Hanse clung and dangled. The water was cold.
In the circle of dim light above, Hanse saw Bourne’s helmeted head. Bourne,
peering down into a well, saw nothing.
‘If you happen to be alive, thief, keep the saddlebags! No one will ever find
you or them – or the Savankh you stole! You treacherously tricked us all, you
see, and fled with both ransom and Savankh. Doubtless I will be chastised
severely by His pretty Highness – and once I’m in Ranke again, I’ll be rewarded!
You have been a fool and a tool, boy, because I’ve friends back home in Ranke
who will be delighted by the way / have brought embarrassment and shame on
Prince Kittycat!’
Hanse, hurting and scared that the wood would yield, played dead. Strange how
cold water could be, forty feet down in a brick-walled shaft!
Grinning, Bourne walked over and picked up the Savankh, which His stupid
Highness would never see. He shoved it into his belt. Stuck his sword into the
ground. And began wrestling a huge stone to drop, just in case, down the well.
His horse whickered. Bourne, who had left his sword several feet away, froze. He
straightened and turned to watch the approach of two helmeted men. They bore
naked swords. One was a soldier. The other was – the Prince-Governor?!
‘We thank you for letting us hear your confession. Bourne, traitor.’
Bourne moved. He gained his sword. No slouch and no fool, he slashed the more
dangerous enemy. For an instant the soldier’s mail held Bourne’s blade. Then the
man crumpled. The blade came free and Bourne spun, just in time to catch the