Act 2 ~~~~
Artemus whirled back toward his partner and the girl, flinging his arms wide as he slammed into them, bearing both to the floor and landing mostly on top of them. He then threw his arms over his own head just as the
BLAST!
from the shotgun split the air of the hallway. A tremendous amount of fragmented ceiling plaster, splintered wood, and little metal pellets showered down all over the two agents and the girl. Artie, joyful to find himself alive and reasonably unhurt, glanced up to see an enormous hole in the ceiling. A warning shot that had been; the sound of the other barrel being cocked said that one warning was all they would receive.
"On yer feet and hands in the air!"
Artie was on top of both of the others and so got up first. He started to help Miss Anushche up as well, but the voice behind the shotgun said, "She ain't helpless. Just git up, all o' you, and git them hands high."
They all obeyed and faced their captor, West and Gordon automatically moving slightly forward to place themselves between the young lady they were rescuing and the older woman holding the shotgun.
"Hello, Matilda," said James West, his voice like warm sunshine, his smile easy and open and friendly, his eyes - was that color for real? - sparkling and kind.
Matilda stared at the man. "How you know my name?"
"I know your brother, Angus Smiler," he bluffed. "He's a brilliant scientist, and he never would have gotten anywhere if it weren't for the support and sacrifices made on his behalf by his sister Matilda."
She snorted. "And he still ain't gittin' anywhere, 'cause o' them muttonheads on the committee. Herk!" She looked away from her captives, back up the corridor she'd come from. "Herk! Git yer lazy tailbone down here! I got work fer you."
She was distracted. The barrel of the shotgun wavered and dipped. West was measuring the distance to her with his eyes.
"Jim, you'll never make it," said Artie sotto voce. "She's too far off."
He knew Artie was right. And a moment later the opportunity - if it had even been one - was lost. Matilda turned back to them and fixed her aim.
The floor was shuddering again. Herk appeared at Matilda's side. "Herk," she said, "you bring them two boys along nice and gentle. Girlie, you come here. Git yer hands up!"
Miss Anushche hesitated, then stepped forward. She had noticed that, despite Matilda's repeated orders to hold their hands high, the two agents kept their hands barely higher than their shoulders. Her own hands weren't even that high. She still had her book under her arm and was afraid she would drop it. At Matilda's latest insistence, though, Anushche clamped the book firmly to her side, managing to raise her hands another three inches.
"C'mon there, girl, don't keep me waitin'," said Matilda. Herk was lumbering toward the two agents and Miss Anushche had to squeeze to one side to get past him. "Here we go," said the woman with the shotgun, shoving the girl ahead of her as she turned the corner. "You just open that door and git in there. No, that door. Last one on the right, just 'fore the stairs. Herk, bring 'em!"
The man-mountain bore down on the two agents. "James?" Artie murmured quietly. They could fight Herk, or try to, but with Miss Anushche being held by Matilda with the shotgun, fighting at this moment might get the girl killed. Jim gave a barely perceptible shake of his head and raised his hands higher. "We'll come along peaceably," he said.
"Yes," Artie agreed, "just as Matilda said, you can bring us along nice and - hurk! - gentle…"
The behemoth had reached out a meaty hand to either man, grasping each by the scruff of the neck and in that fashion he half-dragged, half-carried the two all the way to the last door on the right, just before the stairs.
The room was a charming parlor with red flocked walls, a table, two sofas facing each other, a few chairs, and an archway in the far wall off to the left leading into what looked like a dining room beyond. Or at least it would have been a charming parlor, if not for the presence of Matilda's shotgun.
And, of course, Herk.
By the time West and Gordon were hauled into the room, Matilda had taken up a position behind the far sofa and was covering Miss Anushche, who was sitting on the other sofa facing her. "Just drop 'em anywhere," Matilda told Herk.
So he did.
"Now, no funny business, you two," said Matilda as the two agents got to their feet. "And git yer hands up!"
West and Gordon stood up slowly, raising their hands. Each man was looking over the situation, noting how little control Matilda now had. Back in the hallway, the three of them had been in a tight group; she had been able to threaten them all with a fixed aim. In here, she had allowed West and Gordon to get separated from each other while the girl was in a third place altogether. Matilda was jumping her aim from one to the next to the third. She was in fact getting jumpy period. Not only that, but there was someone lying on the sofa the woman was standing behind. West only assumed the man was one of Matilda's associates; Gordon knew it was Lou. For her to stand behind the sofa while her own man rested on it was not a good plan. She just might wind up shooting over that man's head, if not through it.
And she wants no funny business, thought Gordon. Hmm. The woman was already a bundle of nerves. Jim had tried calming her, and she'd only gotten worse. So, thought Artie, let's see what happens if I poke this with a stick…
"All right!" Matilda was saying. "You two git yer gun belts off. Move it!"
Slowly and calmly, the two men complied.
"Now, put 'em…" She glanced round the room, then used the barrel of the shotgun to point. "Put 'em on that table over there." The table was beyond the end of the sofas, well away from the door. "One at a time, now!" she added. "Pretty Boy, you go first."
Jim walked over, laid his gun belt on the table, then returned.
"Now you…"
"Ugly Boy. Yes ma'am, I know," said Artie agreeably.
Matilda narrowed her eyes. "I said no funny business!" she growled.
"Yes ma'am." Artie walked to the table, held out his gun belt, and managed in dropping it to miss the table entirely.
