charges.'
The three of us went left through a large oak door into a stone-floored ante-room. At the end of this room was another door, which led to a small passageway. We had to cross this passageway and enter the door directly opposite us, which would take us into a room once used by visiting school groups. Unfortunately the passageway was open to the courtyard. Although we'd be in shadow we'd be visible to anyone in the courtyard as we made our dash from room to room. Norton looked out the window and indicated that there was no-one around, so Mac cracked open the door and jumped across. Norton followed suit and I went last. As I stepped out into the passageway I heard a noise to my right and froze, flattening myself against the wall, trying to force myself into the shadows.
A group of men and women were making their way across the courtyard. All were dressed casually in jeans and t-shirts. They were gossiping sleepily, rubbing their eyes, off to morning worship in the chapel. If it hadn't been for the dried blood in their hair and on their faces you'd have thought they were students. They entered the building on the far side of the courtyard and I hurried after my comrades. We made our way through an old pantry and then we stopped at the far door. Beyond this door lay a small room and beyond that lay the crypt, where the captives were kept. We were expecting at least one guard on the door.
Mac and Norton drew their knives, stood side by side at the door and, on a silent count of three, opened the door and stepped inside. I heard a brief scuffle and a muffled groan, then nothing. Mac's face appeared at the door, grinning.
I followed them, past the dead body of a young woman, slumped in a corner with her eyes staring into space and her throat slit open. Mac was wiping his knife clean on her shirt.
The next door would lead us into the crypt. With luck there'd be no guards inside, only prisoners. My heart was pumping for all it was worth as I turned the handle and pushed open the door. The crypt was a low-ceilinged room of white stone with a brick floor. Huddled together in this space were around forty people, crammed in tightly, most of them asleep, curled up against each other for warmth.
Stage two accomplished.
'Me, Keegan and Norton will make our way to the crypt. There's two doors to the crypt but only one of them locks, so there's a guard on the one that doesn't. Luckily that's the door closest to our entrance point, so we should be able to take out the guard easy.
'By this point the Blood Hunters should all be safely settled into the big chapel for morning worship, which starts at 6:15 and lasts about half an hour. We should have woken the prisoners and taken control of both bridges by half-past. They'll still be singing hymns and getting ready for the morning sacrifice, which happens at half-past, sharp.
'Now, the sacrifice is chosen the night before and spends the night locked up in the bedroom of the cult leader, David. And yes, before you ask, both boys and girls receive his personal attentions. They're drugged and then brought to the chapel for the morning show. They're blessed as part of the ceremony and then the whole shebang moves from the chapel to the top of the main tower above the west bridge. It's the most important ritual of their day, apparently, and they like to do lots of shouting; y'know, 'hallelujah', 'praise be', that sort of cobblers. Point is, they'll be making lots of noise and, apart from the guards on the bridges, who are excused, everyone will be there.'
We closed the door behind us and scanned the room for Petts. The few captives who were not asleep sat up to take a look at us. I put my finger to my lips and they nodded, becoming alert as they realised what was going on. I recognised most of them from the market at Hildenborough.
'Very quietly, wake the person next to you,' I whispered, and the room gradually came to life in a frenzy of shushing. I tiptoed through the half-asleep bodies to the far door and put my ear to it, but could hear no sound outside. I checked my watch. 6:20. Loads of time.
The chapel was on the north side of the house and one floor up, so there was little chance of us being heard, but there was no point taking risks. All three of us moved through the mass of captives whispering for quiet until everyone was awake. We found Petts, alive and well, huddled up with a young girl in the corner. Held prisoner by a blood cult, with nothing to look forward to but a gruesome death, and he had managed to pull. I was impressed. I don't think anyone has ever been so glad to see me in my life. He hugged me, which made me wince as he pressed on my tender stab wound.
'Williams is here, too,' he told me.
Shit. I turned to try and find him but I was too late. Mac had him up against the far wall with a knife to his throat. I tried to push my way through the tightly packed crowd to intervene. Williams' eyes were popping out in terror; he must have thought we'd come all this way for revenge.
'You sold us out,' Mac hissed.
Williams couldn't say a thing, he just shook with fear.
'Mac, leave him,' I said urgently, fighting my way forward. 'We don't have time for this.'
'You're right,' he said. 'We don't.'
Before I could reach them he drew his knife across Williams' throat. As the boy slid down the wall with a wet, gargled scream, his hands grasping at the gaping wound, trying to push the raw red gash together, trying to push his blood back in, Mac hissed into his face: 'That's what we do to traitors.'
Before I could react a woman behind me, half awake, unsure what was going on, saw the blood and began to scream.
'They've come for us, they've come for us! Oh God, oh God, I don't want to die.'
The man next to her slapped her hard across the face.
'Shut up you stupid cow, we're being rescued.' It was the guard from Hildenborough, Mr Cheshire Cheese. He looked up at me, desperate. 'We are being rescued, right?'
'Yeah,' said Mac. 'Just taking care of a little unfinished business. Nothing for you to worry about.'
There was a sad, feeble gasp from Mac's feet as Williams breathed his last.
Norton found my gaze and held it. I saw his jaw clench and his eyes widen. His knuckles went white on the grip of his knife.
Now?
Oh, how I wanted to shoot Mac there and then. But there were too many people around; the plan was going too well. It could derail everything and get us killed if I took him out now.
I gave a single, almost imperceptible shake of the head.
Not yet.
Cheshire Cheese stood up, electing himself spokesman for the prisoners.
'You're from the school right?' he said to me. 'I remember you.'
'I should hope so,' I replied. 'My execution was the big draw, after all.'
'I suppose I should be grateful you survived, then, huh.'
'I suppose you should.'
'So what's the plan?'
Mac took his small waterproof backpack off, opened it up and started handing out the guns.
While the ten most capable prisoners were selected and armed, Norton got to work on the locked door. That's when things started to go wrong.
'Once we've armed the prisoners, we get through the locked door, go through one more room, and all we've got to do then is walk out across the east bridge. Then, once we're clear, we blow the bridges, trap the fuckers in their little moated manor house, and burn the place to the ground. Take care of these blood suckers once and for all. Piece of cake.'
Plan A – forcing the lock – didn't work.
'I can't pick it. This lock is ancient.'
Plan B – shoulder charging it – didn't work.
'It's no use, it's too solid, even three of us charging at once can't budge it.'
Plan C – shooting out the lock – didn't work.
'Fuck it, they might have heard that. Time to move.'
Plan D – blowing the thing open with a grenade and running like hell before the Blood Hunters had time to mobilise – was abandoned when it was pointed out that the crypt was tiny and the explosion would deafen those it didn't kill.
