“We’ll tell you all about it later,” Steven said, ushering the group at a run to the museum exit. At last they reached the castle entrance, where the door was wide open. Outside, rain poured down in torrents, the night was starless, and only occasional flashes of bright lightning passed over the sky. Not until they had reached the fountains did the three fugitives stop to catch their breath.
“Where . . . where do we go now?” Sara asked, turning and looking around her. In spite of the cool fall air, sweat ran down her face, joining the rain to form small streams. “Over to the monastery? At least there’ll be a few people there.”
“I don’t think that’s a great idea.” Zöller frowned. “The security staff will probably have us up against the wall for lèse majesté. I did switch the alarm system off, but when they see all this, they’ll put two and two together. There are some fanatical Ludwig fans among the night watchmen. I doubt that they’d settle for just banning us from Herrenchiemsee for life.” Uncle Lu searched his pants pocket and brought out a scratched cell phone. “I tell you what we’ll do. I’ll call Alois at the Prien fisheries and tell him to pick us up down at the chapel. And then I’ll give myself until morning to work out how we can extricate ourselves from this mess.”
“One way or another we’d better hurry,” Sara said suddenly. “Looks like there’s no way to kill that knight.”
Steven glanced back at the castle, where a figure in a leather coat was staggering through the exit. The man was clutching his right leg, but otherwise he seemed to be uninjured. Pistol in hand, he looked searchingly into the rain-lashed night.
“He’s alive and kicking, Steven, damn it!” Sara cursed. “Where the hell did you learn to shoot? At the Oktoberfest carnival?”
“I wish I had. To tell you the truth, I’d never held a gun in my life before.”
“Get out of here . . . He’s seen us.” Puffing and panting, Albert Zöller ran over to the small tool-filled truck that the gardeners had parked there. The giant seemed to have spotted them. He limped toward them, his gun raised.
“What’s the plan?” Sara called to Uncle Lu, who was now sitting, legs apart, in the driver’s seat of the truck. “Are you planning to hotwire the truck? We don’t have time for that.”
“Didn’t I tell you the head of the security staff gave me all the keys to Herrenchiemsee?” Zöller produced the large, rusty bunch of keys from his pocket. “As far as I remember, there’s a single key for all the minitrucks on this island,” he muttered. “The only question is, which is it . . .” Slowly, he tried to put one of the many keys into the ignition. “No, not this one.”
“Damn it, hurry!” Sara screamed. She and Steven had clambered up on the bed of the truck. “That lunatic will be in firing range any second.”
Sure enough, Steven heard a hiss, and soon after that, stone dust sprayed up from the rim of the basin of the fountain.
“Let’s try this one,” Uncle Lu muttered. “This could be it. Oh no, not this one either.”
Another bullet struck one of the statues in the Fountain of Fortuna. In spite of his injury, the giant was astonishingly fast. He had now covered almost half the distance between them, and Steven could see his face distorted by hatred. He was dragging one leg, and seemed to be in great pain. Now the man stood still again and aimed at the truck. Steven instinctively knew that he wasn’t going to miss this time.
There was a rattle, and the rusty truck leaped forward. With a tinny sound, three more bullets riddled the load surface.
“There we go!” Zöller cried in relief. “As usual, the last key. Now, where’s first gear on this?”
At last the little truck began to move, rattling. It reached a speed of 18 m.p.h., and soon they had left the castle forecourt behind. The figure of the giant grew smaller and smaller. Steven thought he heard one more faint hiss pass above him, and then the woods swallowed them up.
“He’ll follow the tire tracks,” Sara said, staring into the darkness behind them. Small twigs whipped her face, but she didn’t seem to notice them. “He’s not going to give up so easily. Not him.”
“I don’t think he’ll be able to get far with that wound,” said Steven, shrugging his shoulders. “The way he’s limping, I did at least hit his lower leg.”
Sara grinned. “Not bad for five shots fired at point-blank range. Wyatt Earp would have been proud of you.”
“I’d settle for you being proud of me,” Steven said, drawing her close. The little treasure chest, wet from the rain, lay safely on his lap. In spite of Sara’s body heat, he was shivering slightly, and not because of the wind and storm. The dark dreams had disappeared, but Steven knew they could come back at any time.