Part 36 (2/2)

He raised his arms and a stream of light shot above him.

. . . shove it right through the spokes . . .

The priest nodded and the executioner brought down the knife.

It cut through the air.

I screamed--louder than I imagined possible, from someplace deep inside--a guttural NO that cut through the room and echoed back from every stone. The executioner froze, his knife just above her neck, my crowbar less than a hair from the central spinning gear. My voice shook with fury. ”Let her go,” I shouted, ”or so help me G.o.d I will kill you all.” Our eyes were locked. n.o.body dared move.

There was silence in the room now.

The dancers crouched on the ground, feral, their long wet hair stuck to their faces. The drummers were still.

I saw the stare of masks from all sides.

A hundred lifeless faces accusing me.

”If you hurt her,” I said, ”you all die.”

My words echoed.

Bernini came at me, hand up, palm forward. Caution! it said. You have no idea what you're doing . . .

”Stay back,” I yelled.

The medieval men were inching closer from all sides.

”STAY BACK. ALL OF YOU.”.

I pressed the crowbar against the spinning metal, just slightly--a stream of sparks shot out. The gear slowed almost imperceptibly, but the second it did, the room filled with unbearable screaming from the masked figures below me. Bernini's face rippled with pain. He let out a terrible squealing noise as if I were twisting a knife between his ribs. The screams came from all around me, hundreds of voices. Stop, Bernini cried.

I pulled the crowbar back, horrified.

For a moment he just stood there, catching his breath. He coughed a few times, a wounded, rattling cough. Then he looked at me with those penetrating eyes. I thought of the first day of school. He looked fragile, and above all else, tired.

”Let her go,” I said to him.

”If I do,” Bernini said quietly, ”you will hurt the machine.”

”If you don't, I'll destroy it.”

”No,” he said, ”you won't. You'd have nothing left to bargain with.”

”So what? You'll all be dead.”

He shook his head. ”Not fast enough to save her.”

The executioner leaned into Sarah and pulled up slightly against her neck with the knife.

”So you see,” Bernini said. ”We have a stalemate.”

For once, I was a step ahead of him.

”Not exactly,” I said.

I raised the crowbar, ready to press it forward and slow the gears again.

Bernini raised his eyebrows, unsurprised.

So calm. Like he knew what I was thinking before I did.

”You'll torture us, then?” he asked mildly.

I nodded. ”If you make me.”

”We won't let her go, Jeremy. You know we can't. You'd only be torturing us for sport.”

I hated this man! How could he be so sure I was bluffing?

”We'll see about that,” I heard myself say.

To my own shock, I shoved the crowbar forward and slowed the wheel.

Bernini's head jerked back and his eyes rolled up. He cried out. His torso twisted and he fell forward on his knees. His arms locked in rotation, one inward, one outward. Veins popped up along his skin.

Shrieks, from around the room--hundreds of terrible cries.

I felt a wave of horror. And at the same time, I felt powerful. I loved her. They wanted to murder her. Was I wrong to do this? Was I wrong to stop?

I pulled the crowbar off the wheel and the screams stopped instantly. The pain was unnatural, and it vanished with unnatural speed.

”Let her go,” I cried, my voice breaking.

Bernini stared at me, half-collapsed, on his elbows.

For the first time ever, I saw him look surprised.

”I didn't . . . think . . .” he gasped, wiping a sleeve across his mouth, ” . . . you . . . had it . . . in . . . you . . .”

I was going to shatter. There was nothing left.

I was an empty vessel.

I looked at Sarah, and she mouthed, ”I love you.”

Bernini sighed.

<script>