"Put it on the table!" Matilda shrieked. Beads of perspiration were standing out on her forehead now.
"Yes ma'am," Artie said again. As he bent to retrieve the gun belt from the floor, he surreptitiously pulled two bits of putty out of two different pockets, quickly kneaded the bits together, then tossed the putty unobtrusively through the archway into the next room. Now he rose with gun belt in hand, laid it on the table, and returned to his place. "There you go, ma'am," he said affably.
"All right," said Matilda. "Now, who are you two, and how come she's runnin' loose?"
"Well, that one's Alonso P Farnsworth," said a voice from the sofa. It was Lou. The man sat up slowly, holding his head in his hands. He turned his head this way, then that, then gave it a good shake. Satisfied that the head was going to stay on top of his neck where it belonged, Lou now turned his attention to the purported Farnsworth. "Mister," he said, "I don't know how you got the drop on me, but I reckon I owe you one, and it's time to settle out accounts." Eyes glittering, Lou boiled up off the sofa and charged at Gordon.
"No, wait!" Artie cried, holding out his hands. He saw the way Lou was balling up his fist and tried to anticipate the blow.
WHAM! Lou drove his fist at Artie's midsection, and the agent doubled over - but a split-second early, so that not nearly as much energy transferred to his abdomen as his attacker believed did. Artie sank to his knees, doing a beautiful job of miming having had the wind knocked out of him. He also shot Jim a clandestine wink to let him know he was shamming.
"Mr Gordon!" Anushche yelped. She, at least, was buying the act.
"Gordon?" Lou turned to look at her. "He said his name was Farnsworth! And anyway, what're you doing running round loose, girlie? You're the nice one, ain't you?"
"I already asked that, Lou," said Matilda. "Didn't git no answer neither. You! Pretty Boy! What're you two up to, huh?"
West looked her straight in the eye and answered, "The girls' father sent us."
"Father!" moaned Matilda. "Oh, I tole Angus this was a bad idea! Look, Lou, you take the girl and lock 'er back up in that closet agin." Lou nodded and crossed to grab Anushche by the arm.
Artie gave a wheezing laugh. Still making a big show of getting his breath back, he said, "Not after what I… huh… did to that lock, you won't!"
All eyes turned to him. "Why?" said Matilda skeptically. "What'd you do to that lock?"
"Oh, just a wee bit… bit of pyrotechnics, that's all."
"Pyro… pyro what?"
Artie smiled up at Matilda. "That's when you make things go…"
BOOM!
A cloud of beautiful fuchsia smoke came roiling in through the archway, the result of the chemical reaction in the putty Artie had tossed there earlier. Matilda started badly and nearly dropped the shotgun. Suddenly the man she'd called Pretty Boy was in front of her, relieving her of the weapon. "Hey, give that back!" she ordered, grabbing hold of the barrel.
"Matilda," said West quietly. "You want to let go."
"No, I don't!" she insisted. Thrusting her chin out pugnaciously, she jerked on the shotgun, trying to yank it away.
West shook his head and gave the shotgun a complicated twist that ended with Matilda's arm bent in a direction that arms were not meant to bend. The woman shrieked and fell to her knees as something in her elbow decided it had had enough and gave way.
West expertly brought up the shotgun and turned to find a target. Lou? No, Lou was stretched out on the floor by Anushche's feet. "What did you do to him?" Jim asked her.
She shrugged and held up her book. "Tolstoy," she explained.
Ah. Well, that left Herk…
When the explosion had gone off in the other room, Artie had realized that he, by default, was going to have to take on Herk. Hoping the blast had sufficiently distracted the man-mountain, Artie had charged up off the floor and driven his shoulder into the pit of Herk's stomach.
It was like trying to body slam a concrete wall. Artie literally bounced off, landing on his bum. Before he could quite gather his wits again, the world's hugest hand came down and caught him by the throat, lifting him bodily into the air, his feet dangling.
I take it back, thought Artie, grappling with his fingers at Herk's hand as dark spots started filling his vision. Herk isn't short for Hercules; it's the sound you make - hurk! - when he's got you by the throat, choking you to…
"Drop him, Herk!"
That was Jim's voice. Oh yes! Please, please drop me! Artie's fading consciousness begged.
But Herk didn't drop him. Instead the behemoth took a step toward Jim where he was standing between the two sofas with the shotgun in his hands.
CLONK! Now the huge hand vanished. Artie hit the floor hard and lay there gasping, not at all shamming now as he fought to get his wind back.
"Ow!" Herk's slow voice complained. "How come you t'row dat book at me?"
"Well… You were hurting Mr Gordon." That was Anushche's voice.
"Yeah?" said Herk. "Well, now I gonna hurt you, lady!" And he took a step toward her.
For a second Artie entertained the ludicrous notion of trying to trip the walking mountain. But then Jim's voice rang out. "Artie! Get out of the way!" And clearing his scrambled senses, Artie rolled, got his feet under him, then dove toward the sofas where Jim and the girl were.
"Back off, Herk," West warned, pointing the shotgun squarely at the giant's midsection.
Herk kept coming.
BLAM!
For a couple of seconds everyone's ears rang with the concussion of the shot, and the smoke of it filled the room with an acrid odor. Then everything began to clear.
