The Boarding House Horror

14. Kind of My Fault

The next few moments stay sharp and indelible in my mind and I remember every impression. But only in hindsight can I piece together what actually happened.

As if I hung suspended in deep waters, my head slowly rotated toward Alice Bree. The echoes of the rifle shot splashed around Pluvierstraat and Alice rotated, leaning back toward the doorway.

Now, I desperately wish I would have reacted, but at the time I did not. Dumb I stood, thunderstruck.

"Get back," she hissed through clenched teeth.

The air split again with a crack like the snap of a riding crop. A patch of fibers on the shoulder of her dress exploded, complete with flying sparks. The impact spun her body.

From the kitchen Daria screamed high and faint.

And still I stood unreactive as the second rifle shot exploded from somewhere on or above Pluvierstraat. Stupidly, I rotated my head outward to try to find the source of the explosions.

A hand gripped my collar like the teeth of a mother dog. Like a puppy gone astray, by the scruff of my neck she dragged me backwards.

The vicious slap sound split the air again. Besides my collar pulling me through the air, something punched me in the bicep.

As the pop of the third shot walloped my ears I hit the hallway floor, with Alice Bree partly underneath me. I slid at least two feet back into the boarding house.

"Ow. Ow. Ow. Where's the door?" She squirmed under me as I twisted and thrashed.

Finally and far too late, I began to comprehend. "Those are shots! Someone is shooting at us!"

The front door slammed.

A fourth rifle shot burst a patch of door wood into splinters. "Get back! Get back!" I gibbered.

She and I scrambled and crawled a few more feet back. At the intersection of the front hallway with the open common room, we leaned against the walls. She stared sightlessly forward, her glasses gone to reveal gold eyes and long eyebrows with a bend halfway along. Her black wig lay askew, with lighter hair tones underneath.

"You were shot," I accused. "At least twice. There. I see blood."

"Blood?" she patted herself at hip, rib, and shoulder. "Oh dear. Bartel, I think you were hit."

"But you were hit," I insisted. After all, I was there. I saw and heard and felt it happen. All the same, she had a point. My right arm felt soggy and warm in its coat sleeve, and it throbbed.

A wave of dizziness washed over me at the realization. I've been shot.

"Is anyone else injured?" Bree crisply demanded.

A rising babble of voices from the common room quieted. Mariam said, "No, I don't think so. Daria, are you all right, dear?"

"Yes, I'm fine. What is happening?"

"Bloody sniper out there is what," Trevor said, although he did not sound convinced.

Mario's slurred voice broke in, "'Alice Bree,' eh? I don't-a think so."

A new steely tone sharpened Alice's voice. "Hold that thought, Mr. Costa. The important thing is to lock the doors and get the Inspector up to my room. I have bandages there. Stay away from all windows. Lazar, can I ask you to lock the doors?"

"Da. Leave it to me."

"Mario. Trevor. Get a blanket and hang it over the kitchen window. Work without candles and work from the sides of the window without exposing yourselves. Yes?"

"Si, signora."

"Thanks. Mariam and Daria, when they've secured the kitchen, we'll need hot water and towels up in my room. Bartel, can you stand?"

Honesty prevailed as my head spun. "I'm not sure."

By degrees, she lurched to her feet. Lazar crept past us to slide the door deadbolt into place. Alice Bree said, "Take deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out."

I obeyed except to demand, "Why aren't you dead?"

"I wear chainmail under this dress. The risk of assassins was always a possibility, however remote. I'm sorry, everybody. I can't explain George Raptis, but this — this — is kind of my fault."

"I knew it," said Mario as he trundled by, a folded blanket tucked under his arm.

"Upsie-daisy, Mr. Visser," Bree laid a hand on my shoulder. "Let's get you patched up."

I managed to wobble up the stairs, and under Alice Bree's supervision Mariam and Daria stripped me to the waist and washed the blood off my arm. As promised, Bree had a stash of bandages in her suitcase. I faded in and out. As Mariam bound my arm, Daria lifted Alice Bree's shapeless dress off, revealing a close-fitting suit of metal underneath. Her real hair sprawled in unkempt tangles about her head, too short to reach her shoulders. I felt too woozy to comment, but it wasn't until Mariam accidentally squeezed my arm too tightly that I passed out completely under a black wave of pain.