Timeline - Crichton Michael - Страница 58
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"By high nones."
"Faith, then it is nigh finished."
"Lord Oliver will haste to sup, and prepare for the Archpriest."
She listened, trying to count the different voices. How many guards had there been? She tried to remember. At least three. Maybe five. She hadn't paid attention at the time.
Damn.
"They say the Archpriest brings a thousand men-at-arms…"
A shadow crossed the floor, outside her door. That meant they were now on both sides of the cell door.
What could she do? All she knew was that she couldn't let herself be captured. She was a woman; she had no business here; they would rape her and kill her.
But, she reflected, they didn't know she was a woman. Not yet. There was silence outside the door, then a scuffling of feet. What would they do next?
Probably send one man into the cell while the others waited outside. And meanwhile the others would get set, draw their swords, and raise them high-
She couldn't wait. Crouching low, she bolted.
She banged into a guard as he came through the door, hitting him at knee level from the side, and with a howl of pain and surprise, he fell backward. There were shouts from the other guards, but then she was through the door, a sword clanged down against stone behind her, spitting sparks, and she was running up the corridor.
"A woman! A woman!"
They ran after her.
She was in the spiral staircase now, going up fast. From somewhere below, she heard the clank of their armor as they started up after her. But then she had reached the ground floor, and without thinking, she did the immediate thing: she ran straight into the great hall.
It was deserted, the tables set for a feast, the food not yet laid out. She ran past the tables, looking for a place to hide. Behind the tapestries? No, they were flat to the wall. Under the tablecloths? No, they would look there and find her. Where? Where? She saw the huge fireplace, the fire still burning high. Wasn't there a secret passage out of the dining room? Was that passage here in Castelgard, or was it in La Roque? She couldn't remember. She should have paid more attention.
In her mind's eye she saw herself, wearing khaki shorts and a Polo T-shirt and Nike sneakers, moving lazily through the ruins, taking notes on her pad. Her concerns - to the extent she'd had any at all - had been to satisfy her scholarly peers.
She should have paid more attention!
She heard the men approaching. There was no more time. She ran toward the nine-foot-high fireplace and stepped behind the huge gilded circular screen. The fire was blazing hot, waves of heat radiating against her body. She heard the men coming into the room, shouting, running, looking. She crouched behind the screen, held her breath and waited.
She heard kicking and banging, the clatter of dishes on tables as they searched. She could not make out their voices clearly; they merged with the roar of the flames behind her. There was a metal clang as something fell over; it sounded like a torch stand, something big.
She waited.
One man barked a question, and she heard no reply. Another shouted a question, and this time she heard a soft answer. It didn't sound like a man. Who were they talking to? It sounded like a woman. Kate listened: Yes, it was a woman's voice. She was sure of it.
Another exchange, and then the sound of clanking armor as the men ran from the room. Peering around the edge of the gilded screen, she saw them vanish through the doorway.
She waited a moment, then stepped from behind the screen.
She saw a young girl of ten or eleven. She wore a white cloth that wrapped over her head, so only her face showed. She had a loose sort of dress, rose-colored, that came almost to the floor. She carried a gold pitcher, and was pouring water into goblets at the tables.
The girl met her eyes and just stared.
Kate waited for her to cry out, but she did not. She just stared curiously at Kate for a moment and then said, "They went upstairs."
Kate turned and ran.
Inside the cell, Marek heard the blare of trumpets, and the distant roar of the tournament crowds, drifting in from one of the high windows. The guard looked up unhappily, swore at Marek and the Professor, and then walked back to his stool.
The Professor said quietly, "Do you still have a marker?"
"Yes," Marek said. "I do. Do you have yours?"
"No, I lost it. About three minutes after I got here."
The Professor had landed, he said, in the forested flatlands near the monastery and the river. ITC had assured him this would be a deserted spot, but ideally situated. Without going far from the machine, he could see all the principal sites of his dig.
What happened was pure bad luck: the Professor landed just as a party of woodcutters was heading into the forest to work for the day, their axes over their shoulders.
"They saw the flashes of light, and then they saw me, and they all fell to their knees, praying. They thought they had seen a miracle. Then they decided they hadn't, and the axes came off their shoulders," the Professor said. "I thought they were going to kill me, but fortunately I knew Occitan. I convinced them to take me to the monastery. Let the monks settle it."
The monks took him away from the woodcutters, stripped him, and searched his body for stigmata. "They were looking in rather unusual places," the Professor said. "That's when I demanded to see the Abbot. The Abbot wanted to know the location of the passage in La Roque. I suspect he's promised it to Arnaut. Anyway, I suggested it might be in the monastic documents." The Professor grinned. "I was willing to go through his parchments for him."
"Yes?"
"And I think I have found it."
"The passage?"
"I think so. It follows an underground river, so it is probably quite extensive. It starts in a place called the green chapel. And there is a key to finding the entrance."
"A key?"
The guard snarled something, and Marek broke off speaking for a moment. Chris got up, brushing the damp off his hose. He said, "We have to get out of here. Where is Kate?"
Marek shook his head. Kate was still free, unless the shouts from the guards he'd heard down the hallway meant that she'd been captured. But he didn't think they'd caught her. So if he could make contact with her, she might be able to help get them out.
That meant somehow overpowering the guard. The problem was that there were at least twenty yards from the bend in the corridor to where the guard was sitting on his stool. There was no way to take him by surprise. But if Kate was within range of their earpieces, then he could-
Chris was banging on the bars of the cell and shouting, "Hey! Guard! Hey, you!"
Before Marek could speak, the guard stepped into view, looking curiously at Chris, who had reached one hand through the bars and was beckoning him. "Hey, come here! Hey! Over here!"
The guard walked up to him, swatted Chris's hand, which extended through the bar, and then broke into a sudden fit of coughing as Chris sprayed him with the gas canister. The guard wobbled on his feet. Chris reached through the bars again, grabbed the guard by the collar, and sprayed a second time right in his face.
The guard's eyes rolled up in his head, and he dropped like a rock. Still holding on, Chris's arm banged against the crossbars; he yelled in pain, then released the guard, who fell away from the bars and collapsed in the middle of the floor.
Far out of reach.
"Nice work," Marek said. "What's next?"
"You know, you might help me," Chris said. "You're very negative." He was down on his knees, reaching through the bars to his armpit, his hand grasping outside. His outstretched fingers could almost reach the guard's foot. Almost, but not quite. Six inches from the sole of his foot. Chris stretched, grunting. "If we just had something - a stick, or a hook - something to pull him.. .."
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