Incredibly, Herk was standing where last he had been seen, staring down at what was left of his shredded shirt. "Hey!" he said, straightening back up to glare at Jim West. "I liked dat shirt!" He ripped the ruined cloth off and tossed it aside, revealing a pattern of welts all over his middle, but no real damage. Not dead, which he should have been - no, not even bleeding - Herk continued to advance.
Out of ammunition now, Jim reversed the shotgun to use it as a club if need be. "Artie?" he called softly to his partner. "How did he survive that?"
"I'm still working out how I survived," Artie responded. He was using the sofa to pull himself upright and now leaned over the back of it to rasp to the girl, "Miss Anushche, take a deep breath and hold it." Then, holding up a shiny glass sphere, he wheezed at his partner, "Jim! On three!"
Jim glanced at the smoke bomb in Artie's hand and nodded, drawing in his breath. Artie grabbed the best lungful he could as well, completed the countdown internally, then threw the orb.
POW! The glass popped at Herk's feet, releasing tendrils of lemon-colored smoke that curled and climbed around the big man, reaching up… up…
Herk took another step forward, ignoring the smoke. Then he blinked, and blinked some more. "Wha…?" he said.
He reeled. His eyes rolled up in his head as he swayed.
It was like watching a sequoia fall. The impact shook the room and everything in it.
Artemus pulled out his handkerchief and passed it to Anushche to remind her to hold her breath just a bit longer. A few seconds later he took an experimental sniff of the air and nodded. "It's dispersed enough. Just keep away from any obvious concentrations."
Jim crossed to the table and collected his gun belt, and Artie followed suit. As the two men fastened the belts back on, Miss Anushche clapped her gloved hands and proclaimed, "Capital! You are both my heroes! What do we do now?"
"Leave," said Jim.
"Ah! I like how you think, Mr West," the girl agreed. "I will just get my book…" She turned and began peering at the smoke-shrouded floor beyond the fallen giant.
"Forget the book," said Jim.
"Oh no!" she replied. "My Tolstoy is proving to be an excellent soporific, and I should prefer not to leave it behind."
Artie snickered. "Soporific! I'll get the book." Covering his mouth with the handkerchief, he went over and felt around with his feet till he found the tome, then slid it across the floor into an area clear enough for him to bend down safely to scoop it up. "Here you go, Miss Anushche," he said gallantly as he handed it over, pocketing the handkerchief.
"Kedurshte djo, Mr Gordon," she beamed.
"You're very welcome," he responded. He turned to Jim, who was quickly removing the screws from the shotgun to take out the lock and so render the weapon useless. "All right," Jim said, pocketing the lock, "let's go." He crossed to the door and opened it.
And stopped short. Anushche was behind him, so the person standing in the corridor in front of him must be…
"Irenje!" Anushche rushed past Mr West to fling her arms around her twin, dropping her book in the process. As Anushche happily babbled in Pterovnian to her sister, recounting all her adventures, West retrieved the book and passed it to Artie, using the exchange as cover to whisper to him, "Don't trust her, Artie."
"Oh?"
"No time to explain right now. Just…"
"Don't trust her. Gotcha."
Anushche finally ran out of happy chatter and hugged Irenje again. "Oh! I am so glad to see you!"
"And I to see you, droshche." Irenje smiled a hooded smile and pressed a kiss deep into Anushche's cheek. The younger twin laughed and kissed her back.
For a second - not even a second - a flicker of a frown crossed the older twin's face. And then she was all smiles again as she tucked her hand through Anushche's elbow and started walking down the hall with her.
"They're both wearing the same ugly gloves," Artie observed to Jim privately. "The gloves Professor Smiler insisted they must never take off after he put them in that… Hey, where are they going?"
Irenje spared only the least glance at the two agents before steering her sister no longer down the hall but across it to the study the three had so recently vacated. The study with the desk, and the nasty surprise behind it.
"Ah, ladies," said Jim, "don't you think it's time to leave?"
"Of course!" responded Irenje, looking at Mr West in much the same fashion as she might have regarded an insect. "And we are leaving. This is a shortcut."
"But, Zernkje Irenje," said Artemus, "the exit is just around the corner there…"
Now he was on the receiving end of that withering glare as well. "I have been in this building for some time now," she said, "whereas the pair of you, whoever you are, have only just arrived. Anushche droshche, who do you think is more likely to know how to find the exit, hmm?"
"Why, you, droshche Sjerche," Anushche answered her dear sister instantly. Then glancing back at her heroes, she added, with downcast eyes, "I mean no offense, Mr Gordon, Mr West, but of course, my sister…"
Smiling, Irenje opened the door and led Anushche through, and the agents had no choice but to follow. As soon as they were in the room, Irenje began to guide her sister toward the corner of the desk. A few steps more, and the two ladies would be stumbling over that out-stretched arm - possibly literally.
"Miss Anushche!"
"Yes, Mr Gordon?"
"Ah… your book." He held it out to her with a slight bow and she smiled brightly at him as she took it. The scowl on Irenje's face, standing just behind Anushche, was very instructive. Artie offered his arm to the younger twin, not entirely sure how he would keep her on this side of the desk, but gamely willing to try.
"Miss Irenje," Jim spoke up. "I'm sure you know your way through this house blindfolded. But the back door in the next hall is…"
"I am Zernkje Irenje!" hissed the elder twin, eyes flashing. She glared at James West, then spat at him the word "Tuvnjeko!"
Anushche gasped. "Sjerche!"
"Come, Anushche," said Irenje imperiously, claiming her sister away from Mr Gordon.
