Oliver snorted, again unhappy. 'You are clever with words.'
'My Lord, your own actions tell you which castle is superior.'
'Very well. But Magister, if I go to La Roque, you go with me. And if another finds that secret entrance before you have told me of it, I will myself see that you die in a way that will make Edward's end' - he cackled at his pun - 'appear a kindness.'
'I take your meaning,' Johnston said.
'Do you? Then see you take it to heart.'
Chris Hughes stared out the window.
Sixty feet below him, the courtyard lay in shadow. Men and women in their finery drifted toward the lighted windows of the great hall. He heard the faint sounds of music. The festive scene made him feel even more morose, more isolated. The three of them were going to be killed - and there was nothing they could do about it.
They were locked in a small chamber, high in the central tower of the castle keep, overlooking the castle walls and the town beyond. This was a woman's room, with a spinning wheel and an altar off to one side, perfunctory signs of piety overwhelmed by the enormous bed with red plush coverings and fur trim in the center of the room. The door to the room was of solid oak, and fitted with a new lock. Sir Guy himself had locked the door, after placing one guard inside the room, sitting by the door, and two others outside.
They were taking no chances this time.
Marek sat on the bed, staring into space, lost in thought. Or perhaps he was listening; he had one hand cupped around his ear. Meanwhile, Kate paced restlessly, moving from one window to the next, inspecting the view from each. At the farthest window, she leaned way out, looking down, then walked to the window where Chris was standing and leaned out again.
'The view here is just the same,' Chris said. Her restlessness annoyed him.
Then he saw she was reaching out to run her hand along the wall at the side of the window, feeling the stones and the mortar.
He stared at her, questioning.
'Maybe,' she said, nodding. 'Maybe.'
Chris reached out and touched the wall. The masonry was nearly smooth, the wall curving and sheer. It was a straight drop to the courtyard below.
'Are you joking?' he said.
'No,' she said. 'I'm not.'
He looked out again. In the courtyard, there were many others besides the courtiers. A group of squires talked and laughed as they cleaned the armor and groomed the horses of the knights. To the right, soldiers patrolled the parapet wall. Any of them could turn and look up if her movement caught their eye.
'You'll be seen.'
'From this window, yes. Not from the other. Our only problem is him.' She nodded toward the guard at the door. 'Can you do anything to help?'
Sitting on the bed, Marek said, 'I'll take care of it.'
'What the hell is this?' Chris said, very annoyed. He spoke loudly. 'You don't think I can do this myself?'
'No, I don't.'
'Damn it, I'm sick of the way you treat me,' Chris said. He was furious; looking around for something to fight with, he picked up the little stool by the spinning wheel and started toward Marek.
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
