As he sprang back and away Bond returned Q'ute's useful little toy to his pocket. There were three more shots in that if he needed them.
A hush had come over the crowd. Then Murik, looking shaken, was by his side, and two men were leaning over the prostrate Caber. One of them Malcolm this time looked up at the Laird. 'Yon's oot cold, Laird. Oot cold.'
Murik swallowed hard, glancing uncertainly at Bond, who smiled pleasantly. 'Shouldn't you announce, or proclaim, or whatever you have to do?' he whispered. 'I think I'm your new Champion.'
There was a pause lasting only a few seconds. Then the Laird of Murcaldy gave a watery smirk, took a deep breath, and announced, 'Ladies. Gentlemen. Friends. People of Murcaldy. You've seen the result of this match. We have a new Champion I have a new Champion and you'll treat him with the respect and honour always afforded to the Champions of Murcaldy. I give you, Champion of Murcaldy, Champion of the Laird of Murcaldy Mr James Bond.'
There was an uncertain silence, then the cheers began, and Bond was lifted shoulder high to be carried around the Great Lawn with drums beating and the pipes skirling the strains of 'Highland Laddie'.
David and Goliath, Bond thought, knowing that it would be a good idea to keep out of Caber's way once the former Champion had regained consciousness. He had successfully played David to Caber's Goliath, and Q'ute had provided him with the ultimate in the slingshot syndrome.
Through the crowd he saw Lavender Peacock looking at him with warm admiration in her eyes. Well, if he worked on Murik with speed, Bond might even have all the information he needed, to get away before the next morning. Then, once M was alerted, there could even be time to get to know Dilly Peacock really well.
12
A contract, Mr. Bond
Though Anton Murik had presented the major trophies for the Murcaldy Games, people seemed reluctant to leave. On the Great Lawn, groups still performed reels and strathspeys, while those who had not been good enough to enter the major competitions were now availing themselves of the equipment, and space, to practise or emulate their superiors in the arts.
The marquees and tents remained thronged; there would be many a sore head or upset stomach in the glen by the following morning. It was now just past six in the evening, and after an enthusiastic speech amidst much applause and cheers, the Laird had set off in the direction of the castle, motioning Bond to follow him.
Lavender was left with Mary-Jane Mashkin, who, Bond noted, was never short of young and well-built male company a fact that seemed not to upset the Laird. The previous night's experiences still puzzled Bond, who had begun to wonder how genuine the two women were. It could be a case of playing the hard and soft roles, as in a classic interrogation. Yet of the two, he would rather have Lavender on his side.
Murik led Bond through the hall, past the main staircase, pushing open a set of swing doors that led to a corridor, blocked at the far end by the great dividing line between old-style servants and their masters the green baize door.
The Laird stopped half-way down the corridor, bringing out the ever-present keys this time from his sporran to unlock a solid oak door strengthened with steel grilles.
Bond followed him down a wide flight of stone stairs. Tiny guide lights gleamed, throwing vague shadows in the darkness. Half-way down, Murik turned towards him. With his mane of white hair, against the face in darkness, the visage took on the appearance of a negative. When he spoke the Laird's voice echoed eerily. 'You've already seen my inner sanctum. We're going to the most interesting part of the castle this time. The oldest remaining relic of my heritage. Now you are my Champion, Mr Bond, you should know of it.' The air smelled dank, and the stone stairs seemed endless, descending deeper and deeper underground until they came out into a flagged open space. Murik reached out to a switch hidden in the wall and the place was suddenly flooded with light. Huge arches supported the vaulted ceiling, which Bond thought must be as old as the original castle. There were two more doors, one on each side of the flagged space, while ahead of them another narrower passage continued. Murik nodded, 'That way leads to the old dungeons.' His jowl moved in a twitching smile. 'They are occasionally useful. To our right, a room which I do not like using. The old torture chamber.' He pushed open the door and Bond followed him in. At one end of the room Bond identified a rack, bolts and chains set into the walls, a flogging frame, brazier, and all the old and sinister instruments from whips and branding irons to pincers and gouges. Murik pointed out other devices: 'You see, Mr Bond, all the old Scottish pleasures the thumbikins and pilniewinks, and, of course, the boots. Very nasty things, the boots. Having your feet gradually crushed with wedges is not the way to ward off fallen arches.'
'Nor deal with your corns.' Bond shuddered in spite of the light-heartedness. In his time, he had suffered much physical torture, and its instruments were not unknown to him. Yet when he looked towards the far end of the room his blood ran cold. The walls there were tiled in white, and in the centre was an operating table. Cabinets along the far wall were of modern design, and Bond guessed they would contain more terrifying instruments than the brutal weapons of pain hypodermics and drugs to send the mind reeling to the very edge of madness, and possibly even the means of inflicting agony through electrodes attached to the most sensitive areas of a man or woman. A man, well-trained, might withstand the exquisite pain that could be inflicted by the crude implements of torture; but few would keep truth or secrets for long in the more sophisticated part of this, Murik Castle's chamber of horrors.
'Very occasionally this room is put to use, Mr Bond. Have care. All who serve me are given a guided tour. It usually does the trick, as a salutary warning. You defeated the good Caber, so you automatically serve me. Let your glimpse of this place act as a warning. I demand complete loyalty.'
Murik led the way out and across the flagged area to the door facing that of the torture chamber. He turned, smiling before he opened the door. 'My operations' room.'
The contrast was staggering. They were in a long, low, vaulted chamber. Its grey walls were covered with weapons: ranging, at the end nearest the door, from artistic and obviously valuable broadswords, rapiers, dirks and knives, through magnificently engraved crossbows decorated with inset stones, to wheel-lock, snaphance and flintlock pistols and muskets; and finally, on the far wall, there were modern rifles, carbines, pistols and automatic weapons.
'The most valuable part of your collection?' Bond recalled that Murik had already told him the best pieces were elsewhere in the castle.
Murik smiled, and Bond could not resist one gibe. 'No thermonuclear devices to bring it right up to date?'
The Laird's face darkened, then cleared into a seraphic smile. 'We have no need. The world provides them. They are all around us, sitting there ready and waiting to wreak disaster at the right moment.' Murik reached up, touching a large broadsword, 'A claidheamh mor,'he said. 'A two-handed sword that once belonged to an ancestor of mine.'
Bond nodded. He was certainly impressed, but his gaze had moved beyond this unique collection of weapons to the far end of the vault which, indeed, looked like some kind of operations' room, with its long console desk, computer monitors, radio equipment and a large transparent map of the world covered in chinagraph markings. Murik motioned him to the console table, gesturing to one of the comfortable leather swivel chairs behind it. He took the other chair himself and gave a throaty laugh. 'From here, Mr Bond, I control the destiny of the world.' Bond, uncertain whether Murik was joking or not, laughed with him. There was an uneasy silence for a moment, giving Bond the opportunity to glance up at the map. Quickly he took in the fact that Indian Point Unit Three and San Onofre Unit One were both plainly marked on the American map. As he turned his gaze back to Anton Murik he knew that another couple of glances would probably give him the names of the targets in Europe. At the moment, however, it took all his will-power to drag his eyes back to the Laird. Don't seem too eager, he told himself, willing relaxation even disinterest into his brain. 'You know who I am?' Anton Murik was asking, and Bond replied that he was Dr Anton Murik, Laird of Murcaldy. Murik laughed. There was far more to him than that. 'I am probably the greatest nuclear physicist who has ever lived,' he said in an alarmingly matter-of-fact way.