The Doc Justice Files- Scales on Stone part 6
by Direwolf

Chapter 6- "You will not leave this place alive!"

The Dacoits moved towards Doc Collins like a pair of hunting cats, lithely crossing the cavern floor. Their knives were out, ready for blood, and they smiled in anticipation. Justin noticed that they both had the black serpent tattoo that he had found on Sandu's corpse.

With only moments to spare before the two men reached him, Justin acted. Howard was his first concern. He allowed Howard to slide from his back. Precious seconds passed while the drugged man found his balance.

"Walk back to the cave mouth and wait for me!" Justin barked. The drug was still in effect. Howard started back without protest. But now, the first knifeman was starting up the archway, his partner close behind.

Unwilling to fight on the precarious archway, Justin leapt forward with a wild yell.

His attack took the men by surprise. He crashed into the first dacoit and knocked the man sprawling. The other recovered quickly from the shock of Justin's charge and slashed at the American with his knife. The blow missed and sparked off stone. Justin rolled to his feet, and danced back. The two men followed.

Justin realized he was in a very bad position. Back at the hotel, he'd fought one of the Dacoits and that had been a close thing. Now, with two of them, his attention had to be split between them both. And they kept circling, looking for an opening in his guard. If he took the time to go for his gun, they would gut him long before he could fire a shot. The only thing that made sense was to remove one of the two quickly before they could coordinate their attacks.

"Divide and conquer, as Fu Lee would advise," Justin muttered under his breath.

Justin chose the closest of his assailants. He charged the man, spun aside from a knife thrust and hammered a quick one-two into the man's gut. Breath hissed from between the man's teeth as he doubled over in pain and surprise.

"For the Goddess!" the other man shouted as he charged.

Justin had to react to the second man. He dropped to crouch and swept his leg in a wide arch. The second man tripped and slid across the stone. But now, the first man was recovering.

With a savage roar, Justin stood up, clasped both hands into a fist and swung as hard as he could. He hit the first Dacoit on the point of his chin. The man tumbled back, hit a stalactite and slide nervelessly to the floor.

"One down," Justin thought. Then a line of fire seemed to sear across his back. It was the second knife slicing skin. If not for the stiff khaki coat Justin wore, it would have done far worse than draw a little blood.

Justin spun to the side and kicked at the Dacoit but the man danced back. The two of them circled each other looking for an opening.

Justin split his attention between the point of the knife and the man's eyes. The eyes told him when an attack was coming since almost without exception, the eyes would flick towards the intended target a fraction of a second before the cut came. And if he missed spotting the eye track, then the first movement of the knife's point was his cue to dodge.

They moved in a sort of shadowed dance across the cave floor, their movements sinuous while their shadows twisted grotesquely over the uneven walls and floor. The Dacoit slashed and stabbed, Justin evaded, looking for a chance to counter attack. But after what happened to his cohort, this one was more cautious. And Justin knew he had to do something. Either the first man he had hit was going to recover or more Dacoits would sooner or latter arrive.

But his assailant refused to cooperate by lowing his guard. That meant Justin had to take a risk. He left his side open for an instant, lowering his guard just enough so the man would sense an opening but not so much as to make it look like an obvious trap.

It didn't take long for the Dacoit to notice. He took the opening like a snake taking a mouse. The iron blade thrust for Justin's stomach.

Rather than dodge aside, Justin moved forward and turned just enough to step out of the line of the attack. The knife sliced into his coat and parted his shirt. Justin knew it had to be his imagination, but he could have sworn he felt the chilling kiss of cold metal on his skin so close was the miss. Before the Dacoit could turn his thrust into a disemboweling cut, Jason clamped down on the man's arm with his own, pinning the knife hand against his own side. And putting the dacoit in range of Justin's other first.

Justin hammered three quick, hard blows on the man's face. The Dacoit dropped the knife and wrenched his arm free as he staggered back, blood pouring from his mouth and nose. Then, rather then falling back, the tattooed man sprang forward, surprising Justin. Hard brown hands locked on Justin's throat as the sudden lunge knocked him from his feet. For the second time that night, Justin's head smacked into the hard stone floor.

The world got suddenly elastic and shot through with flashes of bright light and Justin heard a deep roaring in his ears. And he tasted blood as well.

Then the world snapped back into focus.

The Dacoit had lost his composer. The man's snarling face was nearly pressed into Justin's. It was his blood in Justin's mouth. And the man's hand were locked around Justin's throat in a death-grip. He felt his windpipe closing from the relentless pressure and the roaring sound was growing louder as his heart thundered in his chest.

Justin didn't waste time trying to pry the man's fingers away. Instead he shoved his hands between the man's elbows and then threw his arms apart, as strongly and quickly as he could. The crushing pressure broke as the Dacoit lost his grip. The man tried to stagger back. Justin got his feet under the man's chest and kicked up and out. Already off balance, the Dacoit flew backwards, over the lip of the crevice.

