"You'd have to go yourself!” Now they were making progress!
He must have sensed her approval, because he scowled. “No. It would take too long, and I'd have to find my way back here all over again."
"It would only be a flying visit, surely? There and back.” Another three years and the war would be long over.
"I don't trust the Service! They wouldn't let me come Home before, and they might try to hold me again. You think Smedley really wants to cross over?” he added hopefully.
"I don't know. I don't know if he knows. He's pretty badly shaken, Edward. Don't think any the worse of him for that! He's got enough medals to start a pawn shop and lots of fellows have been—"
"Shell-shocked. Yes, I know. I saw some of them, remember.” Again he hacked angrily at the meat. “Smedley's a brick, I don't doubt it. But I can't send him over alone, not knowing the language. I damned nearly died myself, and I would have done if I hadn't had Eleal to help me."
"Suppose none of these plans work?"
"Then I can't warn the Service about the traitor, that's all."
"So you just stay here and enlist?"
"Enlist or hang. Or both."
"Where is this portal you mentioned?"
"Stonehenge.” Edward peered out the window. “What town is this we're coming to? Swindon already?"
Alice laid down her knife and fork. “Edward, Stonehenge is on Salisbury Plain."
"Of course I know.... Why? Why does that matter?"
"The Army has taken over all of Salisbury Plain now. There's an aerodrome at Stonehenge itself. There's even talk of knocking down the stones because they're a danger to planes landing and taking off, it's so close."
He stared at her in frank dismay.
Clickety-click, clickety-click, clickety-click...
"You were counting on that one, weren't you?” she said. “Stonehenge was your trump card?"
"Final stand, more like."
"You won't get near it,” she said.
"After the war?"
"Perhaps after the war, whenever that is."
He pushed the remains of the meal to one side of his plate and laid down his knife and fork. “Damn!"
Damn indeed!
Then he grinned. “So I can't go back! Clear conscience. Good!"
"Do you wish to try the sweet, madam?” the waiter inquired. “Dundee pudding and custard?"
"Cheese and biscuits, please,” Alice said, suppressing a shudder, “and coffee."
"The same for me,” Edward said, not even looking up.
Waiter and plates disappeared.
Edward poked at some crumbs. “Let's just hope the letter works."
"Yes."
"And let's hope that the Blighters don't get it instead."
"What! Is that possible?"
He smiled bleakly. “Definitely possible. Head Office suffered a major defeat. I don't know what their English equivalent of Olympus is, but it may have fallen to the enemy since I was a kid. If that's the case, then I just wrote to the enemy, saying where I am."
"Oh."
"I should have warned you."
Disbelief swirled around her like a sudden squall. Two days ago Ginger Jones had walked into her life and now she was a character in a John Buchan thriller. The Black Stone is after you! Flee, for all is lost....
"In fact,” Edward said sternly, “I should never have let you come. You had better catch the first train back to town."
"Not Pygmalion likely!” Alice said. “Tell me more about your experiences as Chief of the Headhunters."
He frowned.
"Sorry,” she said. “That was a cheap shot. So what happened when the old queen died? Who got the crown? The reformed Golbfish or the unrepentant Tarion?"
Edward sighed and turned to look out the window.
"The news arrived early one morning, just after we reached Lemodvale, before we got trapped. Old Kammaeman called me in to ask my opinion—which brother should he send back? I couldn't help feeling flattered, although I knew it was nothing to do with me personally, just my charisma at work. I told him any man who trusted Tarion ought to be chained in a padded cell."
She could guess what was coming from his disgusted expression.
"But by then it was too late?"
Edward looked up with rueful surprise, spoon poised. “Right on! Tarion had taken his Nagian cavalry and gone. Deserted in the middle of a war!"
She sipped coffee. “You expected better of him?"
He tried to laugh and swallow at the same time, and shook his head. “No! It was perfectly in character. He got the news even before Kammaeman did, so he must have bribed somebody somewhere. Personally, I was glad to see the back of him, but it left us seriously short of cavalry. Moas are one-man beasts. They fix on one owner when they're only chicks—calves I mean, I suppose. They're closer to mammals than birds. English doesn't have the right words. Anyway, it takes fortn—months, that is, to imprint one to a new rider. The Joalians hadn't been able to bring very many over Thordpass—it's too high—so they'd been depending on Tarion's troop. He upped and left, and that put us in the soup."
24
"WAKE UP, BEAUTIFUL,” SAID A WHISPER.
Dosh jumped, feeling a hand over his mouth. “Mmmph?” The hand was removed. He could see nothing except a faint hint of moonlight under the flap of the tent. He was lying on his sleeping rug, and the ground below it was hard and stony. He heard the voice again, very close to his ear.
"Awake?"
"Yes, master."
"Good. Keep your voice down. It is time to play a little game."
"Again?” The man was insatiable! “How long have we slept?"
"I have not slept at all, and this is another sort of game. We begin by tying you up."
Dosh's heart made a mighty leap and began racing all around his chest, looking for a way out. “No, master! Please! I have had some very unpleasant experiences with those sort of—"
Tarion's strong hand pushed a cloth into his mouth, and Dosh's protests subsided into whimpers. It was the rag he used for cleaning the master's saddle. He did not resist as rope was wrapped around his ankles, harsh fibers biting into his skin. Tarion had never bound him before and had never really hurt him—not too much—but he was capable of anything. There were bloodcurdling tales of orgies at Bondvaan Ambassador's house....
"Roll over!"
Dosh rolled over on his belly and put his wrists together. As the rope tightened about them and then was pulled tighter and even tighter, he said, “Mmmph!” urgently through the gag. It did no good. Then his elbows were lashed together also, and finally his knees. Holy Tion, preserve me!
For a moment nothing more happened. He lay in the dark and sweated, while his imagination rioted with macabre thoughts of what Tarion might be going to do to him. If it took very long his hands would fall off.
It started—Tarion flipped him over, so he lay awkwardly on his bound arms. There was a sharp rock under his shoulders. To make matters worse, the prince lay down also and leaned one arm heavily on Dosh's chest. Something cold caressed his neck.
"That is my dagger you can feel, lover,” Tarion said softly, a few inches above Dosh's nose. “I'll take the gag out, but if you make any noise, I shall cut your throat while the second word is still in it. Understand?"
The cloth was removed. Dosh gulped and tried to work the taste away. “Yes, master,” he whispered.