XX: The Fiend ConfrontedAscending to ever more dizzying heights, the climb became nearly vertical, forcing us to inch upward along a narrow diagonal niche. Torn hands ached and bled, but there was no chance of turning back. Once, at a great distance below I thought for a moment that gunfire was audible: the boom of the Cossack’s fearsome trench-sweeper and the crash of a revolver discharging its cylinders without pause. Whatever the outcome for our companions, we had no choice but to go on. The moon had pulled a caul of vapor about itself again, and so we clambered on in darkness, feeling our way ahead over the moist black stone. An eerie lack of sound seemed to reign, the susurrus or the restless ocean only a mutter at the edge of hearing. Even the tearing wind did little more than whisper along the sharp ridges of the Citadel. It was as if time itself had paused for our progress, watching the struggle with bemused indifference, taking note only because it would all soon come to an unspeakable end. And indeed, the night had already been overlong, and shewed no signs of giving way to dawn. Perhaps, for mankind, it never would, it seemed.
Exhaustion dragged at the limbs of our small band, the detective inspector and I both panting raggedly, and Miss Zorah occasionally emitting a liquid cough. Her earlier energy seemed to have fled, and the full burden of her illness now weighed upon her shoulders. With little else to do, I prepared for the moment when she would no longer be able to continue, when my desperate plan would cause her untimely mortality. In the back of my mind I understood that likely none of our small band would see the following day, but the thought of an early end terrified me. I would have reached down a hand for her, but doing so would have risked my own plunge, quite possibly dislodging her as well. What little I could do to help was gasp encouragement and press onward myself in the hopes of reaching the top more expediently.
Suddenly from above a gunshot resounded, thunderously near, accompanied by a wild cry that nearly startled me from where I was clinging to the chill basalt. A scuffle could be heard, and then a despairing shriek, the source of which became apparent as a flailing Turk plummeted by within sight of our perch, his turban unraveling in a long stream of white as he vanished below. A series of other cries nearly indistinguishable from those of an animal echoed out over the abyssal drop, and then another shout as one more Turk tumbled past, this one giving the appearance of having leapt, rather than fell or been thrown. It seemed we had almost attained the summit of the Citadel without realizing in the dark, and even now some struggle was taking place there among M. Arterius’ followers. One final hoarse scream split the darkness, turning to a liquid death rattle. Inspector Vakarian paused, signaling down to Miss Zorah and myself that he had reached the edge of the pinnacle. I motioned him forward, and he inched up, cresting the brink with impressive silence and unslinging his rifle as he went. I followed, extending a hand down to Miss Zorah once I had reached safety.
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