last. ‘Supposed to come out somewhere in the lower meadow.’
‘Which is where?’
The Captain thought for a second and pointed to his left. ‘Roughly that direction.’
Thurloe nodded. The castle around him, a shambling warren of holes and tunnels and mistakes and possibilities. He pointed a long finger in the opposite direction. ‘And does the castle have any gate or door on the other side?’
‘Help him up then, man!’ The sentry, sullen but quick to take an order, bent to the task, but Langdale had gripped the saddle with his tied hands and swung himself over. Shay on his unfamiliar horse skittered beside him, stared down at the sentries as if in thought. ‘Can you two find mounts?’
‘You’ll need men with you, sir?’
‘I’ve a troop outside, but. . . No matter. Shouldn’t have a problem with this old relic.’
‘Pox-raddled, dirty traitor!’ – and Langdale lunged at him; Shay batted him back into his saddle. Ahead, the gate swung open.
Thurloe striding through the castle corridors, deducing his way through the maze with the Captain trotting behind him calling suggestions; and then Governor Hutchinson loomed in front of him as he spun round a narrow turn. ‘We’ve got him!’
A confusion of limbs and words and thoughts, then: ‘Got him?’
The Governor, breathing hard and somehow heated: ‘Got Langdale. They’re taking him away now – that third man of yours and a couple of my men.’ He glared at Thurloe: ‘Your man’s a bit damned rud—’
‘A third man?’ A second of confusion, then instinct faster than deduction, and Thurloe barged the Governor aside and was charging through the warren, the Captain still clattering after him.
Shay was at the gate, ducking his head under the arch as his nag clopped ponderously over the uneven stones.
Ahead, through the gate, a short wooden bridge and then open ground. Something snagged in his hearing, some imperfection in the stolid rhythms of the castle. The hooves trod hollow and heavy over the stone.
He had Langdale’s horse on a long rein, following behind him, the old General slumped and scowling.
‘Stop those men!’
The horses’ ears pricked up, and the heads of Langdale and the two sentries whirled up to seek the sound, but Shay had yanked on the long rein and kicked viciously at his horse. Beyond the open ground the trees. If they could make the trees. . .
Thurloe, a frozen moment as he saw conspiracy happening in front of him, and then he was stumbling down rough steps, hands snagging and scratching against stone, the Captain above him repeating the shout: ‘Stop those men!’
A uniform meant an order, and the nearest of the sentries lunged for Langdale’s horse. Shay was through the gate, but the unknown horse wasn’t having it. It hesitated, skittered round, and backed into Langdale now accelerating through. The old General swore, pulled at his horse’s neck, kicked into the flanks, but now there was some new pull on him, the beast swerving odd and heavy beneath him. Then Shay moving past him back through the gate, the horses squeezing and shuffling, a flick of a knife to release his hands, and Shay lashed out with his boot at the man clutching the saddle. Suddenly free, the knife grabbed and in his belt, Langdale kicked at his horse again and was away through the gate, Shay spinning and hurrying after, with the man in black no more than a strange stain across his blurring vision.
Hooves rattling and echoing on the planks of the bridge, and now there were more men closing in on it from the other end. Langdale’s horse reared at the sight of blades, and there were three, four soldiers blocking their way. Shay kicked his animal into the charge and for once it obeyed, but there wasn’t the distance to gather speed. One man went sprawling, but other hands were scrabbling at his legs, reins, saddle. A blade appeared and flashed in his hand, and another man went down with a scream, but he was slow now and
‘Which is where?’
The Captain thought for a second and pointed to his left. ‘Roughly that direction.’
Thurloe nodded. The castle around him, a shambling warren of holes and tunnels and mistakes and possibilities. He pointed a long finger in the opposite direction. ‘And does the castle have any gate or door on the other side?’
‘Help him up then, man!’ The sentry, sullen but quick to take an order, bent to the task, but Langdale had gripped the saddle with his tied hands and swung himself over. Shay on his unfamiliar horse skittered beside him, stared down at the sentries as if in thought. ‘Can you two find mounts?’
‘You’ll need men with you, sir?’
‘I’ve a troop outside, but. . . No matter. Shouldn’t have a problem with this old relic.’
‘Pox-raddled, dirty traitor!’ – and Langdale lunged at him; Shay batted him back into his saddle. Ahead, the gate swung open.
Thurloe striding through the castle corridors, deducing his way through the maze with the Captain trotting behind him calling suggestions; and then Governor Hutchinson loomed in front of him as he spun round a narrow turn. ‘We’ve got him!’
A confusion of limbs and words and thoughts, then: ‘Got him?’
The Governor, breathing hard and somehow heated: ‘Got Langdale. They’re taking him away now – that third man of yours and a couple of my men.’ He glared at Thurloe: ‘Your man’s a bit damned rud—’
‘A third man?’ A second of confusion, then instinct faster than deduction, and Thurloe barged the Governor aside and was charging through the warren, the Captain still clattering after him.
Shay was at the gate, ducking his head under the arch as his nag clopped ponderously over the uneven stones.
Ahead, through the gate, a short wooden bridge and then open ground. Something snagged in his hearing, some imperfection in the stolid rhythms of the castle. The hooves trod hollow and heavy over the stone.
He had Langdale’s horse on a long rein, following behind him, the old General slumped and scowling.
‘Stop those men!’
The horses’ ears pricked up, and the heads of Langdale and the two sentries whirled up to seek the sound, but Shay had yanked on the long rein and kicked viciously at his horse. Beyond the open ground the trees. If they could make the trees. . .
Thurloe, a frozen moment as he saw conspiracy happening in front of him, and then he was stumbling down rough steps, hands snagging and scratching against stone, the Captain above him repeating the shout: ‘Stop those men!’
A uniform meant an order, and the nearest of the sentries lunged for Langdale’s horse. Shay was through the gate, but the unknown horse wasn’t having it. It hesitated, skittered round, and backed into Langdale now accelerating through. The old General swore, pulled at his horse’s neck, kicked into the flanks, but now there was some new pull on him, the beast swerving odd and heavy beneath him. Then Shay moving past him back through the gate, the horses squeezing and shuffling, a flick of a knife to release his hands, and Shay lashed out with his boot at the man clutching the saddle. Suddenly free, the knife grabbed and in his belt, Langdale kicked at his horse again and was away through the gate, Shay spinning and hurrying after, with the man in black no more than a strange stain across his blurring vision.
Hooves rattling and echoing on the planks of the bridge, and now there were more men closing in on it from the other end. Langdale’s horse reared at the sight of blades, and there were three, four soldiers blocking their way. Shay kicked his animal into the charge and for once it obeyed, but there wasn’t the distance to gather speed. One man went sprawling, but other hands were scrabbling at his legs, reins, saddle. A blade appeared and flashed in his hand, and another man went down with a scream, but he was slow now and
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