“Killer get up soon?” Alan inquired, studying the inert form on the floor.
“He’s a heavy sleeper, Alan,” Jerry said. They could load Killer in the wagon on that rug. Then he forced himself to look at Carlo. “If you want… that face of yours would heal in a couple of days in Mera, three at the most— bones and all.” Even his dandruff would vanish, but it was not necessary to mention that. “I don’t know if temporary stays are allowed, but I feel guilty as hell at having done that to you and I’ll plead your case to the Oracle. Do you want to come with us?”
“You still peddling that bunk?” Carlo asked. “Fairyland bull…” He hesitated and then shrugged. “I’ll come down the road with you to the highway.”
“You may never reach the highway if you travel with us,” Jerry said. “I suppose the Oracle will send you back here, but it might magic you directly back home, so you have nothing to lose. Maisie?” Maisie crossed herself. Maisie was a problem— he could not leave her here alone. Reluctantly she agreed to accompany them, like Carlo, to the highway. It was an obvious face-saving decision for both of them.
“Daddy want coffee now,” Alan said.
He had been trotting around busily on his stumpy legs, exploring this interesting disaster area. They all looked at him in astonishment, like a grove of fir trees examining a rosebush.
“Where’s Daddy, Al?” Maisie asked, kneeling.
He pointed his apple at the bedroom. “I ask Daddy if he want coffee, too. Daddy likes coffee.” There was a stampede into the shattered room— and then outside, through the wall. Gillis was sitting on the grass, his shirt soaked with blood from a broken nose, his once-splendid blue suit a filthy, bedraggled mess, his face wearing a blank, dazed expression which reminded Jerry of survivors pulled from ruined houses in the London blitz. His hands were still bound but his feet were free. He must have ripped the bonds in his terror as Aster-ios entered, fallen out through the wall, and rolled under the cottage. Gillis was not a particularly personable person, thought Jerry, but he had seldom been more pleased to see anyone.
Leaving a weeping Maisie to attend to him, Jerry and Ariadne headed for the barn.
She stopped at the door and looked around the clearing at the fallen pole and the shattered cottage and she took a couple of deep breaths of the pine-scented air. The sky was turning blue, clear and cloudless. She sighed with contentment.
“How far to Mera, Jerry?” she said.
“Just beyond those trees,” he said, smiling. “Mera is always just out of sight. Usually half an hour will do it. No doubts?” She smiled back at him. “None at all. I believe, and it’s wonderful.” Then the smile died slowly. “And Alan and Lacey?” There was the problem. “We can only ask the Oracle,” he said. “If the answer is no, then you may reconsider. It can tell you the alternatives and, if you choose to return, it can probably send you somewhere where Graham will never find you.” But he wanted her to stay.
“How old is the youngest person there?” she demanded, frowning. “Hard to say.” He thought of Clio, of Rab the stableboy, and of a few others— all of whom worshipped Killer, who shamelessly took advantage of their admiration. “About sixteen, I should think. Killer’s wife was probably younger than that, but she was an exceptional case. Killer was sent to rescue some unknown Greek philosopher, who turned him down. He fancied the man’s granddaughter and brought her back instead.” She giggled, in spite of her worry. “We always get back to Killer! Is that allowed?” Jerry shrugged. “According to Killer, he had a dandy fight with the Oracle over it.” He doubted that very much; no one argued with the Oracle, not even Killer. “But obviously a field man must have discretion— I’m going to take Carlo. I feel horrible about what I did to him.” She put a hand on his arm. “Don’t feel guilty, Jerry. He deserved it. And be careful— he was swearing revenge on you last night. He’s dangerous.” He turned in dismay to look back at the cottage, feeling shivers of fear. He still had the automatic in his pocket, but, like a total idiot, he had left the other guns there. Killer would never have made that mistake. But if Killer had been conscious when Asterios came, he would have been holding the gun instead of Ariadne, and probably none of them would have survived. Yet he had been stupid.…
She read his expression correctly. “If Carlo believes that his injuries can be cured in Mera, then he won’t do anything, at least not now. You can’t be perfect, Jerry. You’ve done very well.” He shook his head. “You did it. Without you none of us would be here this morning. I wish I knew how you thought of it.” Her face darkened. She said, “Come on, let’s see to this horse of yours.” The mare was obviously enjoying a nervous breakdown and did not wish to be talked out of it. Ariadne again showed her ranchwoman’s skills and eventually soothed the mare and got her between the shafts in a way Jerry could never have managed.
“She’s cast a shoe,” Ariadne said, examining feet. “I suppose we have to use her?” He said that they did; they certainly could not move Killer without the wagon. She agreed reluctantly, and they drove over to the cottage.
Loading Killer was surprisingly easy with the rug as a sling. Carlo took one corner without argument, his face unreadable— if he had remorse for trying to kill this man, he did not say so. As unobtrusively as possible, Jerry collected all the ammunition clips and tucked them in the wagon, rendering the guns useless, and then breathed a silent sigh of relief. The rest of the equipment he decided to leave— the Oracle could send him back for it, or perhaps it would all just vanish when they had left.
Gillis was less dazed, although his face also had suffered during the night and he looked like a survivor of some major disaster.
“We are going to give Carlo a ride,” Jerry said, “as far as the highway. It is possible that we shall arrive in Mera first, but he knows that. You and Maisie may come with us or leave later. Please yourself.” The big man glared at him. “You are taking my children?”
“I am.” Gillis rose. “Then I am coming with you.” Maisie whimpered.
Jerry shrugged. “Very well— we’ll all go together, and you can argue with the Oracle.”
Just try!
Ariadne took the reins, with Alan and Lacey squirming excitedly on the bench beside her. Jerry sat behind them, keeping watch on the three adults at the back across Killer’s inert form. The sun was up, the sky was blue, the air was perfumed by the trees, and what he could really use was a good breakfast. The wagon rolled off down the road at a gentle pace.
Soon the cottage and barn vanished around a curve in the road, a road which had been straight the previous evening.
“Darling, I’m worried,” Maisie said. “A place where people don’t grow old or die is not right. It is a device of the Devil.”
“I suspect it is a device of a sick mind, honey,” her husband said. “The first chance we get, we’re going to turn this character in to the cops.” Jerry chuckled. “Can you describe to me what Killer is holding?” he asked. He reached down and lifted off the blanket which he had laid over Killer’s blood-stained form. The blood had dried now, and the skin on Killer’s face and chest was white. Maisie crossed herself once more.
“A white rod thing,” Gillis said reluctantly.
Jerry smiled and replaced the blanket, leaving the top of the wand uncovered so that he could see its color. Gillis was bluffing, or else merely lying to comfort his wife. He believed.
The road was a grassed-over trail through the pines, not even the modern gravel road it had been the previous day, but quite adequate for the wagon’s leisuely, rumbling pace. It continued to curve gently to the left.