He felt beads of sweat trickling down his cheeks. Something warmer on his lips. He licked them : blood. He didn't know where he was, but it was in complete darkness. He could be blind, as well. Perhaps he was. Illya. Illya was looking after him.
Ellsing looked through the opening : a large low-ceilinged room. Harker and seven Thrush men were sitting against the wall, asleep. Ellsing shivered.
-They are... exactly as Ferat. What... what are you doing ?
Illya Kuryakyn's hand were running on the partition, and on the wall. He turned toward Ellsing and smiled. His left hand handed a small lever.
-What are you doing ? We can't.... It's dangerous. You haven't seen Ferat and the others. They..
-No, Ellsing Our man has gone this way. Come on !
-I can't. Look at them, Kuryakyn : they are waiting for us. If we jump down, they'll...
-You told me that they were sleeping, in the café, until you touched them.
-Eventually, I had to kill them. Four of my men. These are Thrush men, too, Kuryakyn. I have worked with ... What ... ? No !
Illya Kuryakyn pulled the small lever, and the partition gave way. The Russian nimbly dropped into the room, landing on his feet. He didn't turn back, and headed for what looked like a way out, behind a sort af dark sleepers kept still. Illya Kuryakyn didn't think anymore. It was just time to act. Ellsing... Too bad ! He took out his gun and quickly pulled the curtain. The white light dazzled him. A voice yelled.
-NO ! NO ! YOU CAN'T DO THAT !
The Russian hesitated.
-YOU CAN'T BE HERE ! GO AWAY !
His eyes got used to the light. He could see two shapes. Human figures. Were they a threat ? Not really. Illy took a step forward. Another step. One of the two « men »clutched at his companion's arm.
-TELL HIM ! TELL HIM ! HE MUST GO AWAY !
They saw him. The one who yelled talked about him. But they didn't look at him. They stared a place where ... he wasn't.
Illya Kuryakyn rushed at them, ready to the impact. All the Russian collided with was the opposite wall. The white light weakened. Amazingly, leaned against the stones, Illya smiled. A new delusion ? Perhaps not. He didn't know what he had seen. What he knew was that one of the « men » was absolutely mad at his companion. Illya's presence had been noticed... He was obviously a trouble. A big trouble. He looked around. On his left, another curtain.
Okay. It was a race. He had to keep on moving. Forestalling. He'd make their life hell. He pulled the curtain. A new room, empty. A new curtain. A new room, empty. A new curtain. Illya Kuryakyn came in what he thought to be a fourth room, as empty as the others. The floor suddenly gave way under him. A well ? Oubliettes ? No. Hard and repeated impacts told him : stairs. He tried to curl himself up into a ball, but he wasn't sure that he had always arms, legs, head... Yes. Head, he had. The incredible pain proved it. The fall looked like to be endless. Actually, the Russian lied on the ground. A total wreck.
-He couldn't, Eaque. He couldn't be there. He had nothing to do there. Where is he, now ?
-I don't know, master. I've lost his track.
-You don't know... And the other ? Where is the other ?
-I... I don't know, master.
-You don't know. You don't know anything. If you don't know, you are no use, anymore.
-I... please, master, no...
Illya'd be mad at him. He remembered that last thought. He was in the garden of the castle... Then... His head hurt. His ribs hurt. He was hungry. But obviously alive. And unbound. And eventually not blind. A very weak glimmer had appeared in front of him. Illya was looking after him. He always did. Napoleon Solo successfully tried to get on his feet. He had to help Illya.
-You've been arrogant.
-...
-You've been arrogant. You are going to fail. Didn't I say so ? You played the puppeteer. Your victims didn't agree. What is a puppeteer without puppets ?
-...
Illya Kuryakyn opened his eyes. Darkness. Not a complete one. Some light, above him. It hurt. It was an ocean of pain. Every breath hurted. But Napoleon was down here. He knew that, and he had to get up, he had to find him. There was no choice. In a lucid moment, he asked himself about his ability to do... anything. His arms, his wrists, his legs, his ankles hurt. Broken ? He cautiously tried to move a finger. A hand. An arm. The other. Then, the legs. It hurt, sprains, probably. Bruises. But... it worked. Panting, choking, he managed to get on his feet, leaning against the wall. He took a faltering step toward the stairs, and stopped, feeling like he was about to collapse. He closed his eyes, concentrating himself on staying conscious.
Napoleon Solo bent over and touched the floor. Ground. He took a sniff... Humus. It smelled ... humus. The glimmer he saw came from the outside. He had to find a wall ; then, he could hug it until he could find an exit. He staggered through the darkness. Despite his cautiousness, he ruthlessly collided with the stone wall. He cursed loudly, not that he had hurt himself, but because it was a relief. He was a man, an Uncle agent. A damned good agent.
What... ? He opened his eyes. He had heard something. No. Not something. A voice. His voice. Napoleon Solo's voice. He forgot all, and called :
-Napoleon ? Are you here ? Napoleon ?
Silence.
A voice. His name. Illya's voice. Napoleon Solo managed to breath again.