"Oh but," Artie said quickly, his eye landing on the globe. "I was wanting you to show Mr West where precisely your homeland is, Miss Anushche." He smiled winsomely at her, offering his arm once more.
"Oh, but of course, Mr Gordon!" She dimpled at him and took his arm again, apparently quite unaware of how she was being made the rope in this Tug-of-War. She followed him to the globe and, as Mr West joined them, she pointed to the tiny blip on the map. "You see? It is between Carpania and Ruritania."
Jim gave her an engaging smile. "Thank you so very much, Miss Anushche. Now, if you would come with us…" And he gestured toward the door they had entered through.
In a state of high dudgeon, Irenje stalked over and yanked her sister away. "Did you gentlemen not say you wished to leave?" she hissed. "Why then are you wasting time with silly lessons in geography?" And this time without delay she all but dragged Anushche around the desk where…
…where Anushche shrieked. She dropped the book, flinging herself away from the awful sight and into Irenje's arms, wailing in Pterovnian. "Oh, there, there!" Irenje responded, patting her sister's back and pressing another kiss into the younger girl's cheek. And another frown creased Irenje's face.
"Djenko mujo! Droshko djenko mujo! Is he… Is he… dead?" Anushche faltered.
"I'm afraid so," said Jim.
"But, but I do not understand! How is it he is dead? And how is it he is even here?" the poor girl continued.
"Why, is it not obvious?" Irenje replied. "These men strove mightily to prevent us from rounding this desk. They knew what we would find here. It is they who have killed him!"
"Now wait just a second!" Artie began heatedly. But Jim gave him a light tap on the side and a tiny shake of the head.
"I…" said Anushche. She looked back and forth between the two men over there - her heroes - and her beloved sister here by her side. "I…" she said again, her eyes troubled.
"Come, Sjerche!" Irenje ordered. She pirouetted and flounced away from the desk, crossing the room with rapid strides to reach the far door. She grasped its knob and tried to turn it, then growled out a word in Pterovnian that caused Anushche's cheeks to burn and Artie's eyes to pop. "Why is this door locked?" Irenje demanded. "Where is the accursed key?"
West and Gordon stood with folded arms, not telling.
Zernkje Irenje scowled fiercely, her eyes sweeping the room. There! Pointing, she commanded, "Anushche! Look, the key is in the other door, the one we entered by. Fetch it to me at once!"
"I…" she said, looking again back and forth between her heroes and her sister.
"Come on with us, Miss Anushche," said Mr West genially. "The exit is just in the next hall. You know that."
"I…" she said once more. Then, with downcast eyes, she whispered, "I must do as my sister tells me." And she slipped past the two agents and retrieved the key for Irenje.
The Zernkje was waiting for her with her hand out, and glowered with impatience when Anushche, on her way back, stopped and knelt at poor Dr Rodin's side. The younger girl bent forward, tears sliding down either cheek, and gave the deceased tutor a tender kiss on the forehead, then took up her book and walked silently to her sister. Irenje scowled at her and snatched the key from her hand without so much as a Thank you. "Come!" she commanded as she unlocked the door and thrust her sister through it. She paused long enough to cast a glare at the two agents before closing the door behind her and locking it.
"Where's she taking Anushche?" said Artie as he and Jim rushed to the far door.
"Wherever she's taking her, Anushche isn't safe with her," Jim replied. He pulled out his lock pick and went to work on the door.
"Yeah," said Artie. "I saw how Irenje kept kissing her, then frowning. Same shade of lipstick as on the cheek of our departed friend there." He nodded at the late Dr Rodin as Jim finished with the lock and put the pick away.
The door opened into a hallway and the two men paused, listening. Then Artie nudged Jim and pointed, and the two headed off to the right, deeper into the building, on the trail of the two sisters.
Inside the study, unseen by any eye, the dead man's pale white cheeks flushed abruptly. The outstretched arm stirred, moved, slowly reaching up to touch the new kiss-mark centered on the no-longer ashen forehead. Dr Rodin sat up, murmuring to himself, "Hein! What has happened?"
And then he remembered. Eyes wide with shock, he looked about, rose up on unsteady legs, then betook himself to the study door and out into the hall, looking for the quickest way out of this house of horror.
Anushche kept up a nearly continuous patter of words as her sister hauled her along the dark corridor, mostly bemoaning anew the death of her droshko djenko, until finally Irenje cut through her babble with an adamant "Hush!"
"But…"
"Will your drivel never cease? Rodin is dead and that is the end of it. He was an idiot anyway. Whoever killed him did the world a favor by ridding it of such a fool."
"But he was a good man, a sweet man. A worthy man was djenko mujo. Why would you call him a fool? He loved and protected me. He…" A thought struck her and she asked, "What do you mean by 'whoever killed him'? You said that Mr Gordon and Mr West killed him. But they are kind men too, and have been protecting me here. You…" This next thought, to Anushche, was nearly blasphemous, but she spoke it nonetheless. "I think you are wrong about them. I do not think they killed Dr Rodin."
"Oh, hush, you prattling infant! I do not wish to hear another word from your puerile mouth!" Irenje yanked her younger twin to a halt in order to open a door to their right, then shoved her through and followed her.
