Page 61 of Angel of Vengeance
D’Agosta heard the sound of a heavy tread in the corridor. They immediately fell silent.
“We’re going to open the door,” said a loud voice. “Stand in the back of the cell. We’re well armed. Don’t be stupid.”
Pendergast and D’Agosta moved back against the far wall. The door swung open and two men stepped in with rifles, taking positions on either side of the door, while a third came in bearing wrist and ankle cuffs, linked by iron chains. He tossed them across the room, where they landed with a clang at Pendergast’s feet.
“Put those on.”
D’Agosta watched as Pendergast did as ordered, latching each cuff.
“Turn around and lie facedown on the floor.”
Pendergast complied. One of the guards now walked over and tested each cuff, pulling on it to make sure it was latched. They patted him down, finding nothing.
“Stand up.”
Pendergast rose awkwardly, chains clanking. “May I ask where I’m going, all dressed up like this?”
“To the boss.”
“Will there be tea and cakes?”
“Shut your mouth, numpty.”
D’Agosta watched as Pendergast was ushered, unresisting, out the door, which was slammed shut and locked behind him. He sat down on the hay bale, putting his head in his hands, wondering if there was even the slightest chance that he’d ever see Laura again.
54
THE GUARDS BEGAN ESCORTING Pendergast down from the attic room. He shuffled along clumsily, hindered by the chains binding his legs and arms.
“Hurry up,” one guard said, poking him in the back with his rifle.
“My dear fellow, I would like to see you move nimbly while shackled like an ape,” Pendergast responded, slowing even further.
One of the guards snickered and imitated his upper-crust New Orleans drawl—“My dear fellow”—before giving him another push. “You can move faster than that.”
Pendergast, who knew the mansion well, guessed he was being taken to the library, where no doubt Leng would join him. The house was laid out almost exactly as it would be in his day—but the fixtures, decoration, and wallpaper were, of course, very different. The most striking change was the lack of electricity: the house was lit with glowing gas mantles in frosted glass globes, which cast a mellower light than the electric bulbs of the future.
The shortest route from the attic to the library would involve descending three floors, and along the way it would go past a small, windowless room on the third level that served as a music chamber, where musicians could practice or tune up without bothering people on the lower floors. As they passed by the door to that room, Pendergast abruptly veered into it, opening it with his shackled hands and then pivoting to slam the door shut and wedge it in place with his foot.
There was a moment of consternation as the guards pounded on the door, at last forcing it open. They rushed in, shouting and waving their weapons and surrounding him—Pendergast had barely had time to reach the far side of the darkened room—one smacking him across the face.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the lead guard asked, seizing Pendergast by the shackled hands and dragging him back out into the hall, shutting the door behind him.
“You can’t fault a man for trying to escape,” Pendergast said meekly.
This brought a round of laughter. “Some escape!”
“My dear fellow,” another mimicked again.
More laughter. He was manhandled down the rest of the stairs, through the drawing room and salon, then past the archway leading to the library.
“Bind him,” the lead guard said.
They hauled Pendergast over to a freshly installed iron post inside the library, locking his feet to its base and his hands to loops welded higher up. Then the two stepped back, rifles trained on him.
“Tell the boss he’s here,” said the lead guard, who had been supervising.
One of the guards left while the other took up a position by the door. A moment later, the first guard returned with Leng.