39

S tephen burst into the topmost turret with a gasp for air.

By his count, he and the Wynchesters were at least on the fourth or fifth contingency plan already. The aim was to limit bloodshed— No murdering —but when one was defending oneself at sword-point, anything could happen.

This cylindrical tower boasted four windows, one for every direction of the compass. Stephen dashed to each in turn, squinting an eye into the mirrored telescoping tubes that gave him a full view of each side of the castle.

Up here, the windows were not arrow embrasures, but rather full open rectangles one could tumble out of, if one was not careful. Stephen was not worried about himself; he had the good sense not to lean out of a tower window while the castle was actively being attacked.

The stone edges of each window were covered with ropes and chains that connected to the levers and pulleys he could use to detonate various attacks.

Half of the Wynchester family was far below in the dungeon, awaiting any breach through the trapdoor. Elizabeth and Kuni remained stationed at the only other entrance, guarding the scarred front door with their swords and daggers.

Stephen hoped that door remained closed and barred for as long as possible. With luck, Reddington's men would tire themselves and become easy prey once their morale had lowered and their energy was depleted.

Which might be what Reddington hoped for the Wynchesters, too.

From the front window, Stephen had a perfect view of the invading army, without any need for his spy tubes—yet.

Down below, Reddington handed his speaking trumpet to one of his men and leapt down from his white stallion with worrisome agility. He might not have fought in His Majesty's army, but he unquestionably looked the part.

He kept his sword in hand as a lanky young boy in regimentals led the horse back to the forest to be tied to a tree. When the lad finished, the boy retook his place amongst the other men. Three rows of soldiers in red regimentals genuflected to Reddington in perfect unison, as if they had practiced this maneuver as much as or more than archery.

Reddington pointed his blade at eight burly men in turn, each of whom rose and stepped forward, muskets in hand. The bullet chamber might not be loaded, but the sharp bayonets protruding from each long muzzle could cause plenty of damage.

As if that weren't enough, swords and daggers hung from the soldiers' hips. Reddington had clearly taken Elizabeth's keep-your-blades challenge to heart. Stephen hoped the eight brawny men stepping forward had been chosen for their intimidating size, and not for their swordsmanship. If Reddington had scrounged up master fencers…

Stephen placed his leather helmet atop his head and adjusted its attached field glass over his left eye. Seeing long distances with one eye and up close with the other played havoc with one's vertigo and depth perception, but closing one at a time left both of his hands free to engage in more important matters.

A bell tinkled in the cupola above him. He smiled. One chime meant all was in place in the dungeon. Nonetheless, he hurried across the turret and tilted his ear toward the whispering wall.

Marjorie's voice floated up loud and clear. "Tommy and Philippa are hidden inside their paintings, and Adrian is ready with lengths of rope."

"Understood and standing by," Stephen answered. "Ring thrice if you need assistance."

He placed his unobstructed eye on the spy tube leading to the dungeon. They couldn't see up here, but he could see down there—sort of. This was the longest series of mirrored telescoping tubes he'd ever connected. The dim torchlight in the dungeon was not ideal, and the spy tubes could not change angle or pivot, but Stephen could still make out two of his machines next to three open cells.

The untrained eye would not know that these were machines, however. The shadowy contraptions looked like nothing more than unnecessarily elaborate wooden frames for two eerily life-size portraits, one of an elderly man and the other of an elderly woman.

Marjorie and Adrian were out of sight, but Stephen had no doubt that they—

A bugle sounded from the front lines.

Stephen jerked back from the spy tube and leapt across the turret to the front-facing window.

Reddington and his well-armed eight still stood below, but they were not watching the front door. Their gazes were fixed high up on the castle walls. As Stephen watched, a projectile appeared from far above the soldiers' heads and splattered on the grass before them.

A tomato, courtesy of Graham Wynchester.

Reddington's face ruddied, and he pointed his sword up at the side of the castle. "You have daggers, men. Get him!"

Stephen lowered his eye to the castle-facing spy tube as eight knives soared toward the castle.

None struck their target.

Graham nimbly spidered along the gray stone exterior, pausing only to hurl rocks from the bulging leather satchel draped across his chest.

Stephen returned his gaze to the front-facing tube.

"Yowch!" One of the untapped soldiers in the audience rubbed his shoulder with a vexed expression.

"I said, get him ," Reddington bellowed.

Six of the eight foot soldiers took off in hot pursuit, throwing daggers at impossible-to-catch Graham as they chased him around the side of the castle to the rear.

It was all Stephen could do not to cackle in anticipation of the surprise to come.

The soldiers drew to a stop several yards short of the trapdoor. Stephen tugged a cord that led to a bell in the murder room. This was Elizabeth's sign that her skill as a mimic was required posthaste.

He could not see into the murder room or hear the words she spoke, but according to contingency plan eight, she was calling out, "Over here, men!" in Reddington's voice.

Her trick worked, as the soldiers took off running to obey.

The moment the soldiers crossed the trapdoor, Stephen flipped the lever.

Howls of surprise rang out as the men's feet found empty air and they fell twelve feet to the hard stone floor below.

After resealing the trapdoor, Stephen ducked his eye from the exterior telescope to the interior dungeon spy tube.

