Ossian's Ride by Fred Hoyle Read Free Book Online Page B

demanded Colquhoun.
    “Coming down Thomas’s.”
    The only thing to do, and that quickly, was to get into the area of the docks. I grabbed the whiskey bottle and emptied half its contents down the side of my coat. Then I took a small device from my pocket, one that I had made up earlier in the week at the Trinity Chem Lab. It was a long time since I had played with such a thing, not since my school days in fact. I cursed myself for studying mathematics; if I’d done experimental science instead, I’d have felt more confidence in the damned thing working properly. It was bound to be a dud, I thought gloomily as I primed it.
    Seamus Colquhoun had drunk too much to be capable of swift action, so I left him to fare the best he could. In a few seconds I was in the street again, trotting as fast as I dared (for the night was dark) in the direction of Cork Street. Soon there was a narrow opening to my right. If I could get through to the canal without meeting a patrol there was still a chance.
    I suppose the distance was only about a hundred yards but it seemed much more before a wide space opened up in front of me. There were moving lights to the right and on an impulse I walked toward them, instead of away.
    Evidently a posse was searching along the canalside. It would be better to take the initiative by walking right into them, rather than be trapped by a couple of patrols in the streets. Obviously all the approaches to Marrowbone Lane would be blocked.
    I lurched forward with unsteady gait, singing but not too raucously.
    “Hi there!”
    I went on without pause. The challenge was repeated in a louder voice. I stopped uncertainly and glanced around in a vague way. A bright light flashed in my eyes.
    “Hey, whashamatter?”
    Hands patted my hips and then moved swiftly under my armpits. Who would be fool enough to carry a gun? Liam, I supposed.
    “It’s all right. The feller’s stinking.”
    Which was perfectly true. The smell of the whiskey was strong, too strong really if they had had the wit to notice.
    “Better be on the safe side and take him in. Kevin and Paddy, you go, and get back again as quickly as you can.”
    We stumbled along to the end of the dock, each man gripping me tightly by an arm. There were three powerful cars. I was pushed into the back of one and one of the men got in beside me. We had gone maybe a couple of hundred yards in the direction of the castle when I remarked, “Shtop. Want to be sick.”
    The driver slammed on the brakes—no one likes a vomiting passenger. In a trice he was out and had the door open. His companion forced me onto the pavement.
    “Now bring yer insides up, damn you.”
    I had managed to pull the little package from my pocket, so even though they held me by the arms, I managed to flick it down on the ground as I staggered to the front of the car. Although my eyes were tightly shut the sudden flash almost blinded me. It took but a few seconds to dive into the driving seat, start the engine again and pull away from the dazed guards. I had about five minutes’ grace, two or three minutes while Kevin and Paddy recovered their sight, and another couple before they got back to the cars.
    I parked in St. Stephen’s Green, wiping the steering wheel carefully, and the door handles inside and out, the gear shift, ignition key, and the light switch—there seemed nothing else I had touched with my hands. By now the pursuit would be on, but it would be well-nigh hopeless.
    I had only a hundred yards to go when there was the rattle of an automatic rifle. It seemed to come from the west, very likely from the area of Marrowbone Lane. Poor old Colquhoun! Arms were nasty things. Much better to rely on a bit of magnesium flash powder. Lucky the thing had gone off.
    There was one more obstacle. I still had to climb into college. One of the lads had shown me the way, and I hated it. First an easy gate, then a stretch along a moderately difficult roof, and lastly a beastly medieval sort of