If we can take the dumb-waiter to the pantry, we might be able to get everyone out of the house before the creature breaks through to the library.”
“And then what?” asked Ripton. “Talk as we go. Head for the office, Prof.”
“It’s not a Dead thing, so running water won’t do much,” said Nick as they broke into a jog. “Fire might, though…If we made a barrier of hay and set it alight, that could work. It would attract attention at least. Bring help.”
“I don’t think the sort of help we need exists around here,” said Ripton. “I’ve never been up north, but I know people in the NPRU and this is right up their alley. Things like this just don’t happen down here.”
“No, they don’t,” said Nick. “They wouldn’t have happened this time either, only Dorrance fed his creature the wrong blood.”
“I don’t understand,” Lackridge said, puffing after them. Now that they were heading for a possible exit, he had got more of a grip on himself. “I didn’t believe him…but…Dorrance thought the blood of one of you people with the Charter brand would rouse the creature a little, without danger. Then when we got you to come in for the Forwin Mill investigation, he saw you had a Charter Mark. The opportunity was too good to resist—”
“Shut up!” ordered Ripton. As Lackridge calmed down, the policeman got more tense.
“Dorrance worships the creature, but I don’t think even he wanted it this active,” snapped Nick. “I can’t explain the whole thing to you, but my blood is infused with Free Magic as well as the Charter. I guess the combination is what got the creature going so strongly…but it was too rich or something; that’s why it’s trying to dilute it with normal blood…I wonder if that means that the power it got from my blood will run out. Maybe it’ll just drop at some point…”
Lackridge shook his head, as if he still couldn’t believe what he was hearing, despite the evidence.
“It might come back for a refill from you as well,” said Ripton. “Here’s the office. You first, Professor.”
“But what if the creature’s in there?”
“That’s why you’re going first,” said Ripton. He gestured with his revolver, and when Lackridge still didn’t move, he pushed him hard with his left hand. The bulky ex-boxer rebounded from the door and stood there, his eyes glazed and jowls shivering.
“Oh, I’ll go first!” said Nick. He pushed Lackridge aside a little more gently, turned the door handle and went into Dorrance’s office. It was the room he’d been in before, with the big leather club chairs, the desk and the drinks cabinet.
“It’s empty—come on!”
Ripton locked the door after them as they entered the room, and then he slid the top and bottom bolts home.
“Thought I heard something,” he whispered. “Maybe it’s coming back. Keep your voices down.”
“Where’s the dumbwaiter?” asked Nick.
Lackridge crossed to a bookshelf and pressed a corner. The whole shelf swung out an inch, allowing Lackridge to get a grip and open it out completely. The beam of Nick’s torch revealed a square space behind it about three feet high and just as wide: a small goods elevator or dumbwaiter.
“We’ll have to go one at a time,” said Ripton. He slipped his revolver into his shoulder holster, laid his torch on the desk and dragged one of the heavy studded leather chairs against the door. “You first, Mr Sayre. I think it must have heard us, or smelled us, or something; there’s definitely movement outside—”
“Let me go!” Lackridge burst out, darting towards the elevator. He was brought up short as Ripton whirled around and kicked him behind the knee, bringing him crashing down, his fall rattling the bottles in the drinks cabinet.
Nick hesitated, then climbed into the dumbwaiter. There were two buttons on the outside frame of the elevator, one marked with an up arrow and one with a down; but as he expected, neither did anything. However, there was a hatch in the ceiling, which when pushed open revealed a vertical shaft and some heavily greased cables. The shaft was walled with old yellow bricks, and some had been removed every few feet to make irregular, but usable, hand—and footholds.
Nick ducked his head out and said, “It’s electric, not working. We’ll have to climb the—”
His voice was drowned out as the metal office door suddenly rang like a bell and the middle of it bowed in, struck with tremendous force from the other side.
“Fire!” Nick shouted as he jumped out of the elevator. “Start a fire against the door!”
He rushed to the drinks cabinet and ripped it open as the creature struck the door again. This second blow sheared the top bolt and bent the top half of the door over and a dark shape with glowing violet eyes could be seen beyond the doorway. At the same time, Ripton’s torch shone intensely bright for a second, then went out forever.
The remaining torch, left in the elevator, continued to shine erratically. Nick frantically threw whisky and gin bottles at the base of the door, and Ripton struck a match on the chair leg, swearing as it burst into splinters instead of flame. Then his second match flared and he flicked it across to the alcohol-soaked chair, and there was a blue flash and a ball of flame exploded around the door, searing off both Ripton’s and Nick’s eyebrows.
The creature made a horrid gargling, drowning sound and backed away. Nick and Ripton retreated to the wall and hunched down to try to get below the smoke, which was already filling the room. Lackridge was still slumped on the floor, not moving, the smoke twirling and curling over his back.
“Go!” Ripton coughed, gesturing with his thumb at the dumbwaiter.
“What…about…ridge?”
“Leave him!”
“You go!”
Ripton shook his head, but when Nick crawled across to Lackridge, Ripton climbed into the dumbwaiter. The professor was a dead weight, too heavy for Nick to move without standing up. As he tried again, an unopened bottle exploded behind him, showering the back of his neck with hot glass. The smoke was getting thicker with every second, and the heat more intense.
“Get up!” Nick coughed. “You’ll die here!”
Lackridge didn’t move.
Flames licked at Nick’s back and he smelled burning hair. He could do nothing more for the professor. He had only reduced his own chances of survival. Cradling his arms around his head, Nick dived into the dumbwaiter.
He had hoped for clean air there, but it was no better. The elevator shaft was acting as a chimney, sucking up the smoke. Nick felt his throat and lungs closing up and his arms and legs growing weaker. He thrust himself through the hatch, climbed on to the roof of the dumbwaiter and felt about for the hatch cover, slapping it down in the hope that this might stop some of the smoke. Then, coughing and spitting, he found the first missing bricks and began to climb.
He could hear Ripton somewhere up above him, coughing and swearing. But Nick wasn’t listening for Ripton. All his senses were attuned to what might be happening lower down. Would the creature come through the fire and swarm up the shaft?