The soldiers had landed on the stone floor in a graceless, inglorious heap. That made six fallen soldiers versus four waiting Wynchesters—an uneven pairing, if not in the way the soldiers imagined as they scrambled to their feet.

To them, only Marjorie was visible in the darkness, looking tiny and scrawny and pathetically easy to capture.

"A hostage!" shouted one of the soldiers, his voice distant but audible through the whispering wall.

As they advanced obliviously between the dim portraits, the lifelike paintings twitched. Tommy and Philippa stepped out of the canvases with weapons in hand. Silently, they swung large wooden clubs at the backs of the heads of the two closest soldiers.

The men dropped like lead balloons, unconscious.

The other soldiers spun about, goggling at their fallen comrades—and the spectacle of two octogenarians bearing wooden clubs before them.

Tommy and Philippa wasted no time swinging their weapons at their attackers, but this time, the soldiers drew their swords. Unfortunately for them, the soldiers did not anticipate Adrian sneaking up behind them with wooden clubs of his own. Down went two more soldiers.

Only two remained to defend themselves against four Wynchesters. The startled men reached for their swords, but it was too late. They were no match against the speed and surprise of the attack.

In no time, Marjorie and Philippa had all six soldiers' hands tied behind their backs and their ankles bound tight. Tommy and Adrian dragged the men into the waiting cells. The iron doors locked tight.

Stephen's blood sang, thrilled that his machines had given the Wynchesters a tactical advantage. They were winning.

Marjorie and Adrian disappeared from his line of sight. Tommy and Philippa retook their positions.

Stephen hurried back to the other side of the turret in time to see two of Redington's extra soldiers break away from the rest of the idle regiment and disappear into the forest. Since six of the eight active combatants had been captured, only Reddington and two final men remained. Fortunately, the castle door was still shut tight. There was no way Elizabeth would allow—

The clang of metal on stone sounded behind him, and Stephen spun around.

"My apologies for startling you," said Graham. "I wanted to bring you the weapons we confiscated from the soldiers who fell through the trapdoor."

Stephen collected the stray sword and handful of daggers and placed them on a wooden chair beside the open archway leading to the spiral stairs.

"The battle is almost over," he said with a grin. "Reddington is down to two men."

Graham smiled back at him. "We couldn't have planned it to go any better."

"You literally planned every possible contingency," Stephen said dryly. "Of course it would go your way."

"Elizabeth is the war general. But with Reddington, one never knows—"

The bugle sounded again.

Stephen arched his brows at Graham. "White flag of surrender, already?"

They hurried to the front window and peered below.

Reddington was pointing his blade at six new men, who each stepped forward in obvious delight at being chosen as replacements for the six captured soldiers.

"That unscrupulous cheater ," Graham exclaimed in outrage.

Stephen groaned. "I knew he agreed to the negotiation terms too quickly. We failed to specify nine men in total . Reddington is attacking with nine at a time ."

Graham ran a hand over his black curls in frustration. "He won't surrender easily."

Stephen calculated quickly. "It will take forever to vanquish one hundred men, even if we had enough supplies and could stave off exhaustion long enough to try. Perhaps Elizabeth can still convince him to—"

Graham snorted. "She wants this fight as much as he does. I'd wager it's killing her to be trapped behind a locked door with so many armed soldiers to defeat on the other side."

A dull thwack echoed in the forest.

"What was that?" Graham scanned the horizon.

Stephen closed his unobstructed eye and searched the forest with his field glass. "An animal?"

"Maybe." Graham looked unsettled. "And maybe we need another contingency."

"The original distraction worked brilliantly," said Stephen. "Do it again."

"With pleasure." Graham retrieved a fresh satchel of rocks and slipped out through the window. In seconds, new projectiles soared down at the men below, several of whom shouted in surprise at being struck on the head and shoulders with rocks the size of fists.

Blood trickled down from two men's foreheads.

"First blood!" Graham called. "They're out!"

Reddington wasted no time replacing the injured soldiers, then pointed up at Graham. "It's a man, not a giant spider! Squash him!"

The soldiers let fly with their own daggers.

Graham scrambled nimbly out of harm's way, disappearing behind the turret to lure the new crop of soldiers to the trapdoor.

They followed at full speed initially, then slowed when they rounded the second corner to the rear of the castle and realized there was no sign of their missing comrades.

They didn't dither for long. In the bare seconds since they had paused, seemingly wild cats encircled them from out of nowhere. Before the soldiers could do more than tighten their grips on their swords, the cats sprang, claws and incisors out, tangling with the soldiers' legs and biting through their stockings.

The soldiers shrieked and windmilled in panic—right over the trapdoor.

Whoosh . Another special delivery to the dungeon.

Some of the cats tumbled inside along with the men. The felines not only landed on their feet, but also happily partook of the treats the Wynchesters had prepared to thank them for their part of the battle. The soldiers, on the other hand, were herded straight into the waiting cells and locked in tight with their brethren.

Rather than watch through the spy tube as the trapdoor was disguised anew, Stephen hurried back to the front of the turret.

Without wasting a moment, Reddington quickly replaced all eight men.

"You pair, guard me," he barked at the largest two. "You six, go and find out what's happening. And for God's sake, be careful."

The new, significantly less burly soldiers exchanged doubtful glances, as if being sent off into a magical forest after finding out pixies and goblins were indeed real after all.

"Close," Stephen murmured. "You'll see."