The guard saw it, said, “Non, non, non” quickly as he went toward Chris. He never saw Marek hit him from behind with a metal candlestick. The guard crumpled, and Marek caught him, eased him silently to the floor. Blood was pouring from the guard’s head onto an Oriental carpet.
“Is he dead?” Chris said, staring at Marek.
“Who cares?” Marek said. “Just continue to talk quietly, so the ones outside hear our voices.”
They looked over, but Kate had already gone out the window.
:
It’s just a free solo, she told herself, as she clung to the tower wall, sixty feet in the air.
The wind pulled at her, rippling her clothes. She gripped the slight protrusions of the mortar with her fingertips. Sometimes the mortar crumbled away, and she had to grab, then grip again. But here and there, she found indentations in the mortar, large enough for her fingertips to fit in.
She’d flashed more difficult climbs. Any number of buildings at Yale were more difficult — although there, she’d always had chalk for her hands, and proper climbing shoes, and a safety rope. No safety here.
It isn’t far.
She’d climbed out the west window because it was behind the guard, because it faced toward the town, and so she would be less likely to be seen from the courtyard below — and because it was the shortest distance to the next window, which stood at the end of the hallway that ran outside the chamber.
It isn’t far, she told herself. Ten feet at most. Don’t rush it. No hurry. Just one hand, then a foothold . . . another hand . . .
Almost there, she thought.
Almost there.
Then she touched the stone windowsill. She got her first firm handgrip. She pulled herself up one-handed, then peered cautiously down the corridor.
There were no guards.
The hallway was empty.
Using both hands now, Kate pulled up, flopped onto the ledge, and slid over onto the floor. She was now standing in the hallway outside the locked door. Softly, she said, “I made it.”
Marek said, “Guards?”
“No. But no key, either.”
She inspected the door. It was thick, solid.
Marek said, “Hinges?”
“Yes. Outside.” They were made of heavy wrought iron. She knew what he was asking her. “I can see the pins.” If she could knock the pins out of the hinges, the door would be easy to break open. “But I need a hammer or something. There’s nothing here I can use.”
“Find something,” Marek said softly.
She ran down the corridor.
:
“De Kere,” Lord Oliver said as the knight with the scar came into the room. “The Magister counsels to remove to La Roque.”
De Kere gave a judicious nod. “The risk would be grave, sire.”
“And the risk to stay here?” Oliver said.
“If the Magister’s advice is true and good, and without other intent, why did his assistants conceal their identity when first they came to your court? Such concealment is not the mark of honesty, my Lord. I would you be satisfied of their answer for this conduct, before I put faith in this new Magister and his advisements.”
“Let us all be satisfied,” Oliver said. “Bring the assistants to me now, and we shall ask them what you wish to know.”
“My Lord.” De Kere bowed, and left the room.
:
Kate came out of the stairwell and slipped into the crowd in the courtyard. She was thinking that she could use a carpenter’s tool kit, or a blacksmith’s hammer, or maybe some of the tools the farrier used to shoe horses. Over to the left, she saw the grooms and the horses, and she started to drift in that direction. In the excited throng, nobody paid her any attention. She slipped easily toward the east wall, and was beginning to consider how to distract the grooms, when directly ahead she saw a knight standing very still and staring at her.
Robert de Kere.
Their eyes met for a moment, and then she turned and ran. From behind her she heard de Kere shout for help, and the answering cries from soldiers all around. She pushed forward through the crowd, which was suddenly an impediment, hands clutching at her, plucking at her clothes. It was like a nightmare. To escape the crowd, she went through the nearest door, slamming it behind her.
She found herself in the kitchen.
The room was dreadfully hot, and more crowded than the courtyard. Huge iron cauldrons boiled on fires in the enormous fireplace. A dozen capons turned on a row of spits, the crank turned by a child. She paused, uncertain what to do, and then de Kere came through the door after her, snarled, “You!” and swung his sword.
She ducked, scrambled among the tables of food being prepared. The sword crashed down, sending platters flying. She scrambled, crouched low, beneath the tables. The cooks began to yell. She saw a giant model of the castle, made in some kind of pastry, and headed there. De Kere was right after her.
The cooks were shouting “Non, Sir Robert, non!” in a kind of chorus from all around the room, and some of the men were so distressed that they came forward to stop him.
De Kere swung again. She ducked, and the sword decapitated the castle battlements, raising a cloud of white powder. At this, the chefs gave a collective shriek of agony and fell on de Kere from all sides, shouting that this was Lord Oliver’s favorite, that he had approved it, that Sir Robert must not do further damage. Robert rolled on the floor, swearing and trying to shake them off.
In the confusion, she ran back out the door again, into the afternoon light.
:
Off to the right she saw the curved wall of the chapel. The chapel was undergoing some restoration; there was a ladder going up the wall, and some perfunctory scaffolding on the roof, where tilers were making repairs.
She wanted to get away from the crowds, and the soldiers. She knew that on the far side of the chapel, a narrow passage ran between the chapel building and the outer wall of the castle tower. At least she would be out of the crowd if she went there. As she ran toward the passage, she heard de Kere behind her, shouting to the soldiers; he had gotten out of the kitchen. She ran hard, trying to gain some distance. She rounded the corner of the chapel. Looking back, she saw other soldiers running the other way around the chapel, intending to head her off at the far end of the passage.
Sir Robert barked more orders to the soldiers as he came around the corner after her — and then he stopped abruptly. The soldiers halted at his side, and everyone murmured in confusion.
They stared down a passage four feet wide between the castle and the chapel. The passage was empty. At the far end of the passage, other soldiers appeared, facing them.
The woman had disappeared.
:
Kate was clinging ten feet up the chapel wall, the outline of her body concealed by the decorative border of the chapel window and thick vines of ivy. Even so, she was easily visible if anyone looked up. But the passage was dark, and no one did. She heard de Kere shout angrily, “Go to the other assistants, and dispatch them now!”
The soldiers hesitated. “But Sir Robert, they assist the Magister of Lord Oliver—”
“And Lord Oliver himself commands it. Kill them all!”
The soldiers ran off, into the castle.
De Kere swore. He was talking to a remaining soldier, but they were whispering, and her ear translator crackled and she couldn’t make it out. In truth, she was surprised she had been able to hear as much as she had.
How had she been able to hear them? It seemed as if they were too far away to hear de Kere so clearly. And yet his voice was clear, almost amplified. Maybe the acoustics of the passage . . .
Glancing down, she saw that some soldiers hadn’t left. They were just milling about. So she couldn’t go back down. She decided to climb up onto the roof and wait until things were quieter. The roof of the chapel was still in sunlight: a plain peaked roof of tile, with small gaps where repairs were being made. The pitch was steep; she crouched at the gutter and said, “André.”
A crackle. She thought she heard Marek’s voice, but the static was bad.
“André, they’re coming to kill you.”
There was no answer, just more static.
“André?”
No answer.
Perhaps the walls around her were interfering with transmission; she might do better from the top of the roof. She began to climb the steep slope, easing around the tile repair sites. At each site, the mason had set up a small platform, with his mortar basin and stack of tiles. The chirp of birds made her pause. She saw there was actually a hole in the roof at these tiling sites, and—