"No maniac can elude Mongols, not even a freaking one," Kula shot back as pedestrians dodged back before their ponies' driving hooves.
The limo cut up a street. They went around the corner too. One pony skidded on the turn and wiped out. The others kept going.
Up another street, the limo slid like a black ghost. They negotiated the corner with difficulty. Horses were not made for racing through twisting city streets at full gallop.
On the next straightaway, a gleaming silver tube slid out from the rear deck.
Remo raised his voice in warning just as oil squirted out. Too late.
Several of the unshod lead ponies ran into the oil slick. Their hooves went every which way, except the direction they had been going. The horses stumbled and collided. The snapping of bones was audible.
Remo yanked his mount aside just in time. Kula's reflexes were equally adept. But they lost several horses. Leaving their riders to put the crippled ones out of their misery, Remo led those horsemen still in their saddles around the sprawled panicky ponies painting the street with their blood.
They followed the tire tracks around the next corner.
The street was a cul-de-sac, ending in a high stone wall flanked by ordinary shops, where the tracks stopped dead.
They reined up, looking every which way.
"Where did it go?" Kula demanded angrily.
Remo pointed to the tracks. "Through that wall," he said. "Come on. I think this is where it's going to get complicated."
They dismounted outside the wall.
Remo leapt from the back of his mount to the top of the wall. He balanced there, looking down.
"What do you see?" Kula shouted up.
"Nothing!" Remo said bitterly. He was looking over a walled courtyard. The tire tracks picked up on the inner side of the wall. But they stopped dead in the middle of the windswept snow that covered the empty courtyard.
Remo jumped down. He knelt on the half-exposed stone flags, while Mongols clambered over the wall, brandishing knives and short swords. Some of them wept silently. They were those who had lost their ponies to the oil slick.
"This is impossible," Kula said, looking around with bewilderment flattening his bronze-gong face.
The blank walls of several low buildings faced them on all three sides.
"It's under this slab," Remo said. He was digging around in the flags for a fingerhold. There was none, so he made a few with sharp blows of his hand.
"I could use a hand," Remo suggested.
"To do what?" Kula wondered.
"To turn this slab over."
Kula translated for the others. The Mongols looked doubtful.
"Are you going to help or not?" Remo demanded.
The Mongols fell to it.
With Remo providing the main power to turn it, the Mongols helped tilt the slab up. It was perfectly balanced. Once they got it moving, it turned without complaint or resistance, although they could sense the movement of freeturning gearing.
When the slab had been reversed, the black limousine was exposed in all its long sleek terrible beauty to the suddenly wide eyes of Kula's Mongols. Claws held its wheels fast.
"I have never seen such magic," Kula said hoarsely.
"This guy must have setups like this everywhere he goes," Remo snapped, going around to the driver's window. He peered in.
The seat was empty. He went to the back. The windows were tinted. Remo placed an ear to the pane. He detected no heartbeat or sound of respiration.
"Damn!" Remo said. He turned to the others. "Okay, everyone give me a hand. We're going to turn it again."
"Why?" Kula asked in a reasonable voice. "We have the machine you seek."
"But not its owner. There must be a secret tunnel or hiding place under the courtyard. Let's do it!"
They got the slab revolving again. When it was balanced perpendicular to the ground, Remo called, "Hold it! Right here. Just keep it right here."
Remo looked down into the recess below. It was dark. He jumped in anyway.
The space was cold. He felt around the sides and walls. A section of stone sounded hollow to his tapping touch. He exerted pressure on it. It turned. It was hung on a pivot. One side went in, the other coming out.
Beyond it lay a dark tunnel.
"I found a tunnel," Remo shouted up. "Who wants to join in the fun?"
It was a foolish question to ask of Mongol fighters. With a single cry, they all jumped down. The heavy limousine pulled the slab down into place, limousine-side-up. Darkness overtook the underground recess.
"Didn't anybody think to stay back?" Remo said sourly.
"Mongols never shy away from danger," Kula said, sober-voiced.
"Let's go," Remo said. He led the way.
The tunnel ran in a straight line, then took a jog to the left. Remo peered around the edge, and seeing nothing but unrelieved blackness, went into it.
Another bend, this one right, brought them to a dead end and a ladder leading straight up.
Remo went up, finding a hatch. He levered it up with the palm of one hand and poked his head up, looking in every direction.
He saw another courtyard, covered with snow.
"What is there?" Kula demanded.
"Nothing," Remo said unhappily.