It was a vast room, mostly in darkness. Anushche stopped still, looking around and up, trying to discern walls and ceiling in the dim light, until Irenje propelled her forward with a Pterovnian epithet that was neither kind nor accurate. Her gloved hand in a bruising grip round Anushche's arm, Irenje constrained the younger girl to accompany her to one of the few oases of light in the murky room. A number of tables stood here, cluttered with beakers, flasks, and burners. At one of the tables was a white-coated older man, his back to them for the moment. "Oh, do go away, Matilda!" he threw over his shoulder at them. "Can you not see that I am busy!"
At this point Anushche's curious eyes picked out what was highlighted in the middle of the room beyond the tables where the man stood. "The chairs!" she shrieked and, letting the novel fall once more, she began fighting to free herself from her sister's iron grasp.
Professor Smiler jumped, dropping a flask which shattered on the floor by his foot, its contents promptly bursting into flames. He grabbed a metal tray and inverted it over the fire to starve it of oxygen, then turned to ream the intrusive Matilda.
Instead he saw the twins. He started worse than before, his hand leaping to hover nigh the prong-loaded gun on the table beside him. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.
Irenje brusquely thrust her sister toward the scientist. "It does not work on her!" she snarled. "Why?"
"And what is she doing running about loose? I need her in case… Wait. Doesn't, doesn't work! What do you mean, it doesn't work? But it has to! I need…" He took a couple of steps toward the pair, glanced at Irenje and thought better of that, then gestured, "You, the younger one. Come here."
Tired of being ordered about so, Anushche balked. "Why?"
"Because I need to check something, you silly child! Now, take off one of your gloves… Hmm. Wait. Turn your head."
Frowning, she did so.
Satisfied that there was no birthmark below the girl's right ear, he continued, "Take off your glove and give me your hand."
Still frowning, Anushche obeyed, holding out one bare hand toward the professor. He hesitated a moment, then firmly clasped the proffered hand.
Instantly his body spasmed, his own hand locking itself around hers. His eyes jittered in their sockets, his eyelids firmly jammed open. The muscles of his legs drew him up on his tiptoes, while the muscles of his arms shook compulsively. "I, I, I think tha-that will, will do. Let, let, let me g-g-go!"
Anushche had to practically scrape his hand off hers. He collapsed to the floor where he began to giggle like a child. "Hoo! You, you said it didn't work with, uh, with her. Heh heh. It, yes, it does! The pow-power I infused her with - ah! It's, it's there. Oh oh yes, it's there!" And he reeled where he sat, still occasionally bursting forth with a paroxysm of laughter.
Out in the corridor, Jim and Artie reached the door and paused to listen. No sounds from ahead of them down the hallway, but behind the door, yes!
With a glance around, Artie whispered, "Any idea where we are?"
Jim nodded. "If I've got my directions right, this door leads into Professor Smiler's lab."
"Lab?" Artie's eyes lit up.
Softly Jim eased the door open a crack so they could eavesdrop.
"…not what I mean!" That was Irenje. "It does not work on her!"
"Not work on…" echoed a masculine voice. "What? What? You mean that? But… but why would you want it to?"
Peering through their small opening, West and Gordon saw a man in a lab coat slowly dragging himself up from the floor. The twins stood near him, the one who was surely Anushche staring with bewildered eyes back and forth between the man and the furious other twin. "What I want and why is none of your business, little man! But this…" and Irenje suddenly hauled Anushche to her side and pressed a kiss once more to her cheek, "does nothing!"
Smiler blinked at her. "Oh, ah, yes," he blathered. "That is, no, it wasn't meant to. I would have never thought… And anyway, she was meant as the insurance; I wouldn't want her to…"
"Silence, fool!" Irenje screeched. Now she was at Smiler's side, in his face, her gloved hand round his throat. "Or shall I give you a memorable kiss?"
The professor shrieked and grabbed something from the table behind him, using it to clout blindly at Irenje, driving her back long enough for him to get the pronged gun into his hand. Immediately he aimed it at her and fired.
Now it was Irenje whose body juddered and twitched spasmodically, arms flailing, eyes rolling up in her head. And then she hit the floor, still convulsing.
Anushche screamed. The door burst open as West and Gordon raced in, Jim leaping toward the professor while Artie knelt automatically by the seizing twin.
"Do not touch her!" Smiler ordered even before he took a good look at the pair. "Wait. Who are you?" he added just as Jim wrested the gun from his hand.
"What did you do to her?" Artie demanded. Yanking his handkerchief from his pocket, he used it to shield his hand so he could detach the Y-shaped prong which had sunk into the front of her clothing. As soon as he had it loose, Irenje's body stopped jerking and lay still. Immediately Artie reached for the motionless woman's wrist to check her pulse.
"I am telling you, do not touch her!" cried Smiler again.
"Fine!" Artie retorted. Instead, he produced a hand mirror and held it in front of Irenje's mouth to check for misting on the glass surface, while also watching for the lift and fall of the woman's torso. "Well, she's breathing," he said at last. "What is this thing?" He examined the prong he still held in the handkerchief. It seemed to be made of - hmm, not wood exactly, but something that was definitely not metallic. Two wires were attached to the prong, each wire ending in a projecting exposed portion on its respective upper end of the Y. The other ends of the wires exited the bottom through the common branch of the Y and trailed back toward the gun. Artie came to his feet and held his hand out to Jim who turned the odd weapon over to him.