-Illya ?
-Yes. Go on speaking...
-You were right, Illya. It was a hell of an affair... Illya ?
-Go on.
The Russian was listening, trying to locate his partner. He went along the wall. The voice became louder. Suddenly, Illya's hand rubbed a wooden surface. A door. He frantically shook it, until he pushed it open. Then, here was his partner. Napoleon grabbed his arm and hugged him. Illya reciprocated the hug. Both winced, but they couldn't stop embracing, for a few minutes.
-Don't ask...
-Don't tell...
The, they released their embrace.
-It's a sort of cellar, Illya. Look. Can you see this glimmer ?
Illya Kuryakyn chuckled and held out his flashlight, luckily intact.
-It isn't a cellar, Napoleon. It's a sort of secret room. We have to find the entrance of the underground way.
Napoleon couldn't see his partner very well, but this man was undoubtedly Illya. You could put him in a dark, unknown place, and he exactly knew where he was, and how to get out.
-There are secret ways in this castle ; in the old kitchens, in the cellars. They were « escape routes ». One of them lead to the forest of Chinon. We must find the exit of this one, my friend.
-Let's do that... Oh, Illya, how...
-I read a guide.
-Of course.
Wounds, bruises, strains... Nothing mattered anymore. It didn't take them ages to explore the room, The flash light helped them to notice a change in the wall. No more mortar, just stones. The two men pulled, pushed, with their hands, with their feet. Eventually, it gave way. They walked a few minutes in a sort of narrow cave, feeling the coolness of the outside air... Some bushes,and a few steps later, they were free, on a scree. The castle was below.
-You've lost. The game is over.
-...
-You had been arrogant, "mastermind".
-...
-Next time, you'll follow some more wise advices, « master of the world. »
-The blond and the other had no right to do that. They acted against the rules !
-Poor little puppeteer...
-The show is over.
-The show ?
-The son et lumière. It tells the story of the Sleeping Beauty.
Yellow floodlights illuminated the castle. Napoleon Solo turned toward his friend, and frowned.
-You look like hell, tovarisch.
-Speaking of that, Napoleon, I am sorry to tell you that you are not actually a Charming Prince... Let's go the parking area. You need a weapon, and...
-Water, and something to eat, Illya. And some news.
The two Uncle agents were cautiously heading to Illya's car, when the Russian stopped. Footsteps. Someone was running on the gravel. Solo and Kuryakyn sheltered behind a bush. A panting man appeared. Napoleon was to jump on him, but Kuryakyn grabbed his arm.
-Ellsing !
The Thrush man was taken aback. Then, he smiled with a sort of relief.
-Napoleon, let me introduce you Mr Ellsing, a Thrush friend... of mines. Mr Ellsing, here is my partner, Napoleon Solo.
It was Solo's turn to be taken aback. He was almost appalled. Illya Kuryakyn had kept his hand on his partner's arm and he felt the strain.
-Whatever happened isn't yet a Thrush affair, Napoleon. They had been part of, but things have changed. First things first. Ellsing, what ...
-Nothing. When you jumped in the room, I stayed in the passage ; I peeked at Harker and the others. They didn't move. I hesitated and I was ready to follow you when I heard some yells. And...
Ellsing stopped, panting.
-They awoke, Kuryakyn. Not like Ferat in the café. No. They truly awoke. I called them, and we came back in the Galerie. Harker told me about a man called Eaque, who was the agent of our « sleeping partner », as he said. Eaque is the man we have followed. Harker and the guys have checked the castle and the dungeon ... and
-And ?
-Nothing. Nobody. Everything is okay. As if nothing had happened. Well, you made it, too. Good thing. I hope to ... never hear of you anymore, Mr Kuryakyn. Mr Solo.
Ellsing gave a salute, turned on his heel, and went away. Still appalled, Solo looked at his partner.
-We can't let him go. We must catch him, and the others. They are Thrush. They have killed people...
Without turning toward them, Ellsing added.
-Harker is in the dungeon. I unfortunately locked him up. The others are waiting for me, and we'll leave this castle, right now.
And he disappeared in the darkness.
The two Uncle agents walked without speaking. They staggered shoulder against shoulder, and got in Illya's car. The Russian opened his communicator. Although exhausted, he made a precise report on the last events, ending by Ellsing's « regrettable escape ». He was waiting for Waverly's reaction. The voice was unusually gentle, almost soothing.
-Good, Mr Kuryakyn, good. You have to know that things are going back to normal, in Denmark, in France, in England. In Germany, the wounded people are healing. It began a few hours ago. I'll sent our local operatives to take care of your Mr Harker. Can you manage to come back ? Do you need help ?
Illya Kuryakyn smiled.
-We're fine, sir. Some bruises... Nothing that a good lunch and a good night can't cure...
-See you soon, so, young men. Oh, miss Dancer and Mr Slate are on their way to join you in Rigny Ussé. They'll be there tomorrow... Just wait for them.
-He didn't ask a lot...
-We didn't tell a lot....
An epilog will follow, perhaps two...