Devil May Care (23 page)

"Shut up," Ellie said. The sounds were coming closer, the sounds of pounding hooves.

Kate ran in. "Ellie, are you all right? What's happening?"

"Sssh." Ellie gestured for silence. She had flung the window and the screen open. There was something odd about the hoofbeats. They were clear and distinct, with a ringing echo, as if the horse galloped on a hard-packed path or a road. But there was no such surface close to the house--particularly not in the thickly overgrown woods to the west, the direction from which the noise seemed to emanate.

"Oh, wow," Kate said, breathing heavily on her neck. "Isn't this great? I was afraid the tricks were-- Ellie, where's Donald?"

Ellie, who had been about to make a rude retort in response to Kate's girlish enthusiasm, felt as if a fist had struck her in the stomach.

"He wouldn't," she gasped. "He wouldn't be so dumb--"

She turned from the window, stumbled over a cat, and almost fell. Kate caught her arm in a grip that left bruises.

"Look."

At first it was a shimmer of phosphorescence among the trees. It came quickly--though not, as Ellie later realized, as quickly as the galloping hooves should have brought it. A great black horse, muzzle and hooves dripping with infernal fire, the eyes rings of light. The rider ... 188 Elizabeth Peters The moon was out, full and bright; the storm was blowing away to the east in wisps of abandoned cloud. The rider was a hunched, cloaked figure, sitting low on the saddle, but his face was uncannily distinct. As if he were giving them ample opportunity to observe, he reined in the horse and lifted his face to the moonlight.

Ellie knew she had seen it somewhere before; surely she had been familiar with that lean, pale countenance long before she came to Kate's. The black moustache was long and drooping, the face was framed by lank black locks. The black cloak had a high collar. The whole effect was theatrical, and yet there was a false note somewhere ... She had no time to think about it. The apparition had made her forget Donald for a moment; when she saw him run out from the bushes near the house, she was as surprised as the ghostly rider.

He gave a wholly human start. An uncontrolled movement of his hands on the reins made the great horse rear. Ellie drew in her breath and thought about screaming. She knew what was going to happen, as surely as if she had already seen it, and there was nothing she could do to prevent it. Screaming would do no good. A movement behind her, followed by the rapid retreat of Kate's running footsteps, told her that her aunt was trying to get to the scene. She would, of course, be too late. Ellie couldn't move.

Donald was running like a track star, although the soggy, saturated ground impeded his progress slightly. The horse was fighting his rider. But what happened was not an accident. Donald was still several yards away when the rider jerked his dancing mount around in a half-circle, gathered him in, and set him straight at the running man.

Donald tried to veer off. The damp ground betrayed him. He slipped and fell. To Ellie's horrified eyes the great hooves seemed to strike squarely on his body. The horse thundered on, plunging at dandevil-MAY-CARE 189

gerous speed into the thick woods, and Donald lay still where he had fallen, his white face upturned to the silent moon.

Ellie had no conscious memory of descending the stairs. She must have tripped and fallen at least once; her knees were bruised and discolored the next day.

She might have tripped over Franklin, for the Pekingese was with her when she fled across the soggy lawn.

Kate was already on her knees beside Donald. She looked up as Ellie flung herself forward; her small hands caught the girl in a grip of surprising strength.

"Don't touch him. Go call-- No. First let the dogs out. Hurry." "They're out," Ellie said. She was vaguely aware of Franklin barking and running around in agitated circles. In fact, the lawn seemed to be alive with animals.

She must have left the front door open. This violation of one of Kate's strongest taboos barely brushed the surface of her mind. She was only aware of Donald. He lay in a twisted, uncomfortable position, one leg at an odd angle. His eyes were closed.

Blood trickled down his face from under his ruffled hair, and the front of his torn, wet shirt was disfigured by a great dark stain. It looked like a hoof print.

Kate slapped her hard across the face.

"The dogs in the kennel. Let them out, this instant.

Run!"

Ellie obeyed.

The dogs were awake and disturbed. She hadn't realized it before, she had been too preoccupied, but as she approached the kennel she heard the mournful baying of the bloodhound rising over a cacophony of barks and movement. The dogs poured out when she opened the door. They were delighted to see her, and they followed as she ran back to Kate.

