Stephen pointed. “Here comes our nemesis now.”
Reddington was once again in full uniform atop his white stallion. He turned his horse to face the castle. With a sword in hand and a euphoric expression, he looked the very picture of a general leading his troops into a battle in which victory was assured.
There were now two page boys armed with flower petals. To Reddington’s left was a drummer boy, to his right, a trumpeter. Flanking them was a full marching band, interspersed with several flag bearers solemnly waving the distinctive red, white, and blue of the Union Jack.
“As if Reddington stands for the entire United Kingdom.”
“As if he’ll be standing at all after today,” Elizabeth replied.
Stephen lowered his voice. “What percentage are you?”
“Eighty-five,” she murmured back. It was the best she’d felt in years.
He squeezed her hand. “Then you’re unstoppable.”
“All that matters is stopping Redding—”
“Hear ye, hear ye,” boomed from the front lines. Reddington once again held a speaking trumpet to his lips. “The battle royal shall begin in—”
The castle echoed with earsplitting pops as though a thousand bottles of champagne had opened one right after the other. A screeching sound followed, then a series of bright flashes, as though lightning were streaking out from the castle’s towers. Feathers fell outside the windows like snow, and the faint scent of gunpowder and burnt honey mingled in the air.
All went silent.
“What,” Jacob asked, “was that?”
“Oh, just my alarm,” Stephen explained. “I set it to deploy when one hour remained before the scheduled confrontation.”
Elizabeth pointed over her shoulder. “There’s also an hourglass lowering in the Great Hall, if you prefer to watch the time run out.”
“I don’t think we will need to,” Graham said dryly. “Reddington has numerous faults, but lack of punctuality does not appear to be one of them.”
Now that the surprise of Stephen’s alarm was over, the speaking trumpet once again rose to Reddington’s lips. “The battle royal begins in one hour! If you wish to save your souls, hand over the castle posthaste. Otherwise, I shall take my due by force. Prepare to be besieged!”
“Save our souls?” Adrian repeated. “That’s a little dramatic, isn’t it?”
Marjorie snorted. “Everything Reddington does is dramatic.”
“And now he’s going to dramatically punch a hole through the castle wall with a cannon.” Jacob peered out the window.
“What kind of frosted teapot destroys his own castle?” Kuni asked.
“A desperate one,” Graham said. “He already sold tickets for the Waterloo reenactment he scheduled to take place on this property. His image will crumble if he cannot follow through as advertised. He has to save face with his soldiers, or they’ll stop following him.”
“His men adore reenactments,” Marjorie added. “The more spectators, the more motivated his soldiers will be to fight to win.”
“Reddington has nothing to lose by fighting,” Jacob agreed. “The publicity gained from a siege, whether successful or not, will only bring more volunteers and more spectators to the main event—even if he must hold the reenactment on his adjacent land instead of at Castle Harbrook.”
“Do you think hewillretreat to his property?” Marjorie asked. “Regardless of who prevails in today’s battle royal?”
“Weprevail,” Elizabeth answered. “We must defeat him so resoundingly, his remaining men would prefer to defect rather than expose themselves to further public humiliation.”
Throwing knives appeared in Kuni’s hands. “I’m ready. Are you?”
“We’re all as ready as we can be,” said Stephen. Then he told them, “Whispering walls are on all four sides, but you must be near the locations I showed you for your voice to carry to the turret.”
He and the others had set up the murder room and arranged the other machines as traps around the perimeter of the castle.
Elizabeth and her siblings all nodded their understanding. “And your spy tubes?”
