The Camelot Caper by Elizabeth Peters

she fell into one which she had not seen. The field, which had looked so smooth and flat at a distance, was covered with pitfalls—concave and convex, sharp, wet or muddy. There were fences. There were hedges—thorny hedges. There were streams, and mud puddles, and broad stretches of boggy land through which they dragged their feet with the horrid slow motion of nightmare. Before they had crossed the second field, Jessica’s vivid pink raincoat was no longer a landmark; a tumble into a particularly large puddle had coated it with the drab brown David had mentioned as desirable. David had lost his jacket wriggling through a prickly hedge and his face was zebra-striped with scratches from the same source.
    If either had thought of returning to the road, that idea was discouraged by the sight of a pair of headlights traveling with specific slowness parallel to their own panting, crashing route. As she caught her ankle wrenchingly in a rabbit hole, Jess wished she had tapped Villain Number Two much harder.
    The only comforting segment of a generally hellish situation was the knowledge that it was Cousin John who was chasing them across the fields. Jess had heard enough from him to know that he would particularly loathe this activity; she guessed, as well, that their best hope of eventual escape lay in the fact that Cousin John was just as inept as she at broken field running. Twice she had looked back to see the pursuing shape flounder and fall; the joy of that sight, plus the echo of curses carried on the gentle breeze, had given her a new burst of strength.
    At last even David’s long legs tired, and he drew up with a snort like that of a winded horse and pulled her close to him—not so much, she suspected, to support her frail frame as to leanon her. Despite the cool night air, his shirt was plastered to his back and chest. He had also acquired his share of mud.
    â€œI can’t—go much—farther,” she gasped, when she had collected enough breath to speak.
    â€œHe stopped…too,” David said. “Lazy clod…”
    â€œWhat are we…going to do?”
    â€œFind…something—eventually…. House, town…”
    â€œWhere are we?”
    David groaned.
    â€œNo idea.”
    â€œCan’t you spot…star or something?”
    Sheer indignation made David forget his heaving lungs.
    â€œGod save us, woman, do you expect me to scan the heavens for the North Star while I’m running an obstacle course? And what the hell good—Look out, here he comes again.”
    â€œCousin John” might not care for exercise, but he was, if nothing else, persevering. He came on. And on. And on. As the moon climbed and shrank, the pursuit degenerated into a trot, and then into a walk. Jess stumped along beside her tall companion without even bothering to look back. She knew Cousin John was back there somewhere; she also knew that he probablywouldn’t catch up with them. She didn’t care. She wished she were back home. She wished she were in London, in bed. She wished she were dead.
    The moon threw their shadows along the grass ahead of them, strange elongated caricatures knobbly with the unevenness of the ground. Jess had long since abandoned the view. She imagined that it was quite lovely by moonlight. The peaceful fields of Somerset. Or was she in Wilts?
    â€œHell with it,” she said indistinctly. David, stumping along with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched, nodded.
    â€œBeautiful, succinct description of the situation.”
    Jess stumbled and caught at David’s arm for support. He promptly collapsed, and both ended up on their knees in a patch of bog.
    â€œYou’re just as tired as I am,” Jess said.
    â€œTired.” His arms draped loosely around her, his chin digging painfully into the top of her head, David sighed. “The degree of my fatigue may be measured by my lack of enthusiasm for what might