"How is--"

"Broken ribs, I think." Kate sat back on her heels

190 Elizabeth Peters and brushed her hair back from her face, leaving a smear of some suspicious dark substance on her forehead. Her face was calm, but for once she looked her full age. "Listen carefully. Take Toby"--

she nodded at the bloodhound, who sat down on his haunches and stared at her, his tongue lolling--

"and go telephone Frank Gold. Tell him what has happened, and try to break it gently. Tell him not to come on foot. Make him promise. Use the phone in the hall. Don't go anywhere else in the house, understand? There's an afghan in the chest by the suit of armor. Bring it and get back here on the double."

Ellie almost saluted.

As she left she heard Kate giving instructions to the other dogs. One of them went loping off into the woods; she did not linger to see what the others did.

Kate had always maintained the animals understood her perfectly. Her friends took this claim with more than a grain of salt, but this night Ellie was inclined to believe her. Toby stuck to her like a burr, and she was grateful for the big dog's companionship when she reentered the silent house.

Kate had had presence of mind enough to turn on lights as she went, but the house had a strange aura--a sense of something waiting, as if an alien presence hovered. The cats seemed to have taken advantage of the open door, but Ellie fancied that Roger must be somewhere about. At least she hoped the rustling sounds she heard were made by the rat, and not by something else. Roger had better sense than to go outside. There were too many predators out there in the dark.

The doctor answered the phone on the first ring.

He didn't ask questions, or allow Ellie to explain at length. "I'll be there," he said, and hung up.

Ellie followed suit. She was glad to get out of the DEVIL-MAY-CARE 191

house, but she realized that Kate had had to choose between two unknown dangers when she remained with Donald. Neither knew what further peril the night might hold, nor from which direction it might come. The only defense they had were the dogs, and it had been eminently sensible of Kate to see to that first, even though it meant delay in reaching help.

Kate was sitting cross-legged on the grass when Ellie got back to her. The skirt of her pale-blue silk negligee lay around her in damp folds. A dog stood on guard on either side of her. The contrast between Franklin, who was smaller than several of the larger cats, and the German shepherd was more amusing than impressive. She watched impassively while Ellie spread the blanket over Donald's limp body. He was still unconscious.

"I don't think it's as bad as it looks," Kate said coolly. "Something is damaged in the rib area, and he got a glancing blow on the head. Maybe a slight concussion, but no skull fracture. His arms and legs are sound. The only thing that worries me is the possibility of internal injuries. No sign of them; but I don't dare move him." She hesitated for a moment, and then added, in a gentler voice, "You can hold his hand if you want to."

Ellie did so. The long, limp fingers felt so pathetic; she had always seen them moving with quick competence.

"Donald," she said, "please wake up, Donald."

"That's silly," her aunt said. "He'll be in pain if he wakes up. Tell him to stay unconscious."

She began groping around in the front of her negligee.

Kate's clothes, like her house, were all constructed with hidden pockets and panels. From some such place she produced a pack of cigarettes and a book of matches.

"I thought you quit smoking," Ellie said, unrea-

192 Elizabeth Peters sonably annoyed at the calm air with which Kate flicked her match away and blew out rings.

"You can't expect me to stop smoking when I'm so nervous," Kate said. Ellie was about to make a nasty comment when she realized that the fingers holding the cigarette were shaking visibly, and that Kate's mouth was drawn in at the corners.

"You are upset, aren't you?" she asked.

"I am not wholly without feelings," said Kate. "But there is no sense in making the situation worse by leaking tears or bleating out sentiments I may regret later. I am very fond of that boy." "So am I," Ellie said.

And she could have sworn--though she did riot for a moment doubt that Kate's concern was as profound as her own--that a flash of smug satisfaction momentarily lightened the somber blue of Kate's eyes.

The doctor had followed Kate's instructions; he did not come through the woods, but drove. The car skidded on the wet gravel and slued halfway around when he slammed on the brakes.

"That's bright," Kate said nastily, as he came running up. "Get yourself smashed up in a crash, that's all we need."