Odd it was, most certainly. It had stock and barrel like a revolver, but where the cylinder should be, instead there was mounted something that looked like a reel for a fishing rod. The wires to the prong were dangling out the barrel. Artie took hold of the handle, which was affixed horizontally across the top of the gun, and gave it a turn. The wire began to disappear back into the barrel. He wound more vigorously, ear cocked toward the device. "Sounds like…" he muttered, "some… some sort of dynamo?"
"Don't you dare steal my design, young man! I'm going to patent that! Ow! Hey!" Smiler added as Jim pulled his arms behind his back to cuff him.
"You're under arrest," West informed Smiler, "for the kidnapping of these two young ladies. Now come along…"
The door crashed open, almost coming off its hinges as Herk came charging through. He jumped right over Irenje's inert form, his eyes wild with fury as they swept the room.
Artie instantly backed Anushche out of the behemoth's reach, keeping himself between the girl and the giant. Herk only glanced at him for a moment before dismissing him. His eyes continued on round the room, coming to rest on…
"You!" He pointed a hand the size of a dinner plate at West. "You shot me with dat shotgun!"
"You did?" said Smiler, turning to the man behind him. "My my, what a foolish thing to do! It only made Herk angry, as you can see. You, ah, will be taking these cuffs off me now, of course?"
Reluctantly, West complied.
"Ah, much better," said Smiler, living up to his name as he shook out his wrists. "Tell me, whoever you are, what do you think of my little friend Herk here, hmm? Impervious to any sort of damage to his skin. Knives, arrows, swords - and as you learned, bullets and buckshot - all are useless against my glorious giant! Only the merest pinpricks can break his skin, and even those heal in a trice! I did that to him, you see. I imbued Herk's skin with… ah, but that would be telling," he added with a meaningful glare at the other stranger, the one who still held the prong gun. "Another invention of mine. Which I shall be patenting, so don't even think of trying to steal my process!" And he scowled so fiercely at the taller of the unknown pair that Artie finally responded with, "Wouldn't dream of it."
"Good!" said Smiler. "Now, Herk, you're being so patient like a good boy. Here, you may have this irritating intruder now." And the professor stepped to the side, clearing the path for Herk to get to West.
Jim didn't wait for the giant to close with him. He grabbed a jar from the nearest table, glanced at the label which read "Oil of Vitriol," ripped the lid off, and hurled the contents at Herk.
Smoke coiled up from the hulking figure. Herk looked down at himself, bellowed, "Hey! I liked dis shirt too!" and ripped the newly ruined top away, roaring with rage. Jim, meanwhile, had rounded the nearest table and now tipped it over toward the giant. All the paraphernalia from the table top went slithering off to the floor in a series of grand splintering crashes. Liquids of all descriptions splattered across the floor, eliciting a howl of protest from Professor Smiler. Herk, with a vicious snarl, seized the table and heaved it out of his way, sending it skittering off to crash into the wall.
Jim was on the move already, racing for the closest stairway up into the amphitheater stands, Herk pounding right after him. Artie, having reasoned that the weapon in his hands was both reeling up the wire and building up an electrical charge as he turned the handle, was cranking it for all he was worth until at last the prong engaged in the barrel and the trigger clicked forward. Now he aimed it, drawing a bead on Herk's retreating back.
"No!" Suddenly the professor grabbed Gordon's wrist and shoved his arm upward, spoiling his aim. The two wrestled over the gun until it abruptly pitched free, clattering across the floor with both men lunging after it. Anushche snatched up her book and darted to huddle near the door, trying to stay out of the way of the contestants for the gun.
Jim was charging up the stairs now, swatting loose equipment from left and right into the path of the persistent behemoth. Not much further, thought the agent. Turning off to his left, he ran along the seats, hurdling over any impedimenta in his way, with Herk still in hot pursuit.
In the tussle for the gun, Artie managed to get his hand on it, only to be shocked when Smiler nabbed that hand and sank his teeth into it as if he were a petulant two-year-old. Artie lost his grip on the gun, and when Smiler bent to scoop it up, Mr Gordon promptly gave him a good kick in the seat of the pants, sending the scientist sprawling into the puddle of chemicals and broken glass from the overturned table. Smiler shrieked and scrambled clear, jerking off his lab coat and using it to dab off the caustic liquids.
Artie now picked up the gun once more and turned to try to acquire his target in the discontinuous darkness of the far side of the room.
Jim attained his goal, a certain grouping of stored items he had noted in passing during his earlier visit to the upper regions of the amphitheater. Snatching something up, he whirled and called out, "Herk! Catch!" and heaved the thing toward the giant.
Herk's hands came up automatically, even before his brain registered that the thing flying toward him was a medicine ball. He did not catch it, however, but batted it off to the side, his eyes following it for a moment as it sailed on and down into the lower stands. "Ha!" the behemoth exulted, "you t'ought you could take me out wid a…?"
KLONG!
"With a medicine ball? No, Herk," said West as the much smaller bit of exercise equipment bounced off Herk's head. "But the dumbbell right after - yeah, that's a different story."
The giant reeled, losing his balance in the narrow footwell of the stands, then fell, tumbling and sliding down over the benches of the amphitheater to smash in the end headfirst into the floor.
Gordon whistled. "Oh, that's gotta hurt. Hey, Jim, you all right?"
"Yeah, Artie, I'm fine," came a voice from midway up the stands. And shortly Mr West emerged into the light again, heading back toward his partner.
And what of Smiler? The scientist was cringing by a bucket of water, scooping out the cooling liquid by the dipperful and pouring it over his many chemical burns.
