Nightgall and the guards, not contemplating any such attempt, were taken completely by surprise, but immediately started after him. Darting between the legs of the sentinel stationed at the entrance of the turret, who laughingly presented his partisan at him, Xit hurried up the circular staircase leading to the roof. His pursuers were quickly after him, shouting to him to stop, and threatening to punish him severely when they caught him. But the louder they shouted, the swifter the dwarf fled; and, being endowed with extraordinary agility, arrived, in a few seconds, at the doorway leading to the roof. Here half a dozen soldiers, summoned by the cries, were assembled to stop the fugitive. On seeing Xit, with whose person they were well acquainted—never supposing he could be the runaway—they inquired what was the matter.
“The prisoner! the prisoner!” shouted Xit, instantly perceiving their mistake, and pushing through them, “Where is he? What have you done with him?”
“No one has passed us,” replied the soldiers. “Who is it?”
“Lawrence Nightgall,” replied Xit, keeping as clear of them as he could. “He has been arrested by an order from the privy council, and has escaped.”
At this moment, Nightgall made his appearance, and was instantly seized by the soldiers. An explanation quickly ensued, but, in the meantime, Xit had flown across the roof, and reaching the opposite turret at the south-east angle, sprang upon the platform, and clambering up the side of the building at the hazard of his neck, contrived to squeeze himself through a loophole.
“We have him safe enough,” cried one of the soldiers, as he witnessed Xit’s manœuvre. “Here is the key of the door opening into that turret, and he cannot get below.”
So saying, he unlocked the door and admitted the whole party into a small square chamber, in one corner of which was the arched entrance to a flight of stone steps. Up these they mounted, and as they gained the room above, they perceived the agile mannikin creeping through the embrasure.
“Have a care!” roared Nightgall, who beheld this proceeding with astonishment; “you will fall into the court below and be dashed to pieces.”
Xit replied by a loud laugh, and disappeared. When Nightgall gained the outlet, he could see nothing of him, and after calling to him for some time and receiving no answer, the party adjourned to the leads, where they found he had gained the cupola of the turret, and having clambered up the vane, had seated himself in the crown by which it was surmounted. In this elevated, and as he fancied, secure position, he derided his pursuers, and snapping off a piece of the iron-work, threw it at Nightgall, with so good an aim that it struck him in the face.
A council of war was now held, and it was resolved to summon the fugitive to surrender; when, if he refused to comply, means must be taken to dislodge him. Meanwhile, the object of this consultation had been discovered from below. His screams and antics had attracted the attention of a large crowd, among whom were his friends the giants. Alarmed at his arrest, they had followed to see what became of him, and were passing the foot of the turret at the very moment when he had reached its summit. Xit immediately recognised them, and hailed them at the top of his voice. At first, they were unable to make out whence the noise proceeded; but at length, Gog chancing to look up, perceived the dwarf, and pointed him out to his companions.
Xit endeavoured to explain his situation, and to induce the giants to rescue him; but they could not hear what he said, and only laughed at his gestures and vociferations. Nightgall now called to him in a peremptory tone to come down. Xit refused, and pointing to the crown in which he was seated, screamed, “I have won it, and am determined not to resign it. I am now in the loftiest position in the Tower. Let him bring me down who can.”
“I will be no longer trifled with,” roared Nightgall. “Lend me your arquebus, Winwike. If there is no other way of dislodging that mischievous imp, I will shoot him as I would a jackdaw.”