A Logical Magician

39

They emerged from the passageway into a huge underground railway yard easily a hundred yards across and fifty yards wide. Constructed entirely of concrete and steel, nearly a hundred pillars held up the roof thirty feet above their heads. A score of old wood and steel tracks crisscrossed the floor, leading to twenty different tunnels that dotted the walls. But Jack spent little time examining his surroundings.

His attention was completely fixed on the thirteen huge wicker cages that hung from heavy ropes from the ceiling. Each basket held seven women, most of them screaming at the top of their lungs. The sound of their voices, echoing through the immense cavern, was deafening. The reason for their distress was frightfully clear. Below each cage, groups of Border Redcaps were stacking large piles of wood for bonfires. Jack and Cassandra had arrived barely in the nick of time.

“Company, Jack,” warned the Amazon, dragging his thoughts away from the prisoners.

He had been searching the baskets, without success, for some sign of Megan or Merlin. Neither the girl nor her father was in any of the cages. Nor was he able to find, scanning his surroundings, Dietrich von Bern. Jack felt positive that when he located Megan, he would discover the Wild Huntsman as well.

A wall of Border Redcaps advanced slowly on their position. Nearly fifty of von Bern’s henchmen crowded in a solid line that formed a semicircle around the spot where Jack and Cassandra waited. Many of them carried handguns; a few even held rifles. Mixed among the fiends were the five remaining Gabble Ratchets. Thirty feet away and closing, neither the gang members nor the Corpse Hounds appeared in any hurry to lead the final charge.

“They must have heard what happened to their friends,” said Cassandra, filling her hands with floppy discs. “That’s the only thing holding them at bay. None of them is willing to make the first move. As soon as one builds up the necessary courage, they’ll roll over us like a tidal wave. Or blow us away with automatic weapon fire.”

“Maybe a little music will change matters,” said Jack, calmly. He pulled out a CD from his backpack, slipped it into the boom box, and pushed Play. Turning the volume control to the max, he placed the machine at his feet, facing the oncoming horde. “Listen.”

All motion stopped. Every eye fastened on the boom box, whirring happily to itself. Jack’s reputation as humanity’s champion had obviously grown by leaps and bounds during the past ten minutes. The Gabble Ratchets snarled, the Border Redcaps raised their knives and chains. And the CD player bellowed rock and roll.

The music hit the waiting crowd with the force of a tornado. Dropping their weapons, the Border Redcaps shrieked in sudden, unexpected agony. Clutching their hands to their ears, they broke formation and scattered through the railway yard. Many of them ran for the tunnels leading into the darkness. Their screams remained long after they disappeared.

The Corpse Hounds fared little better. The Gabble Ratchets collapsed to the ground and rolled back and forth, baying at an unseen moon. Recognizing a perfect opportunity when he saw it, Jack quickly ran over to the monstrous beasts and dropped a functioning pocket calculator on each of them. They vanished in satisfying bursts of white flame.

“What is that song?” yelled Cassandra, catching up to Jack. “And why is it devastating von Bern’s allies?”

“Electronic music,” said Jack. “Generated by a computer, naturally. My encounter with the banshee gave me the idea of returning the favor. It’s not bad stuff, though I prefer Emerson, Lake and Palmer when it comes to synthesizer.”

He gestured at the boom box. “Carry it with you. Sooner or later, some of the Redcaps will plug up their ears. But until then, the music should provide us some protection. Let’s cut down those wicker baskets. Until those women are safe, the Huntsman is still a menace.”

As if replying to Jack’s concerns, Dietrich von Bern’s voice, magnified by a portable amplifier, boomed through the immense cavern. “Cover your ears, you fools. The music can’t hurt you if you can’t hear it. Remember, there are only two of them. Surround them. Use your guns. Stop them. Prepare the fires. And release the Great Beast!”

“Release the Great Beast?” repeated Jack. “I don’t like the sound of that. Come on.”

A half-dozen Border Redcaps, wads of cloth dangling from their ears, their baseball hats holding the material in place, waited for them beneath the nearest cage. Grabbing a handful of floppy discs from his pockets, Jack sent them sailing at the fiends. Years of goofing off in computer lab finally paid off, as he flipped disc after disc with uncanny accuracy.

Aware of their peril, three of the Redcaps managed to duck out of the way of the plastic rectangles. The others shifted position, but not enough. One touch of the hard plastic was enough to send them to limbo. By the time Cassandra arrived, the number of their enemies had been cut in half.

Faced with a trio of foes, Cassandra completely forgot the discs she was carrying. Instead, releasing the CD player, she lunged at the first Redcap with her staff, catching the killer hard in the chest. Bones cracked, and the fiend tumbled to the concrete floor. He showed no further interest in the fight.

Twirling her walking stick like a baton, the Amazon slammed the second Redcap sideways across the face. Like the first, he crumpled to the ground, unmoving.

The third gang member pulled an automatic from inside his shirt. He never had time to aim and fire. Cassandra’s staff smacked the gun from his hand, then sent him joining his companions on the floor with a smash to the forehead.

Hurriedly, Jack deposited a floppy disc on the chest of each of the fallen Redcaps. With satisfying bursts of light, all three vanished.

“Sorry,” said Cassandra, tearing at the pile of wood located beneath the cage dangling high over their heads. “I got carried away.”

“No problem,” said Jack. He pointed upward. Seven anxious faces peered down at him. Seven terrified women, hoping for rescue, screamed words of encouragement. “How do we get them down?”

“Von Bern must have a block and tackle somewhere,” said Cassandra. “That cage is tied to a girder in the roof. Releasing them will take hours. And we don’t have the time.”

She gestured with her stick at an object at the center of the pile of timbers. Jack cursed in dismay. Von Bern’s henchmen had placed a can of gasoline and a timer between the logs. Set for six o’clock, the mechanism was already counting down the minutes. Jack checked his watch. They had less than an hour to disarm thirteen bombs scattered throughout the huge cavern.

“Smash it,” he said to Cassandra, pointing at the timer. “We’ll free the women after we deal with von Bern.”

A roar so loud that it set the wicker basket above them swaying cut off the Amazon’s reply. Guessing why her eyes had widened in shock wasn’t difficult, though. Turning about, Jack Collins faced the Great Beast.