"Once again, Professor Smiler," James West said to him, hauling him to his feet, "you're under arrest. Now come along quietly…"
He was interrupted by a feminine shriek, followed immediately by a masculine voice saying, "I don't think so!"
Those sounds had come from the door. Both agents swung about to see…
But of course, Lou. One of his hands had a firm grip on Miss Anushche's arm while his other hand had a gun. Grinning, Lou said, "Now, we don't want anything bad to happen to this little girlie, do we?"
Even before either agent could react, Professor Smiler himself gave a screech and commanded, "Louis! Put that gun away. She's the insurance; you are not to harm her in any way!"
"Oh! Uh… sure, Professor, sure. Sorry, Professor," Lou responded and holstered the gun.
"Much better!" Smiler declared. "Now. Take the young lady and lock her back up in her room, there's a good fellow."
"Sure, Professor." Lou started to lead Anushche away, her book clasped tightly to her breast, but he stopped short when he heard Gordon say, "That won't be easy."
"Excuse me? What do you mean, Mr Whoever-you-are?" Smiler queried disdainfully.
With a modest grin, Artie said, "Oh, it's only that I, uh, burned out the lock when I released Miss Anushche. You won't be able to use that room for a cell until you fix the lock. And besides," he added, "Tolstoy."
Anushche's head came up and she looked at Artie, deducing his meaning immediately. Lou, not understanding why Gordon had said "Tolstoy," also looked sharply at the agent, paying not nearly as much attention to the young woman beside him as he really should have at that moment. Of course, once she clobbered him anew with the novel, then he learned the meaning of "Tolstoy" the hard way. Down went Lou, victim of the same Russian novelist for the third time in the past couple of hours.
Artie came over and relieved Lou of his revolver, tossing it up into the stands to mingle with all the eclectic junk up there. Turning to Anushche, he asked, "Are you all right?"
She nodded. "Dasda, Mr Gordon."
"Good. Now let's get your sister and… Ah… James? Did you happen to see what became of Zernkje Irenje?"
West paused in the act of cuffing Smiler yet again. "You mean she's missing?"
Everyone conscious looked around, including the professor, but there was no sign of Irenje.
"You sure you didn't see what became of her, Jim?" Artie asked again hopefully.
He shook his head. "I was a bit busy, Artie."
"Yeah. Me too. And you, Miss Anushche?"
"I did not notice anything about my sister from the time Herk entered the room until just now, Mr Gordon," she replied, a worried look on her face.
"Hmm. And what about you, Professor?"
Smiler glowered. "Really! If I did know where she went, do you think I would tell you?"
"You might," said West. "If, for example, you thought she was about to attack you again."
"Attack me!" Smiler scoffed. "Why, the very idea!"
"Oh yes," said Gordon. "Threatened you with a 'memorable kiss,' as I recall. Isn't that right, Jim?"
"Mm-hmm. And here you are, Professor. Cuffed. Helpless."
"Unarmed," added Artie, displaying the prong gun, still safely in his own hands.
Smiler's confident façade shattered, and he began glancing over his shoulders, utterly unnerved. "You, ah, you won't let her get me, will you?" he beseeched.
"We'll see," said West. "Off we go now." He snagged the scientist and steered him through the door, turning to the left to return the way they had come. A light tap on the arm drew his attention. "Yeah, Artie?"
Artemus gave a small jerk of his head, inviting Jim off to the right of the door instead. Sotto voce, he asked, "Think maybe there's a way out of here, Jim, that doesn't involve passing through the - ahem! - udy-stay with the ead-day ody-bay?" And he glanced meaningfully at the girl.
Jim considered. "Probably is, but which way? I wouldn't trust any directions Smiler might give us…"
There was a yelp, and Anushche darted around the two men to hide behind them. "What…?"
"Ah, Herk!" came Smiler's voice. "Excellent! Now if you would deal with these?" The scientist turned his back to the looming giant and beckoned with his cuffed arms. Herk, apparently none the worse for his plunge down the side of the amphitheater, took hold of the handcuffs and easily disassociated one manacle from the other. "Good, good," said Smiler. "Now, Herk, you just dispose of those two tiresome troublemakers while I find the young lady another guest room. Young lady! Come with me!"
She shook her head even as Artie leaned in close and murmured, "This is the moment for which you removed your shoes, Miss Anushche. Run!"
That order she instantly obeyed, pelting off up the corridor into unknown territory, Mr Gordon right on her heels.
Jim, however, lingered a bit to give his partner more time to get Miss Anushche out of there. Eyes locked on Herk, a small smile on his face, Jim dropped back slowly, gracefully, matching his movements to Herk's, keeping just beyond the behemoth's grasp.
"Stay still, little man!" Herk growled, advancing on the smiling West, making snatches at him that kept coming up empty. Throwing his arms wide, Herk lunged. And somehow, West was no longer here but there! Again Herk lunged, and this time West landed a disorienting chop to the giant's neck before springing out of reach again.
"Really, Mr Whatever-your-name-is, do you want to infuriate Herk in that manner?" called Smiler from a position of safety well behind his colossus. "When Herk finally gets hold of you, he will snap you like matchsticks!" the professor warned cheerfully.
"Maybe. But he'll have to get hold of me first," West retorted as he caught Herk off balance from yet another fruitless lunge and took advantage of it to kick him in the ear.
