The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

at earth and rotten wood with her hands. Using the long bundle clumsily wrapped in stained canvas, she levered a piece of beam out of the way so that she might get down on her knees and scoop up the sand and clay.
    “Ricky! Val!” The light swung ahead as someone scrambled through the hole in the barrier wall. Then, when the ray held firm upon them, the headlong rush was checked for a long instant. “Val!”
    “Get her—away,” he begged. “Another—slip—”
    But before he had done, a long arm gathered Ricky up as if she had been a child. “Right,” came the firm answer. “Sam, take Miss ’Chanda back. Then—”
    Val was watching the reflection of the flash on the broken roof above him. Sand slid in tiny streams down the wall, mingling with the greenish trickles of water. There were queer blue and green arcs painted on the brick which had something to do with the hot pain behind his eyes. The blue turned to orange—to scarlet—
    “Careful! Right here in the hall, Holmes—”
    The broken earth above him had somehow been changed to a high ceiling, the chill darkness to blazing light and warmth.
    “Ricky?” he asked.
    “Here, Val.” Her face was very close to his.
    “You—are—all—right?”
    “’Course!” But she was crying. “Don’t try to talk, Val. You must be quiet.”
    He heard someone moving toward them but he kept his eyes on Ricky’s face. “We did it!”
    “Yes,” she answered slowly, “we did it.”
    “Val, don’t try to talk.” Rupert’s face showed above Ricky’s hunched shoulder. There was an odd, strained look about his mouth, a smear of mud across his cheek. But the harsh tone of his voice struck his brother as dumb as if he had slapped him.
    “Sorry,” Val shaped the words stiffly, “all my fault.”
    “Nothing’s your fault,” Ricky’s indignant answer cut in. “But—but just be quiet, Val, until the doctor comes.”
    He turned his head slowly. On the hearth-stone stood Charity talking quietly to Holmes. Just within the circle of the firelight lay a bundle which he had seen before. But of course, that was the thing they had found in the passage, which Ricky had used to pound out their answer to Rupert.
    “Ricky—” Val always believed that it was some instinct out of the past which forced that whisper out of him—“Ricky, open that package.”
    “Why—” she began, but then she got to her feet and went to the bundle, twisting the tarred rope that fastened it in a vain attempt to undo the intricate knots. It was Holmes who produced a knife and sawed through the tough cord. And it was Holmes who unrolled the strips of canvas, oil-silk, and greasy skins. But it was Ricky who took up what lay within and held it out so that it reflected both red firelight and golden room light.
    Her brother’s sigh was one of satisfaction.
    For Ricky held aloft by its ponderous hilt a great war sword. There could be no doubt in any of them—the Luck of Lorne had returned.
    “We found it!” breathed Ricky.
    “Put it in its place,” Val ordered.
    Without a word, Rupert drew out a chair and scrambled up. Taking from Ricky’s hands the ancient weapon, he slipped it into the niche their pirate ancestor had made for it. In spite of the years underground, the metal of hilt and blade was clear. Seven hundred years of history—their Luck!
    “Everything will come right again,” Val repeated as Ricky came back to him. “You’ll see. Everything—will—be—all—right.”
    His eyes closed in spite of his efforts. He was back in the darkness where he could only feel the warmth of Ricky’s hands clasped about his.
    CHAPTER XVI
    Ralestones Stand Together
    “I like Louisiana,” drawled Holmes lazily from his perch on the window-seat. “The most improbable things happen here. One finds secret passages under houses and medieval war swords stuck in drains. Then there are ‘things that go boomp in the night,’ too. It might be worth settling down here—”
    “Not for you,” cut in Charity briskly. “Too far from the bright lights for you, my man.”
    “Just for that,” he triumphed, “I shall not return this lost property found under a cushion of the couch in the hall.”
    At the sight of that familiar black note-book, Val shifted uneasily on his pillows. Rupert got up.
    “Tired, old man?” he asked and reached to straighten one of his brother’s feather-stuffed supports.
    Val shook his head. Being bandaged like a mummy was wearying, but one had to humor