The doctor did not reply; either he understood the reason for Kate's harshness, or he simply didn't hear her at all. After several long, horrible minutes, he looked up, and Ellie started to cry with sheer relief before he spoke.

"I can't find anything serious. I want him in for X rays, though."

"I'll go call the ambulance," Ellie gurgled, weeping.

"I'll do it. I can get faster action." The doctor stood up. So did Kate. She put out one hand. It was a strangely tentative movement; there was an expression on her face that Ellie had never seen before.

At first she thought Dr. Gold wouldn't notice DEVIL-MAY-CARE 193

the small movement. Then he took Kate's hand in both his.

"It's all right, dear," he said, and smiled at her before he ran toward the house.

Much later they found the chaos in the library.

Every book was off the shelf; every drawer had been emptied onto the floor.

CHAPTER NINE.

Perched on the edge of her chair, Kate leaned forward tense with expectation. A cigarette dangled out of the corner of her mouth; the ashes, almost an inch long, menaced the lovely old Bokhara. She paid it no heed. Brows drawn together, eyes blazing, she suddenly shouted, "'Screen pass! Screen pass, you bloody blithering --oh, damn!"

The ashes dropped. Kate pounded on the arm of the chair.

"Third down and five yards to go and he tries to run the ball! The Colts had the best defense against the run in the NFL last year, he hasn't got a running back over two hundred pounds, and he tries to run the ball on third and--"

"They're ahead by ten," the doctor said.

"That's how they lost all their games last year, sitting on a ten-point lead," Kate said bitterly.

Eilie stared balefully at the twenty-seven-inch screen and a row of Redskins lining up in punt formation.

She had already expressed her astonishment that Kate meant to spend three hours watching a football game--arid a preseason game at that--when the universe was breaking up around them. Her words had fallen on deaf ears, to put it mildly. The DEVIL-MAY-CARE 195

doctor, for once, was no help. No longer concerned about his son, he was as intent on the game as Kate.

Somebody kicked the ball, which hobbled around at the other end of the field while a crowd of hulking players danced nervously around it.

"Coffin corner," Kate exclaimed triumphantly.

"Now if that butter-fingered quarterback will just fumble the ball--"

"I wish you would stop making stupid comments about a subject you do not understand," the doctor snapped. "Why should he fumble the ball? Of all the times when he will be careful not to--"

An unseemly scramble ensued on the screen, accompanied by grunts and thuds. From Kate's shriek of rapture Ellie deduced that the quarterback had indeed fumbled the ball. Baltimore recovered, however; Kate settled back looking disgusted, and the doctor mopped his forehead.

Ellie could have followed the progress of the game by watching the faces of the two spectators. The doctor brightened visibly when Baltimore made the first down, but to Ellie's uneducated eye that team still seemed to be rather close to its own end of the field.

Suddenly Kate rose to her feet as if propelled by a spring. The doctor emitted a moaning cry that sounded like William forecasting rain; and the football, soaring high and long, smacked firmly into the waiting arms of a receiver who jumped two opponents, kicked another neatly in the stomach, and sauntered in for the touchdown.

The doctor was shrieking insanely.

"The bomb! The bomb! Right on the numbers!

Right on the numbers!"

Ellie was surprised to find herself on her feet jumping up and down and yelling.

Kate glowered at her. "Whose side are you on anyhow?" "I'm not on anybody's side," Ellie said. "I just love those--what did you call them? Bombs?"

196 Elizabeth Peters

"Beautiful," the doctor crooned. His eyes were flued to the screen where the touchdown pass was eing repeated in instant replay and slow motion, from the front, from the rear, from the side, and backwards.

"Not bad," Kate admitted grudgingly. "Of course, once you've seen a virtuoso--"

The doctor could afford to be generous.

"Oh, yes, Sonny was the master, no question about it. Remember the Dallas game in sixty-five?"

"And the Philadelphia game in 1974," Kate said, her eyes glistening with sentimental fondness.

"When he came off the bench in the third quarter, when the ' were behind by twenty-one points, and won the game?"

"Well, Larry Brown helped a little," the doctor said.