Artie, running, glanced back out of concern for his partner. Then, "Wait a minute!" he muttered to himself in disgust. "What am I carrying this thing for anyway, if not to use it?" He stopped short, aimed the prong gun back down the hall at the giant, and called out, "Hey, Jim!"
West took a swift look behind him, saw what Artie had in mind, and dodged to one side to get out of his line of fire.
Artie pulled the trigger.
The Y-shaped prong sailed out, the wires trailing… trailing… trailing… All too soon the projectile reached the full length of its wires and fell short. Badly short. "Consarn it!" Artie growled and set about cranking the wires back in as rapidly as possible.
"Just go!" West hollered, jumping back into his task of worrying the giant.
"Just… a bit… more…" Gordon replied. "… and… there! Jim!"
Jim glanced at him, and Artie tossed him the prong gun. Jim caught it and turned his attention again to Herk while Artie grabbed Anushche's arm and the two of them bolted up the corridor again.
Putting a bit more distance between himself and the enraged Herk, Jim gave the prong gun a quick once-over, then lifted the weapon.
He aimed it.
He fired.
Once again the Y-shaped prong sailed out toward its target, the wires trailing behind it. But this time the prong made contact. BRZAP!
Jim didn't linger to watch the spectacle of Herk taking the full force of the electrical discharge. Casting aside the gun, he sprinted after his partner.
Ah! thought Artie. They were coming up shortly on the end of the hallway. It opened out, he could see, into a larger room with, Hallelujah! an ornate door that could only be the main front door of the house, flanked on either side by floor-to-ceiling windows. A long room it was, several yards deep. Putting on a sprint of speed, Artie outran the girl so as to enter the room well ahead of her in order to draw the attention of any occupants to himself first. As he burst into the room, he glanced quickly left and right. Empty! Excellent. Now to get the door open. He was about to run a mental inventory of the gadgets he still had on him, when something else came to mind.
"Anushche!" he called, half turning so that he was jogging backwards as he held out his hands toward her. "Tolstoy!"
She was scurrying into the room herself now, Startled, she nonetheless heaved the tome to him. He caught it easily, then turned back and, putting on even more speed, wound up and pitched…!
CRASH! Right through one of the tall windows went Mr Tolstoy's masterwork. Dashing up to the demolished window, Gordon seized a length of the curtain and used it to knock away even more of the shattered glass, widening and heightening the opening. And as Anushche came panting up beside him, he reached over and swung the girl up into his arms.
"Mr Gordon!" she squeaked in surprise.
"Broken glass and stocking feet don't mix well, Miss Anushche. Out we go!" He plunged through the opening and turned to yell, "Come on, Jim!"
"Right behind you, Artie!" Jim called back.
Artie nodded and carried Anushche away along the veranda until he could find a safe place to set her down.
Jim reached the ruined window for himself now and eased through it, only to hear a voice behind him crying out, "Oh please!"
Jim turned back to see one of the twins inside the front room, hurrying toward him. He glanced at Artie with the unshod Anushche in his arms, then looked back through the window and said, "Yes, Miss Irenje?"
He saw the tiny flash of anger that came up in her eyes, no doubt from him addressing her yet again as "Miss." Then she controlled it and, sweet as pie, said, "Oh please, won't you take me away from this horrible place too?"
He gave her a smile. At least now he and Artie wouldn't have to make a return visit to liberate the elder twin as well. "Of course, Miss Irenje," he said. She was now standing opposite him, just inside the window, looking dubiously at the broken glass. He held out his hand to help her step through, and she brought her hand out from behind her back to accept his help.
Her hand. Her ungloved hand.
Too late Jim recalled what Artie had said about the gloves and saw the danger. Irenje's hand closed on West's.
He froze. He could still think; his mind was in perfect working order. But his body was as motionless as a store's mannequin. Strive as he might, and Jim West strove to his utmost, he could not move so much as a muscle.
Irenje smiled and lifted her chin. Stepping lightly and easily through the window, she circled him, studying him, admiring him, then laughed a laugh that was one part chuckle and two parts purr.
"Mmm," she said as she continued to circle him, "and which one are you then: Mr West, or Mr Gordon? Not that it matters, of course, for soon you will simply be Mr Dead, just like that idiot tutor. You do know what I did to him, do you not?" She smiled a lazy, feral smile. "First I paralyzed him with a touch, then I killed him with a kiss. Does this perhaps sound familiar?" She stopped in front of him and gazed at his handsome immobile face. "Men are fools," she proclaimed. "Men who delight in silly girls like my sister, even more so. I do not know why my kiss does not affect her." She leaned in closer, showing her teeth. "But it will affect you!"
Artie, just to be sure, had borne Miss Anushche the length of the veranda before setting her gently on her feet again. "There you go," he said.
She smiled up at him, her hand lingering on his lapel. "Kedurshte djo, Mr Gordon."
"My pleasure, Miss Anushche," he responded. He then turned to see what was keeping Jim.
Ah! Apparently Jim had managed to meet up with Zernkje Irenje. Curious though how very still his friend was standing. And what was Irenje doing, walking all around Jim like that? She stopped now, looking up into Jim's face, speaking to him words that Artie could not hear. And then Irenje laid a hand on Jim's chest and leaned close to press a kiss to his cheek.
Jim collapsed. Like a marionette whose strings had just been cut, he dropped to the wooden planks of the veranda and lay still.
~~~ FREEZE FRAME ~~~
End of Act 2
The link for the illustration I made to end this chapter is available on my profile page.