There was a long scream followed by a loud thud. Then the hissing of enraged serpents and more screams that ended in a choked gurgle.

Justin fought for breath as the roaring in his ears faded. He pulled himself up to his knees to face the white robed priest who still blocked the exit.

"You will never leave this place alive," The old priest promised. "Your blood will flow in this sacred place. The Goddess demands it!"

He raised his arms above his head and spoke a few words in an odd, hissing yet guttural tongue that Justin had never heard before. As his arm rose, Justin spotted a pair of thick black bands on the man's wrists like bracelets of black stone. With a final cry, the priest brought his arms flashing down in front of his body. The bracelets met with sound like the ringing of a deep-throated glass bell. A burst of searingly bright purple-white light, like a huge blaze of flash powder, obscured the old man.

Blinded and disoriented, Justin stumbled back, catching himself on a stalactite. The light had been particularly blinding in the dim cave. Now, a maze of purple blots of light swimming before his eyes, Justin gripped the stone pillar for support and blinked as quickly as he could, trying to make out shapes. And he heard something, soft and sinuous, the slide of scales over stone. Then there came a hiss like steam escaping from a high-pressure line as well as a dark, musky reptilian odor. Instinctively, Justin moved back, nearly tripping over something before he caught himself on another protrusion of limestone. Shapes were being to take form though the hazy afterimages of the flare. But whatever was moving across the floor was coming close.

Justin took a chance, throwing himself into a rolling dive in the direction he thought offered a clear path to the wall. It wasn't quite clear. He caught his knee on something hard and unyielding, eliciting a yelp of pain. But he seemed to surprise what was in the chamber with him as well. He heard a rush of air as he moved, something large cutting through the cave, then the hiss grew deeper as if the thing were angry. He scrambled across the floor, smacked into a sheet of flowstone and nearly lost his balance. But he saw a glow, the oil lamps the Dacoits had set on the ground. But something dark loomed and he ducked aside. Again, something large cut the air.

But now, his vision was at last clearing.

Though the thinning haze, Justin saw what was hunting him. The white robed priest was gone though there was a spill of bone-white fabric by the tunnel. And a huge hooded cobra, easily more then twenty-five feet long, was closing in. As Justin watched, stunned at the sight of the huge beast, it reared back and spread its ivory and brown hood, ready to strike.

Go-on's footsteps were nearly silent on the thick woolen rugs that lined the hallway. Despite his calm exterior, Go-on was very much on edge. Everything pointed to some sort of grand plot afoot and his old school friend, Captain Nigel Brakenberry of the Royal Engineers, was in the midst. The question at hand was just what was this plot and was Captain Brackenberry a willing or unwilling part?

A pair of armed guards in full dress uniforms flanked the door at the end of the hallway. Go-on deduced he had reached the Green Dining Room. Once again, he used the packet of papers.

"What can I do for you, your lordship?" the first guard asked, still watching the hallway for intruders. Despite the gaudy uniforms and gold braid, these men were professionals.

"I say, do you know if Captain Nigel Brakenberry of the Royal Engineers has made it by? I believe he's scheduled to give a briefing to his Highness, the Viceroy and the colonial governor."

"I'll check, your Lordship." The guard examined a clipboard and shook his head. "He's on the schedule but hasn't shown up yet. Is everything all right?"

Lord Gawaine kept the relief from showing on his face. "Oh nothing too important. I don't suppose you have a cigarette do you?"

The guard shook his head so Go-on shrugged and leaned elegantly against the wall, waiting. Despite the relaxed posture, Go-on was alert and very aware of everything around him.

Captain Brakenberry, looking resplendent in his red uniform, slowed his pace once he noticed Go-on. Then a smile blossomed on his face. "Go-on, so pleased to see you, old boy. You here for the briefing?"

"It would seem so."

The guards opened the door for the two men. Inside was a richly appointed private dining room, the walls and furniture decorated in shades of pale green. A sideboard covered with a profusion of food stood by the windows that opened onto a balcony overlooking the garden.

There were three men in the room. Go-on deduced that the man in the linen suit playing host was the colonial governor. The second man had to be the Viceroy of the India, the man responsible for the affairs of the country in these troubled time. The third man was dressed in simple yet elegant dark blue suite; his quick, intelligent eyes watched the newcomers with veiled interest. He was the royal Prince Edward Albert Christian George Andrew Patrick David Windsor, Prince Edward, the Queen's eldest son and heir to the throne of the Empire.

"I need to speak to you on the balcony," Go-on hissed to Nigel.

"I should think so," Nigel answered.

"Gentlemen, Your Highness, if you will excuse us for a few moments," Go-on said to the three men.

