Fifty-two. Fifty-one.
She crouched down, and moved into the small side room where she first arrived. The water wheel was creaking, spraying water. She shut the low door, but it had no latch or lock. Anyone could come in.
Fifty. Forty-nine.
She looked down. The opening in the floor, where the wheel continued its rotation downward, was wide enough to allow her to pass through. Now all she had to do was grab one of the passing paddles and ride the wheel down until she was low enough to drop safely into the shallow water.
But as she faced the water wheel, trying to time her move, she realized it was easier said than done. The wheel seemed to be turning very fast, the paddles blurring past her. She felt the water spatter her face, blurring her vision. How much time was left? Thirty seconds? Twenty? Staring at the wheel, she'd lost track. But she knew she couldn't wait. If Chris was right, the entire mill would explode any second now. Kate reached forward, grabbed a passing paddle - started to fall with it - chickened out - released it - reached again - chickened out - and then pulled back, took a breath, steadied herself, got ready again.
She heard the thump of men jumping down from the upper floor, one after another, into the adjacent room. She had no time left.
She had to go.
She took a deep breath, grabbed the next paddle with both hands, pressing her body against the wheel. She slipped through the opening - and emerged into sunlight - she had made it! - until suddenly she was yanked away from the wheel, and found herself hanging in midair.
She looked up.
Robert de Kere held her arm in a steel grip. Reaching down through the opening, he had caught her at the last moment as she descended. And now he was holding her, dangling her in the air. Inches away, the wheel continued to turn. She tried to twist free of de Kere's grip. His face was grim, determined as he watched her.
She struggled.
He held tight.
Then she saw something change in his eyes - some instant of uncertainty - and the soggy wooden floor began to give way beneath him. Their combined weight was too much for the old wood planking, which for years had been soaked by water from the wheel. The planks now bent slowly downward. One plank broke soundlessly, and de Kere's knee went through, but still he held her fast.
How much time? she thought. With her free hand, she pounded on de Kere's wrist, trying to make him release her.
How much time?
De Kere was like a bulldog, hanging on, never letting go. Another plank in the floor broke, and he lurched sideways. If another broke, he would fall through alongside her.
And he didn't care. He would hang on to the end.
How much time?
With her free hand, she grabbed a passing paddle and used the force of the wheel to drag her body downward against de Kere's restraining grip. Her arms burned with the tension, but it worked - the boards cracked - de Kere was falling through - he released her - and she fell the final few feet toward boiling white water around the wheel.
And then there was a flash of yellow light, and the wooden building above her vanished in a hot roar. She glimpsed boards flying in all directions, and then she upended and plunged head first into the icy water. She saw stars, briefly, and then she lost consciousness beneath the churning water.
09:04:01
Chris was awakened by the shouts of soldiers. He looked up, to see soldiers running across the mill bridge in great confusion. He saw a monk in a white robe climb out a window from the larger building, then he realized it was Marek, hacking at someone inside with his sword. Marek slid down on vines until he was low enough to risk jumping, then dropped into the river. Chris didn't see Marek come to the surface.
He was still watching when the flour mill exploded in a blast of light and flying timbers. Soldiers, thrown into the air by the force of the explosion, tumbled like dolls from the battlements. As the smoke and dust cleared, he saw that the flour mill was gone - all that remained were a few wooden timbers, now burning. Dead soldiers floated in the river below, which was thick with boards from the shattered mill.
He still didn't see Marek anywhere, and he didn't see Kate, either. A white monk's robe drifted past him, carried by the current, and he had the sudden sick feeling that she was dead.
If so, then he was alone. Risking communication, he tapped his earpiece and said softly, 'Kate. Andrй.'
There was no response.
'Kate, are you there? Andrй?'
He heard nothing in his earpiece, not even static.
He saw a man's body floating face down in the river, and it looked like Marek. Was it? Yes, Chris was sure: dark-haired, big, strong, wearing a linen undershirt. Chris groaned. Soldiers farther up the bank were shouting; he turned to see how close they were. When he looked back at the river again, the body had floated away.
Chris dropped back down behind the bushes and tried to figure out what to do next.
Kate broke the surface, lying on her back. She floated helplessly downstream with the current. All around her, beams of jagged wood were smashing down into the water like missiles. The pain in her neck was so severe it made her gasp for breath, and with each breath, electric shocks streaked down her arms and legs. She couldn't move her body at all, and she thought she was paralyzed, until she slowly realized that she could move the very tips of her fingers, and her toes. The pain began to withdraw, moving up her limbs, localizing now in her neck, where it was very severe. But she could breathe a little better, and she could move all her limbs. She did it again: yes, she could move her limbs.
So she wasn't paralyzed. Was her neck broken? She tried a small movement, turning ever so slightly to the left, then to the right. It was painful as hell, but it seemed okay. She drifted. Something thick was dripping into her eye, making it hard to see. She wiped it away, saw blood on her fingertips. It must be coming from somewhere on her head. Her forehead burned. She touched it with the flat of her hand. Her palm was bright red with blood.
She drifted downstream, still on her back. The pain was still so strong, she didn't feel confident to roll over and swim. For the moment, she drifted. She wondered why the soldiers hadn't seen her.
Then she heard shouts from the shore, and realized that they had.
Chris peered over the bushes just in time to see Kate floating on her back downstream. She was injured; the whole left side of her face was covered in blood, flowing from her scalp. And she wasn't moving much. She might be paralyzed.
For a moment, their eyes met. She smiled slightly. He knew if he revealed himself now he would be captured, but he didn't hesitate. Now that Marek was gone, he had nothing to lose; they might as well stay together to the end. He splashed into the water, wading out to her. Only then did he realize his mistake.
He was within bowshot of the archers still on the remaining bridge tower, and they began firing at him, arrows hissing into the water.
Almost immediately, a knight in full armor splashed out on horseback into the river from Arnaut's side. The knight wore his helmet, and it was impossible to see his face, but he evidently feared nothing, for he placed his body and horse in a position to block the archers. His horse sank deeper as it came forward, and it was eventually swimming, the knight waist-deep in the water when he hauled Kate across his saddle like a wet sack and then grabbed Chris by the arm, saying, 'Allons!' as he turned back to shore.
Kate slid off the saddle and onto the ground. The knight barked an order, and a man carrying a flag with diagonal red-and-white stripes came running up. He examined Kate's head injury, cleaned it and stanched the bleeding, then bandaged it with linen.
Meanwhile, the knight dismounted, unlaced his helm, and removed it. He was a tall and powerful man, extraordinarily handsome and dashing, with dark wavy hair, dark eyes, a full, sensuous mouth, and a twinkle in his eyes that suggested amusement at the foolish ways of the world. His complexion was dark, and he looked
