The Hollow Crown Affair - McDaniel David (читать книги онлайн без .txt) 📗

"Mr. Kuryakin," said Baldwin, lifting the binoculars again, "I have no wish to be distracted by you pacing this office behind my back like a caged tiger because you are denied action. In the closet you will find a team jacket in your size. Mr. Solo, there is one for you as well if you wish to join him."

"In other words," said Illya, "the uniform of the defending forces. I heard about these things going on in American colleges, but I never really believed it."

"Don't worry," said Napoleon. "There are very few casualties. I happen to be a veteran of a few myself, and would be glad to show it to you as it progresses."

"You must tell us sometime just what you did to Crawford," said Illya over his shoulder as Napoleon led him to the coffin-sized closet and sorted out two green-and-gold jackets. Baldwin didn't answer. Lyn said, "Oh, do be careful," as they left, and shifted her chair over to the window next to Dr. Fraser. From the second floor front they had a perfect view.

Napoleon and Illya took the steps three at a time and then paused between the inner and outer double doors on the sheltered stairs. "Where are the forces we are to join?" Illya asked doubtfully.

Napoleon took a quick look outside and saw two gray ghosts disappear behind trees. He eased the door open and looked to either side. "Come on," he hissed. "Quick. And act casual."

As he spoke he pushed the door open wide and sauntered candidly down the next dozen steps, Illya flanking a few feet behind him and to the left. Out from between the other buildings on either side other green-and-gold jackets were wandering, idly bent on no particular business and all aimed for the center of the Quad.

It was an eerie moment, and both sides doubtless felt it. In tense silence the scattered bright jackets began to move together, and in a moment one of the gray shadows pulled away from a tree and gave ground. At exactly that moment the entire left flank shattered.

A dozen or so charged forward and something white flew ahead of them like a snowball. It burst on a tree and a cloud of white billowed out. "Flour grenade," said Napoleon. "It confuses your enemy." Illya nodded. Several more flew as the skirmish line reached the edge of the Quad, and white patches began to appear among the fleeing Thrush forces. They paused once to regroup and started towards their cars, but another line of green-and-gold jackets stood there and now started forward. The little knot of gray-sweatered figures huddled for a moment, then headed in apparent disarray directly towards the steps where Napoleon and Illya stood.

Illya braced for a defense as he saw more bright jackets hurrying to his aid from either side—and Napoleon broke and ducked back through the doors to safety. For ten seconds Illya wondered dazedly if his partner had lost his nerve, then Solo kicked open the door and emerged with something cradled in his arms. "Here's a good one," he said to Illya as the first four Thrushies reached the bottom steps. "Watch out!" he yelled to the world at large, and twisted something.

There was a quivering and a belching sound from the thing he held, and something writhed and snapped rigid behind him. Ten feet away the leading attacker was suddenly hit square in the chest with a frothing white rod just over an inch in diameter. He staggered, which can be fatal while going up stairs, lost his balance and was bowled over backwards, twisting to roll onto his shoulder as he fell.

Napoleon swung the fire hose, yelling something Illya couldn't quite follow, and swept eight more Thrushes and two University men off the stone steps like so many beetles. They scrabbled around regaining their equilibrium and occasionally swinging at each other.

The second wave of Thrushes never hit. They scattered towards every point of the compass but east. The rest of the green-and-gold jackets spread like a defensive outfield—which many of them were—and started to make interceptions.

The battle was now fairly joined. The western line moved forward from the cars in open formation, and gray shadows ducked between them. One reached a car and tore the door open, grabbing inside. He was just turning around when something slapped the side of his head and knocked him sideways. An instant later a string of tiny bright flashes in the dusk sparkled around him and the patter of small firecrackers echoed across the Quad. The Thrush straightened up, fumbling around his head, which was now a dazzling blue, as was the top of his sweater.

Napoleon said, "Ever heard of a water bomb? A water-filled balloon or paper sack designed to burst on impact."

"It works as well or better with Analine dyes," Illya observed.

"Uh-huh."

Four or five bright jackets moved in on the car, and two of them knelt briefly beside it. Napoleon and Illya dove straight down into the midst of the confusion in the middle of the Quad and were caught up in it. A flying body hit Napoleon about the knees and he folded over into the midst of several tussling figures. He was thankful he wore the uniform of the majority as three or four arms pulled him back to his feet and he looked around for Illya.

Somebody grabbed his shoulder and he spun around with his guard up and a fist cocked. Something wet and slippery filled his face and stung his eyes, and he swung his hands blindly rubbing to clear them. As he was blinking and doubling over defensively, somebody knocked him down again, but by then he was almost able to see and recognized the sharp sticky sweet smell of shaving cream.

He rolled away, wiping his sleeves across his face. The shaving bomb lay among the fighters now, its valve broken off and top blown free, spinning and spitting gobs of white lather in every direction. Both sides were slipping on the soapy grass and the cement sidewalk was little better—as in another second two more bombs landed almost simultaneously, spreading their foam in widening circles of chaos.

Illya ran up to him, face smeared. "I think this is what they would call a riot now?"

"Only a newspaper would call it that," said Napoleon, catching his breath. "This is just a little horseplay."

"I wonder what Baldwin did to inspire such loyalty?"

"He'll have to tell us eventu...Look out!"

Two club-swinging Thrushes charged from the throng towards them. Illya whirled and ducked, catching the first just below his center of gravity with a braced forearm to help him over. The other jumped aside to avoid going the same route, but slipped on a patch of shaving lather. His arms windmilled frantically as his feet skidded diagonally out from under him and he seemed to fly under his own power for almost six feet until he crashed face down at the unmoving feet of Napoleon Solo.

He looked down at Illya and said, "Why do you always do it the hard way?"

Some more of the Thrushes had made it back to their cars, and were struggling to get into them as more paint bombs burst on and around them. Suddenly motors roared up the next street and tires squealed around the corner into the campus. Five cars painted in gaudy colors swung into the Quad and thundered across the street. Heads and arms stuck out the windows waving beer bottles and banners and yelling. The doors burst open on all sides even before the cars were stopped, and at least two dozen howling collegians tumbled out and leaped into the melee.

Instinctively Napoleon and Illya faded back towards Williams Hall. As they did, the Russian asked, "Who are they?"

"I'm not sure," said Napoleon. "What color uniform are they wearing?"

"Would you believe blue and red?"