We got about halfway up without being seen. I had gotten into my stride by then – step, slip, grab the next dolphin, step, slip, grab – and was fully prepared to keep on doing the same thing till we reached the top. We were still some distance away from that goal when John took a giant step up onto the head of one of the dolphins, caught the top of the wall, and pulled himself up. Squatting there like a dank frog, he extended a hand towards me.
‘I was just beginning to enjoy myself,’ I said mildly, as he yanked me up beside him. ‘Where now?’
He shoved me off the wall.
I landed in a clump of azaleas. If you think azaleas aren’t prickly, try falling into one. Before I could start swearing, he landed next to me and slapped his hand over my mouth.
Then I heard Caesar. He was hot on the trail, too close for comfort. The first fountain hadn’t confused him at all. We could only hope that he would lose our scent at the bottom of the Two Hundred Fountains complex, and that, if the men who guided him were smart enough to realize we had taken to the water, they would try casting about at the top of the slope.
In the meantime, it behooved us to make tracks. We did so, back down the hill we had climbed with such effort. It was not until we had gone some distance, and Caesar’s excited barks had taken on a frantic note, that I realized where we were going. Our best route now was through the garden of the monsters. To avoid it would double the distance to the outer wall and would necessitate passing through some of the most open areas of the grounds.
In the smoky green and purple lights the monster garden was straight out of Lovecraft. The great hollow head was lighted from within by a powerful red lamp; its slitted eyes glowed like those of a demon out of hell, and the fangs looked as if they had been dipped in blood. John took my hand. His was wet, but it felt warm and hard and comforting. I don’t think he was trying to comfort me, though. He was just as scared as I was. I heard his teeth chattering. We were soaking wet, but it was a nice warm night.
Some of the smaller monsters weren’t illuminated, and I would have fallen over a baby dragon if John hadn’t been holding on to me. The adult dragon, which had come so close to running me down, was ahead of us, looking unpleasantly lifelike in a rippling lavender searchlight. Then I heard a sound behind us, near the great guardian head.
A flashlight beam sprayed out. Its white light seemed sane and normal compared to the ghastly tints of the other lights, but I could have done without it. Simultaneously, without discussing it aloud, we both dropped to the ground. Then something really unpleasant happened. From the opposite end of the garden, near the exit, another flashlight appeared.
I invoked my Maker in a one-word whisper, and was promptly shushed by John. My whisper could not have been heard; someone spoke at that precise moment. His voice was soft, but I could hear him quite clearly. He was that close.
‘Alberto qui.’
The other man identified himself.
‘Bassano. Have you seen them?’
‘No. I have just come from the back gates.’
Bassano let out a string of lurid curses.
‘Get back there, fool. The gates must be guarded.’
‘What about this garden?’
‘I’ll have a look around. Quickly, now.’
I crouched there trying to compress myself into a smaller piece of air as the flashlight moved in closer. The second man had left . . . And so had John. He had let go of my hand when we fell flat; he must have slipped away during the conversation between the two men.
I had just enough time to think bitter thoughts about him when the stone dragon began to move. I jumped a good three inches. So did Bassano; I saw the flashlight beam shoot skyward before he got it under control. He swore again – sheer bravado, his voice was tremulous. I understood his feelings. The moving statues had looked ghastly enough in broad daylight. Bathed in a lurid glow, with shadows slipping over their stony hides like muscles twitching, they were like creatures out of a feverish nightmare.
They were all moving, now, the rusty mechanisms grating and groaning. I was debating which way to go when I saw John hugging the massive flank of the dragon, which was swinging on a curving course in my general direction. As it rolled out of the glow of the purple searchlight, its rear end was deeply shadowed. I wouldn’t have seen John if he hadn’t beckoned urgently.
Bassano and his flashlight were no longer visible. I think he ran. So did we, as soon as the dragon’s ponderous path took it near the rear gate. There was only one more garden, and then came a flight of stairs, with an artificial waterfall flowing down them, before we reached the lower terrace and the wall. But we had to hurry. As soon as Bassano got his wits back, he would know who had started the monsters moving.
I thought of mentioning this to John, but decided I had better save my breath for more important matters, such as running away. He was splashing merrily down the middle of the stairway, through the waterfall, like Gene Kelly in Singing in the Rain. He was built like a dancer, slim and wiry, but at that moment his excellent physique was only too visible in the amber lights that flooded the fountain. He had abandoned secrecy for speed, which made sense; if our pursuers didn’t know exactly where we were, they knew where we had just been.
John was well ahead of me when we got to the bottom of the stairs and raced across the terrace. The wall loomed up ahead, the tangle of barbed wire on top looking like delicate black lace against the moonlit sky. There were trees to right and left, but not directly ahead. John decided to go right. He made a quick turn. His wet shoes slipped on the flagstones, his feet went out from under him, and he fell forwards with a splat like a large flounder being landed. At the same moment I heard voices raised in excited comment at the top of the stairs.
I skidded to a stop beside John and hauled him to his feet.
‘The heroine is the one who is supposed to fall over her clumsy feet,’ I said sweetly.
I’m sure he would have had a snappy answer if the fall had not knocked the wind out of him. He hung on to me for a few moments, whooping for breath. Then he headed for the nearest tree and started climbing, without waiting to see whether I was following.
They were flowering trees of some kind, in full blossom, and the scent was sweet as perfume. Velvety petals brushed my face and arms as I climbed.
John was above me, agile as a monkey. I had to admire his well-developed sense of self-preservation, which was uncluttered by any taint of old-fashioned chivalry. He was heavier than I was, though, and he was stuck, about six feet from the top of the wall. The branches were getting too fragile to support him.
‘Get out of the way,’ I hissed. ‘I’m lighter; maybe I can – ’
He didn’t say anything, but I stopped talking, because the voices and the flashlights were coming down the stairs. When they reached the bottom, they would fan out to right and left, and if they had the elementary intelligence to shine their lights up into the trees, we were sitting ducks – stuck, like ripe fruit in the skinny branches.
A fragrant cascade of satiny petals showered down on my upturned face. John seemed to be having a slight fit up there. Then I realized he was struggling out of his jacket – no mean task, wet as it was. He stood upright, swaying perilously, and threw first the jacket and then himself onto the top of the wall.
I climbed up to the limb he had vacated and caught his hand. He let out a smothered yelp.
‘What’s the matter?’ I asked. I didn’t bother to lower my voice. The boys in the background were making considerable noise.
‘You just pulled me down onto the barbed wire,’ said John. It had to be John, because he was the only one up there, but I would never have recognized his voice, he was gritting his teeth so hard. ‘Damn it, use your feet! Haven’t you ever done any climbing? I can’t possibly drag your not inconsiderable weight – ’