The Eastern Front(100)

Again, the flashing sword sent a hand flying, cut off this time just above the wrist. And again, an instant later, a neck was cut open to the bone. This time, since Baldur hadn't been quite as rushed, the windpipe was severed along with the carotid and jugular.

For all practical purposes, Guillaume Locquifier was dead before his body met the cobblestones.



Mademann shrieked with fury at the sight. He'd never liked Guillaume, but he was still a comrade. In his rage, he fired a shot at the prince's companion who'd killed him.

The shot missed. He fired again—and that put the Norwegian down. At least, Charles thought it had. The man was behind the table again, no longer visible.



Reloading a Cardinal could be done very quickly, but the fight in the street below was moving more quickly still. By the time Mathurin had the rifle reloaded, he had no targets left. Prince Ulrik was down already. Brillard could see his body in the street. And whatever might have happened to the princess, she was hidden somewhere behind that cursed table. It would be foolish to shoot at it blindly.

Besides, he had another target, and the one to which he'd been assigned.

He was almost sure his first shot had killed the queen. But there was no reason not to make sure.

The six guards were no longer standing around her. Three of them had moved into Slottsbacken with their halberds ready, headed toward the table. One of them had vanished altogether. Mathurin assumed he'd gone to get help.

The remaining two were still guarding the queen. Clearly, though, their concept of "guarding" was not that of trained bodyguards. Instead of shielding Maria Eleonora, they were standing at least two feet from her.

Their halberds were posed in most formidably martial fashion, to be sure. But the bullet Mathurin fired cared not in the least. He'd had time to take careful aim, since the queen was now unmoving, flat on her back in the entrance. The bullet passed between the guards and struck her under the chin. When it exited from the top of her head, brains and blood and bits of bone flew out in a horrid gush.

The guards stared at the sight, their halberds still held at the ready.



The sound of the rifle shot drew Mademann's attention. That was the second shot Brillard had fired. Given the man's marksmanship, that meant the queen was certainly dead.

So was the prince. Of their three targets, only the princess was left.

Charles was tempted. But . . .

Mathurin would now be making his own escape. Of the others, only Charles himself and Levasseur remained alive. And they'd used all their shots. In this rain, they'd need to find shelter in which to reload, by which time the princess would certainly have fled back into the palace.

They could go after her with their knives, but his knee was uncertain—and the three guards with halberds were fast approaching. Could Levasseur alone kill the princess while fending them off?

No chance. It was time to make their own escape, if possible.

"Abraham!" he shouted. "Help me!"



On his way out of the bedroom, Brillard paused at the door to consider the tailor. He'd intended to let the old man live, assuming he survived the injuries he already had. But now that the mission was over and the possibility of escape was at hand—which Mathurin had never seriously expected—it might not be wise to leave a witness who could identify him.

Mathurin Brillard was not a man to agonize over decisions. He raised the rifle and brought the butt down on the tailor's head. Again, and again, and again. It took only as many seconds as it did blows. Not too long, and there would surely be no witness now.



When Ulrik opened his eyes, he immediately had to close them again because of the rain. It was not quite like being under a waterfall, but close enough.

He could feel a small body clutching him where he lay on the street. A trembling child's body. It was making snuffling noises, too.

Kristina, he thought. She was still alive, then.

He turned his head to get his eyes out of the direct path of the rain and opened the left one, which was now sheltered.

Yes, it was Kristina. The only other things he could see were the upended table and, coming toward him, more halberds than Ulrik had ever seen in one place.

Swedish palace guards were attached to the weapons. Looking very stalwart and none too bright.

He made a mental note to make sure he had guards armed with something more useful, in any palace he had any control over. Smarter ones, too.

"What's happening?" he croaked.





Chapter 32


Zielona Góra

The clatter of boots coming into the bakery woke Jeff Higgins. By the time he got himself into a seated position on his cot, the regiment's sergeant major was coming through the door to the back room where he'd made his quarters.

"General Stearns wants all brigade and regiment commanders in the Rathaus, Colonel Higgins."