He was being sent back to announce their find to the rest of the home team.

It was now or never.

CHAPTER SIX.

Steve leaped out of his hiding place and dropped down behind the rockpile on to the entrance ramp. He would hide behind the door and nail the messenger as he dismounted to pa.s.s through. He had to take sides. At the back of his mind was the nagging thought that he was responsible for the ma.s.sacre now taking place. The samurai had probably been on his tail all the time. Not only had he unwittingly led them to the camp, he had obligingly left the door open!

Taking a firm grip on his quarterstaff, he sprinted down the shallow incline, pa.s.sing under the rock ceiling into the darkened section of the narrow pa.s.sageway. As he rounded the final curve and came in sight of the door, he skidded to a halt. The door had been jammed wide open, and there was a twelfth samurai, armed with a bow and arrow, standing guard on the other side I Sheeitt.

For a split second, the samurai was just as surprised as he was, then he shouted to Steve in j.a.panese and prepared to fire.

At that range and in such a confined s.p.a.ce there was no way he could miss. For Steve, faced with certain death, everything went into slow motion. He knew he couldn't turn and run - the horseman behind him would be coming round the last bend at any second!

Everything came into extra-sharp focus. He saw, with dreadful clarity, the samurai raise and draw the bow; saw the faint glint of light on the wide-bladed, razor-sharp steel point, felt his heart miss a beat as his chest tensed in antic.i.p.ation of the fearful, piercing blow. And all he could hear was the thunderous crescendo of hoof-beats as the rider came racing down the tunnel behind him.

In that same split second, the quarterstaff came to life, vibrating in his hands, filling his limbs with a tingling energy that swept the ice-water out of his veins. Brain, hand and eye reacted with undreamt-of speed and precision as his body became a supercharged fighting machine. Steve was less than ten yards from the archer, but as the bow-string was released and the arrow sped towards his chest, he advanced the curving blade of the quarterstaff and swung his body to the left.

The steel-tipped point struck the angled blade and was deflected upwards. Steve saw it as a moving streak of light as it flashed past his right shoulder, then heard a strangled cry. Looking back, he saw that the arrow had embedded itself in the throat of the rider behind him.

The sword which he had been intending to plunge into Steve's back fell from his hand as he toppled backwards out of the saddle.