Tin Bucket moved slowly toward him, and he backed away until he came up against the parapet and could go no farther. One of the ropelike arms reached out and draped itself across one of his shoulders with a surprisingly gentle touch. Another swept out in an arc to indicate the plain beyond the wall, then doubled back on itself, the last quarter of it forming into the shape of the letter "Z." The «Z» jerked emphatically and with impatience toward the darkness beyond the castle.
The piping had stopped. It had been replaced by what seemed a terrible silence. The «Z» jerked back and forth, pointed to the plain.
"You're insane," protested Cornwall. "That's the one place we aren't going."
The letter «Z» insisted.
Cornwall shook his head. "Maybe I'm reading you wrong," he said. "You may mean something else."
Another tentacle stiffened with a snap, sternly pointing backward to the stairs that led down from the wall.
"All right, all right," Cornwall told him. "Let's go down and see if we can get this straightened out."
He moved away from the parapet and went carefully down the stairs, Tin Bucket close behind him. Below him the group around the fire, seeing the two of them descending, came swiftly to their feet. Hal strode out from the fire and was waiting when they reached the courtyard.
"What is going on?" he asked. "You having trouble with our friend?"
"I don't think trouble," said Cornwall. "He tried to tell me something. I think he tried to warn us to leave the castle. And the Dark Piper was out there."
"The Dark Piper?"
"Yes, you remember him. The night before we came on the battlefield."
Hal made a shivering motion. "Let's not tell the others. Let's say nothing of the Piper. You are sure you heard him? We didn't hear him here."
"I am sure," said Cornwall. "The sound may not have carried far. But this fellow is insistent that we do something. I gather that he wants us to get going."
"We can't do that," said Hal. "We don't know what is out there. Maybe in the morning…"
Tin Bucket strode heavily forward to plant himself before the gate. A dozen tentacles snapped out of his body and straightened, standing stiffly, pointing at the gate.
"You know," said Hal, "I think he does want us to leave."
"But why?" asked Gib, coming forward and catching what Hal had said.
"Maybe he knows something we don't know," said Hal. "Seems to me, if I remember, I said that just a while ago."
"But there are Hounds out there!" gasped Mary.
"I doubt," said Oliver, "that he would want to do us harm. We hauled him from the pit and he should be grateful."
"How do you know he wanted to be taken from the pit?" asked Sniveley. "We may have done him no favor. He may be sore at us."
"I think, in any case," said Cornwall, "we should get the horses loaded and be set to raise the gate. Be ready to get out of here if anything happens."
"What do you expect to happen?" Sniveley asked.
"How should any of us know?" snapped Hal. "There may nothing happen, but we play this one by ear."
Gib and Oliver already were catching up the horses and bridling them. The others moved rapidly, getting saddles on the animals, hoisting and cinching on the packs.
Nothing happened. The horses, impatient at being hauled from the hay on which they had been feeding, stamped and tossed their heads. Tin Bucket stood quietly by the fire.
"Look at him," said Sniveley, disgusted. "He started all this ruckus and now he disregards us. He stands off by himself. He contemplates the fire. Don't tell me he expects anything to happen. He is a mischief maker, that is all he is."
"It may not be time as yet for anything to happen," Gib said, quietly. "It may not be time to go."
Then, quite suddenly, it was time to go.
The wheel of fire came rushing up from the eastern horizon. It hissed and roared, and when it reached the zenith, its roar changed to a shriek as it sideslipped and turned back, heading for the castle. The brilliance of it blotted out the moon and lighted the courtyard in a fierce glow. The stone walls of the castle reared up with every crack and cranny outlined in deep shadow by the blinding light, as if the castle were a drawing done by a heavy pencil, outlined in stark black and white.
Cornwall and Gib sprang for the wheel that raised the castle gate, Hal running swiftly to help them. The gate ratcheted slowly upward as they strained at the wheel. The circle of fire came plunging down, and the screaming and the brilliance of it seemed to fill the world to bursting. Ahead of it came a rush of blasting heat. It skimmed above the castle, barely missing the topmost turrets, then looped in the sky and started back again. The horses, loose now, were charging back and forth across the courtyard, neighing in terror. One of them stumbled and, thrown off balance, plunged through the fire, scattering smoking brands.
"The gate is high enough," said Cornwall. "Let us catch those horses."
But the horses were not about to be caught. Bunched together, screaming in panic, they were heading for the gate. Cornwall leaped for one of them, grabbing for a bridle strap. He touched it and tried to close his fingers on it, but it slipped through his grasp. The plunging forefoot of a horse caught him in the ribs and sent him spinning and falling. Bellowing in fury and disappointment, he scrambled to his feet. The horses, he saw, were hammering across the drawbridge and out onto the plain. The lashings that bound the packs on one of the saddles loosened, and the packs went flying as the horse bucked and reared to rid himself of them.
Hal was tugging at Cornwall's arm and yelling. "Let's get going. Let's get out of here."
The others were halfway across the drawbridge. Coon led them all, scampering wildly in a sidewheeling fashion, his tail held low against the ground.
"Look at him go," said Hal, disgusted. "That coon always was a coward."
The plain was lighted as brilliantly as if the sun had been in the sky, but the intensity of the glow from the screaming wheel of fire played funny tricks with shadows, turning the landscape into a mad dream-place.
Cornwall found that he was running without ever consciously having decided that he would run, running because the others were running, because there was nothing else to do, because running was the only thing that made any sense at all. Just ahead of him, Tin Bucket was stumping along in a heavy-footed way, and Cornwall was somewhat amused to find himself wondering, in a time like this, how the metal creature managed the running with three legs. Three, he told himself, was a terribly awkward number.
There was no sign of the horses, or of the Hellhounds, either. There would, of course, he told himself, be no Hellhounds here. They had started clearing out, undoubtedly, at the first appearance of the wheel of fire—they probably wouldn't stop running, he thought with a chuckle, for the next three days.
Suddenly, just ahead of him, the others were stumbling and falling, disappearing from his view. They ran into something, he told himself, they ran into a trap. He tried to stop his running, but even as he did, the ground disappeared from beneath his feet and he went plunging into nothingness. But only a few feet of nothingness, landing on his back with a thump that left him gasping for breath.
Sniveley, off a ways, was yelping. "That clumsy Bucket—he fell on top of me!"
"Mark," said Mary, "are you all right?" Her face came into view, bending over him.
He struggled to a sitting position. "I'm all right," he said. "What happened?"
"We fell into a ditch," said Mary.
Hal came along, crawling on his hands and knees. "We'd better hunker down and stay," he said. "We're well hidden here."
"There are a half a dozen wheels up there," said Mary.