John Gardner - Never send flowers

They were behind a high curving stone wall, the cyclorama at the back of the display. Silently they moved, crabbing their way to the end of the wall.

Bond nodded to her, took a deep breath and they plunged forward.

Neither of them was prepared for the effects which suddenly assaulted all their senses. As they stepped into the dark area, so it became alive. For a few seconds they were almost blinded by the light and deafened by the noise: it was as though they had walked through some magic looking-glass on to a stage full of prancing, dancing figures, lit by floods and full battens of theatrical lighting, and singing their hearts out: `There's no business like show business." The figures moved with precision following a set pattern of dance steps, the men in white tie and tails, the girls in silver tail coats, top hats and abbreviated spangled briefs. The noise was deafening, and Bond could just see an orchestra conductor through the glaring light.

Close up, the dancing automata had a bizarre appearance with sparkling staring eyes, rouged cheeks, set smiling faces, their mouths opening and closing like ventriloquists' dummies, the dance steps prescribed by the patterns set in their computerized, robotic brains.

The impact of the whole slowed both Bond and Fredericka who lost precious moments as they stood, almost confused by the spectacle.

Then the shooting began.

A male automaton was lifted off its feet, almost at Bond's side as two bullets ripped in from somewhere beyond in the darkness. He had been aware of the muzzle flashes from the darkness, and fired twice in the general direction from which the shots had come as he blundered forward, nudging one of the female dancers so that the robot was pushed out of alignment and continued to go through her dance steps moving away from the other females.

He saw and heard Fredericka fire into the black hole behind the lights and thought he heard a screech of pain above the din of music and singing. Another bullet cracked past his head, and the face of a second male robot disintegrated into wires and microchips as Bond leaped forward through the lights and into the cavern of darkness beyond. The music and singing did not stop, but he was aware of the robotic confusion now reigning on the stage. From the corner of his eye he saw Fredericka jump across what was supposed to be the orchestra pit, firing as she went. Then he was also on the far side of the lights looking at Charles, spreadeagled on the ground, his shirtfront a bloody gushing mess where one of their bullets had struck him.

`There!" Fredericka shouted, swivelling to the right and getting off two rounds, aimed at the fleeing figure of William who ran, clattering along the walkway.

Bond followed and, on reaching the metal path with Fredericka close on his heels, the din of the Broadway show cut off, the music suddenly silenced and the lights going off as they crossed the invisible electronic eyes which operated the display. Now the only sound was of William's feet on the metal as he ran from the fight.

They followed, Fredericka slightly behind Bond, who fired once at the retreating man just as he momentarily activated another of the displays-a modern play, set on a proscenium arched stage.

Dialogue and movement began and was then stopped as William reached the far side of the display.

The scene came alive again as Fredericka and Bond went past, then, ahead, they saw the stocky little William run into the next exhibit as though he were trying to make it to the area behind the displays.

Again there was noise, a huge overpowering burst of music recognizable immediately as Wagner's Sieried. William was attempting to get across the stage which was a full-sized model of the famous opera house Richard Wagner's great dream theatre at Bayreuth, built especially for the performance of the composer's gargantuan operas.

Bond stopped, legs parted, the Colt an extension of his arm, sighting it on the figure of William as he blundered forward towards the automaton of Siegfried singing his microchip heart out and raising the legendary magic sword which is such an integral part of the massive Ring Cycle of operas.

He fired once and saw William lifted off his feet as the bullet struck him, sending him curving towards the half rising sword, then, in a flurry of arms and legs, William crashed down upon the operatic automaton. Sparks flew from under his body, and a small burst of smoke immersed both man and robot for a few seconds. When the smoke lifted, William lay impaled on the sword, while the opera continued, the tapes playing on even though the reproduction of Wagner's stage remained still, with the macabre bundle of corpse and electronics at its centre, the very real sword reaching bloodily up through William's back.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A RIDE IN THE COUNTRY

`Don't you think we should wait for Maeve?

Sweat her?" Fredericka stood in the great hall. They had seen this part of the castle on their arrival, therefore only getting an impression of a heavily decorated Victorian-like entrance. Now, for the first time, they noticed the long minstrels' gallery, high above.

`That's how we heard the Dragonfly talking to his sister." Bond pointed to the balustraded U shape above them.

`Yes, but don't you think we should wait?" `No, for one thing I don't particularly want to do any explaining concerning two dead bodies. Also, if we're to catch up with Dragonpol, we should head for Milan. That's his first stop, isn't it?" `According to the notes, yes.

But, James, how do we set about finding him?" `We might have to get a little help, Flick. What I do know is that the longer we hang around here, the more time it gives Dragonpol." He went up to the place where they had left their luggage, carrying it down to the hall and then out to the BMW, which he checked meticulously before letting Fredericka near it. He had read the full report of how Archie and Angela Shaw had died in London, and one thing was certain: Dragonpol knew about explosives just as he knew about other kinds of weapons and more exotic ways to death.

The car was clean so they just drove away, leaving Schloss Drache lit up as though for some festival.

They went as fast as the law would allow, heading for Bonn, and stopping only for Fredericka to make one international call to Switzerland from a public telephone.

`I won't be long, my dear, but I have an idea and it might just make all the difference when we get into Italy,' she told him, refusing to say more.

Bond sat, irritably, in the car, wondering silently on the amount of time it took women to make quick telephone calls, or dress for dinner yet seemed to be able to get out of their clothes in the wink of an eye when occasion demanded.

In all, Fredericka spent over half an hour in the phone booth.

`Getting back into your service's good books?" Bond asked, when they were on the road again.

`Not likely, my dear. I called our old chum Bodo." `Lempke? The Swiss cop with the turnip head?" `The same. He's a damned good policeman, and he also owes me a favour." `Will he pay up?" `We'll see when we get to Bonn." So, when they reached the airport and turned in the BMW, she made another call, while Bond got them on to a flight to Milan.

`All set,' Fredericka told him. `We have a booking at the Palace.

`Oh, you couldn't get us in at the Principe e Savoia?" The Palace in Milan is sister hotel to the Principe, and regarded mainly as a good, but no frills, hotel used by businessmen and provincials in town for one or two nights. The Palace was not noted for being an hotel of the grand school, but a resting place without luxury and with rooms designed in the utilitarian manner.

`I didn't even try the Principe,' she snapped. `If you want kitsch, over-decorated five-star places, you can go and stay there on your own. Anyway, Bodo will know where to find us." `He's repaying your favour?" `More, he's coming to see us. With information, I hope." He did not press for explanations. Already he had learned that Fredericka von Grusse liked to do things her way, and she would tell him only when she was good and ready. Bond respected that, for he knew it mirrored his own attitude in arcane matters.