“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you. Did you just say you’re afraid you’ll lose a fair fight?”
“His Grace’s men are unmatched at any configuration. The odds will never be in your favor,” Reddington boomed back. “Terms confirmed.”
Elizabeth lowered her trumpet. “He said yes?”
The others nodded. “He said yes.”
She frowned. “I don’t like it. He agreed before, too. He thinks he’s tricked us. Again.”
“Then what do we do?” asked Stephen.
Elizabeth unsheathed her sword. “We fight back. Everyone ready?”
The Wynchesters lifted their various fists and weapons. With and without daggers in hand, each member of the family touched their fingers to their hearts, then lifted them to the sky.
“Uh… Do I do that, too?” Stephen quickly copied the motion, hoping he got it right.
Elizabeth kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll explain the Wynchester salute later. Right now, we need you to get to your turret posthaste. We can’t win this battle without you.”
“Not terrifying at all,” Stephen muttered. But at least they had a plan. Several plans.
“Places, everyone!” Graham ordered. “Once we draw first blood from all eight of Reddington’s men, he’ll have no choice but to yield. Don’t let your guard down for a moment. He’ll be desperate to draw first blood fromus. On your marks!”
The Wynchesters scattered. Stephen ran down the corridor and up the narrow spiral staircase to the topmost tower, which not only had the best view of the property… but also now contained several new toys and multiple levers to pull.
Stephen hoped this gambit was going to work.
39
Stephen burst into the topmost turret with a gasp for air.
By his count, he and the Wynchesters were at least on the fourth or fifth contingency plan already. The aim was to limit bloodshed—No murdering—but when one was defending oneself at sword-point, anything could happen.
This cylindrical tower boasted four windows, one for every direction of the compass. Stephen dashed to each in turn, squinting an eye into the mirrored telescoping tubes that gave him a full view of each side of the castle.
Up here, the windows were not arrow embrasures, but rather full open rectangles one could tumble out of, if one was not careful. Stephen was not worried about himself; he had the good sense not to lean out of a tower window while the castle was actively being attacked.
The stone edges of each window were covered with ropes and chains that connected to the levers and pulleys he could use to detonate various attacks.
Half of the Wynchester family was far below in the dungeon, awaiting any breach through the trapdoor. Elizabeth and Kuni remained stationed at the only other entrance, guarding the scarred front door with their swords and daggers.
Stephen hoped that door remained closed and barred for as long as possible. With luck, Reddington’s men would tire themselves andbecome easy prey once their morale had lowered and their energy was depleted.
Which might be what Reddington hoped for the Wynchesters, too.
From the front window, Stephen had a perfect view of the invading army, without any need for his spy tubes—yet.
Down below, Reddington handed his speaking trumpet to one of his men and leapt down from his white stallion with worrisome agility. He might not have fought in His Majesty’s army, but he unquestionably looked the part.
He kept his sword in hand as a lanky young boy in regimentals led the horse back to the forest to be tied to a tree. When the lad finished, the boy retook his place amongst the other men. Three rows of soldiers in red regimentals genuflected to Reddington in perfect unison, as if they had practiced this maneuver as much as or more than archery.
Reddington pointed his blade at eight burly men in turn, each of whom rose and stepped forward, muskets in hand. The bullet chamber might not be loaded, but the sharp bayonets protruding from each long muzzle could cause plenty of damage.
As if that weren’t enough, swords and daggers hung from the soldiers’ hips. Reddington had clearly taken Elizabeth’s keep-your-blades challenge to heart. Stephen hoped the eight brawny men stepping forward had been chosen for their intimidating size, and not for their swordsmanship. If Reddington had scrounged up master fencers…
Stephen placed his leather helmet atop his head and adjusted its attached field glass over his left eye. Seeing long distances with one eye and up close with the other played havoc with one’s vertigo and depth perception, but closing one at a time left both of his hands free to engage in more important matters.
A bell tinkled in the cupola above him. He smiled. One chime meant all was in place in the dungeon. Nonetheless, he hurried across the turret and tilted his ear toward the whispering wall.