"Of course," the Prince answered. "Now, Montbatten about this Gandhi chap..."

The French doors opened out onto the tiled balcony. Go-on closed them once he and Brackenberry were through. The captain started talking first.

"So glad you are part of the team now, Gawaine! Such great things we will achieve. Just about time to start and I can hardly wait!"

"Yes, quite," Go-on said, thinking quickly. "How did you know by the way?"

"Only answer for why you were here. He must have talked to you and shown you the truth then sent you to lend a hand. You gave me a nasty turn, I'll tell you that, when I saw you out there. First thing I thought was that Collins fellow had mucked things up right properly. That would have been bad all round. But then I saw you as cool as could be and knew that he had to have taken you to the Heart and opened you to the Goddess as well."

Nigel seemed almost ready to dance with joy, Go-on realized as a cold fist of ice seemed to form in his stomach." Quite right, but things were a trifle rushed in the Heart. He didn't have a chance to fill me in on the full plan, said you would do so."

"Glad to, old boy! The goddess calls out for blood to quench the earth, open her eggs. Best way to do that is spark a war between the locals and the English; it's coming anyway. When I shoot the three of them in there, it all starts and not bloody soon enough if you ask me!" Nigel's eyes were shining with a religious fervor.

"She's coming you know! Now I can hear her, whispering in the shadows. I'm so glad he told me of her voice, showed me her egg! And now we're part of it together, just like back in school! Won't it be grand?"

"Jolly well right it will be. Just like old times, only a lot more killing and blood, though some of those rugby games got a bit rough and tumble. What comes after we do our part by the way?"

Nigel chuckled "There's a dozen men with Russian weapons ready to storm the gates, make the whole thing look like a bolshevist plot. And a bomb's been set in the main power station. That should be enough to touch things off. If it isn't then the reprisals are sure to do the trick."

Go-on nodded. He felt as if an ice cold steel band bound his chest. It was all so monstrous yet plausible. "What was Justin's part in all this?"

"That Collins fellow? He was supposed to find me and then come back to confirm my story about being kidnapped, then spend the rest of the night trying to organize a search for you and Howard. Had to do a bit of a shuffle when he went back in to look for you. Still, I'm sure Sandu took care of him, eh, what?"

Go-on nodded weakly.

"We should get on with it, don't you think?" Nigel drew the heavy Webly service revolver and winked at Go-on. "No time like the present!"

He was so damned cheerful, it was like was like watching a little boy on Christmas morning. With mathematical precision Go-on could see what was going to happen. As Nigel stepped through the door, the gun would come up, tracking first on the prince. Shock would keep the three men from reacting to the impossible threat while Nigel lined up his first shot. It would be easy, less then twenty feet. The first shot would take the Prince in the chest, the heavy .44 slug tearing through him. While the first shot was still echoing, he'd fire on the Viceroy and unless the old fellow was damn spry, punch a hole through him as well. By then, the guards would be reacting, coming through the door. Nigel might or might not get off a third shot at the governor before he died, ripped apart by the soldier's .303's.

Then, the riffle shots would bring the rest. A wild firefight at the front gate that would leave heaps of dead there and in the manor house. The bomb would go off, destroying the generators that powered the city. And then the riots would start and the streets would run red.

"We can't," Go-on choked out as he drew his revolver and aimed it at his school friend. "Nothing is worth that, don't you see?"

"What's that, old boy?" Nigel asked, turning back to Go-on.

"You can't do this, Nigel, you can't! Something has bollixed up your mind. Just stop and think! This isn't you. It's that crazy old priest."

Nigel's expression hardened. "Nonsense! It's just that I see the truth now and know what needs doing. The Goddess is real and has turned Her face to me, showing me what is Her will. Now put that toy away and either lend a hand or stand clear!"

"Nigel, I'm warning you. I will not let you do this! Please just put the gun away and let me help you!"

"Go-on, you know that I can't do that! I've got to do my part in all this or the Goddess will not be pleased. Not put that silly thing away, we both know you aren't going to shoot me."

Brakenberry turned his back on Go-on and faced the French doors. "I'm one of your oldest friends and you just don't have the grit to see past all those times we had in school. That's why you never entered the service after all, just don't have it in you. No need to feel bad about it."

The revolver in Go-on's hands trembled as he looked at his friend's broad back in the bright red woolen tunic. His mind picked up odd details of the morning, the smell of roses in the garden, the song of an unseen bird, and the cross cut grip of the revolver slick in his hand.

"Nigel, I'm begging you to stop, let's..."

Like a striking snake, Nigel spun, dropping into a crouch while his long barreled revolver tracked onto the startled Gawaine.

Inside the dining room, all three men looked towards the French door as a single pistol shot sounded.

To be continued...