She took three steps into the room, with Eddie following her.
"Where are they, do you think?" She looked around the large empty room. There was nothing here that even vaguely resembled "cells." In fact, to her surprise, the chamber had very little resemblance to what she'd thought a "dungeon" would look like. It was more like a half-basement a man might devote to a workshop.
It was not gloomy at all. There was a bright sun outside, and plenty of light came through the windows near the ceiling.
Before Eddie could reply, Noelle got her answer. The door opposite the one she and Eddie had entered swung open. A middle-aged man came though, followed by a very big younger one.
"What are you doing here?" the man demanded. "Get out!"
Noelle pulled out her pistol. "I want the prisoners. Now."
The man gaped at her, for a moment. Then shouted: "Seize her, Johannes!"
The big assistant came around and moved toward her. Noelle brought up the gun. Before she could aim it, Eddie grabbed her by the shoulders and swung her aside. Then, lunged at the assistant.
A moment later, the two men were grappling. Noelle stepped to the side. The older man—the castle's executioner and torturer, she assumed—was just staring at her. He was not more than fifteen feet away.
Weeks of tightly repressed fury boiled to the surface. She raised the gun, grabbed it with both hands as Dan Frost had taught her, and fired.
Four times. Ricochets zinged from the stone walls, causing her to duck frantically.
When she looked up, she saw the executioner running out the door he'd come in through.
She'd missed. All four shots!
A heavy weight hammered into her, knocking her down. On her knees, gasping from the shock, Noelle looked up and saw that she'd been accidentally slammed into by Eddie and his opponent, as they wrestled fiercely.
Eddie was losing the match. Pretty badly. He was a big enough young man, and stronger than he looked. But he was simply overmatched by his opponent.
As she watched, the torturer's assistant swung Eddie around and slammed him against some sort of huge, horrid-looking chair. The impact caused Eddie to lose his grip on the man's arms. A moment later, the torturer had him by the throat and was starting to choke him. Bent backward over the chair the way he was, Eddie had little leverage. His hands scrabbled helplessly at his strangler's thick arms.
Noelle lunged to her feet and strode over.
She couldn't afford to miss again, and she certainly didn't trust her marksmanship. But how—
She saw an opening and thrust the pistol under the torturer's right arm. Under, and up against his chin, below the jaw. As soon as she felt the heavy flesh yielding beneath the barrel, she fired.
The torturer flung his arms aside, and stumbled back from Eddie. Blood was gushing everywhere. He smashed against a wall and collapsed to the floor, his back propped against the stonework and his head hanging loosely.
Noelle thought he was already dead. He certainly looked like it. But as big and strong as he was, she didn't dare take a chance. She stepped forward and shoved the barrel against the top of his head. Pulled the trigger.
Click.
Nothing. The gun had misfired.
It wasn't supposed to do that!
As much angry as confused, she stared down at the weapon in her hand. Then, hearing a grunt, turned her head.
Eddie had straightened up from the chair and was rubbing his throat with his hands. There were already bruises forming there. His eyes were wide open. He tried to speak, but couldn't. Just swallowed, before removing one hand and pointing to something on the floor.
Noelle looked down and saw the magazine of a pistol lying on the floor; one cartridge was sticking straight up from the lips. Startled, she looked down at the gun in her hand. Sure enough, the magazine was missing.
What—
Belatedly, she remembered. Dan Frost had warned her once against firing the gun pressed directly against a body. That might produce too much pressure in the chamber, he'd said. The bullet would fire, but it might damage the gun.
Apparently, it had blown out the whole magazine.
She stooped, picked it up, and looked at it. It seemed undamaged, at least; she thumbed the top cartridge back in place.
But would the gun still work?
There was only one way to find out. Which she needed to, since she might very well need to use the gun again. She shoved the magazine back into the pistol and pulled the slide. Then, looked around for a suitable target.
There wasn't any, that didn't risk another ricochet. Except . . .
The body of the torturer slid from wall. The sound drew her eyes. She saw that from a half-sitting position, it had gone to being sprawled across the floor. The man's eyes were half-open, staring emptily. There was still blood spilling out from the gaping wound, but it was no longer spurting. The man's heart had stopped.