Hell's Chimney

by Derek Smith

  He came to the forest. And once within it, was quickly lost. Within its leafy canopy he could no longer see the stars and it was hard to follow a path even though a half moon had risen. He fought through thicket, he walked into streams in his blindness. He scratched himself on bramble and holly. Without any sense of direction, he stumbled on, barely able to make out the spectre of trees against the blackness of night. He was going nowhere, rambling like a drunken man thrown out of the inn.

  He found himself a thick patch of leaves and lay down. Toby covered himself with his blanket and hoped for a few hours’ sleep. But he rolled restlessly on the leaves. Around him he could hear creeping in the forest as if ghostly things, the creatures of his dreams, were out to hunt him down. The cold seeped in, from the air and the dampness underneath. The blanket was useless. After rolling restlessly, he sat up and pulled his knees to his chest, huddling to hold in any warmth. But he shivered, his teeth chattering, the chill wiping him over with icy hands. He thought of Far and Orly lying together, and was glad to be where he was. As miserable as he was, as lonely and cold as he was. He hated his petulance, his jealousy. Here there were only trees to scream at.

  From outside the blanket, he felt a nuzzle distinctly. Something was out there. It brushed him on the thigh. Some animal. He thought wolf, he thought bear. Toby clutched at his knife and wished he could see whatever it was. Cautiously, he put his hand outside of his blanket and felt about. He felt softness. Fur. He moved along it and felt its warmth, blood pumping through. And then a smell he knew.

  Sly!

  He clutched at the animal. And she nuzzled him with her wet nose. He felt the bushy tail, and then cradled her to him. Pleased to grasp something alive that cared for him. Warmth on a cold night. Hope. He nuzzled his face into the fur.

  ‘However did you find me?’ he said softly.

  And she pulled out of his arms in a flurry of fur. For a second he felt abandoned, his hands empty of warmth. But realised what she was telling him. A message he had first translated more than a year ago.

  He must follow her.

  Chapter 64

  Orly and Far watched him climb down. And watched him disappear. They waited for a few hours thinking he might yet come back. And when he didn’t, they set off themselves. Slowly; they felt in no hurry to get wherever they were going.

  ‘It’s as if he’s still here,’ said Orly. ‘We can’t get away from him.’

  ‘I expect he has the same problem,’ said Far.

  ‘We were rather obvious,’ she said.

  Far shrugged.

  They were scrambling over rocks. Waiting for each other. There was no leader striding away from them.

  Far sat down on a rock.

  He said, ‘I am a peasant. You are a lady. How do we release ourselves from that?’

  ‘Up here, there are neither,’ she said.

  ‘Down there – there are both.’

  She pursed her lips but did not reply. The world overwhelmed them.

  ‘Where do you think he’s gone?’ she said at last.

  ‘To beat the Queen. All by himself.’

  Orly sprang up. ‘Then we’d better help him.’

  Far rose slowly. ‘I don’t really want to help him.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ she said. ‘But I do want to beat the Queen.’

  ‘Before she beats us,’ said Far.

  They continued walking throughout the day. Stopping to eat and drink, pleased to be with each other. And knowing that their time together might be short. Here, though, they were equal. No-one judged them. But below, every man and woman was a judge.

  The day closed down on them. Before it got truly dark, they found themselves a ring of shoulder-high rock. It would keep the wind out and they must just hope it wouldn’t rain.

  ‘If only we could stay up here,’ said Far.

  ‘No food, no water,’ said Orly.

  Far smiled.

  ‘Who needs to eat?’

  That night they shared their two blankets. And kept each other warm. There was no Toby to tell them of their place. No anyone else in the broad, wide world.

  They rose early. Ate and drank a little. The High Ridge, they knew, came down a few miles from the castle. And from a vantage point they could see it, above the surrounding villages, the sun rising over the walls. The towers had flags flying. They could just make out the guard on the battlements. The light glinted silver in the moat.

  ‘It’s not as close as it looks,’ she said.

  ‘I wish it was a hundred miles away,’ he said.

  She squeezed his hand.

  He said, ‘I could use the Voice. And tell Toby we are going to the castle.’

  She shook her head. ‘Don’t bother.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He doesn’t want to hear from you.’

  Far didn’t reply. He had no wish to speak to Toby. Say what? That he was sorry – when he wasn’t at all. If the King can be angry at the peasant, why can’t the peasant be angry at the King? In normal times the peasant would lose his head, but these were not normal times. And he was angry. Toby expected him to crawl.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ she said.

  He looked into the distance, at the banners flying from the towers. There was no way back.

  ‘We have to go on to the castle,’ he said.

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘Find the Queen. And kill her.’

  Orly clapped her hands and laughed.

  ‘Oh that’s so easy.’ She pulled him up. ‘Come on, Far.’

  The way was gentle for a while. And they were able to walk holding hands. They were losing height; it was becoming obvious to both that this was the slow climb down from the High Ridge.

  Something was bothering Far. And when they came to the ravine, he was not at all surprised. There had to be a good reason why they had seen no-one else on the High Ridge. And there lay the cause, deep and stark before them, and at its foot a rushing river.

  They walked along the edge of the ravine, looking over as they went, trying to find a place they could scramble down. Though how they would cross the river if they managed it – that they left to be worked out when they came to it.

  It was as if the ravine had been cut with a knife. The sides were sheer. Toby could have managed it. Maybe they could, with his help. Or if they had ropes, then perhaps they might have managed the climb down. But Toby wasn’t here, and the short lengths of rope binding their blankets to their shoulders were useless as climbing ropes.

  If there were no way down, then they would have to go back the way they had come, along the ridge for two days or more. A depressing thought. They lay on the edge and looked down the sides, envious of the birds that nested in holes lower down. They ate the last of the food, musing on this unforeseen difficulty. The bread was hard to swallow; each bite had to be taken with a mouthful or two of water. The cheese was rancid. Far managed his but Orly could not stomach hers, and so he had hers too.

  ‘Peasants eat what they are given,’ he teased.

  ‘Ladies don’t have to.’

  Below, the river racing over the rocks was music to their words. It danced white and wild, the restless energy invigorating them. They came to a place above a waterfall, the river bubbling over in a fierce curtain. Walking on, they found the water above the waterfall was quiet and fairly shallow. If they could get down, then there they could cross the river.

  It was then they came to the bridge.

  The sides were rope. The walkway was plank. Obvious too that this was a new bridge, the planks newly cut, the rope barely weathered. And it crossed from one side of the ravine to the other.

  Far said, ‘I don’t like this.’

  ‘It’s too convenient,’ agreed Orly.

  But it was a bridge and there was a ravine to cross. They went one before the other, Far first. He looked to the other side. There was a rocky outcrop with a way between, and then woodland. It all seemed clear. The planks were shaky, and they kept a hand on both of
the ropes as the bridge creaked and swayed beneath them. Far did not look down to the river below, his legs wobbly with vertigo. Instead he kept an eye to where he was going, and his hands firmly on the side ropes.

  He thought, if this bridge should fall – could I climb up? And he imagined the far end collapsing, and him holding on for sheer life with Orly tumbling on top of him… their free end bashing into the cliff like a pendulum. But he was already at the middle and it seemed the bridge was well made, and although it wobbled, there was no sign of it detaching.

  He made a half-turn to see how Orly was getting on. She grinned, took one hand off and gave him a wave. It seemed she was enjoying it more than he was. Breathe easily, he told himself. Keep putting one foot in front of the other, and don’t look down…

  At last Far stepped off the bridge, onto firm ground – and, in relief, turned to watch Orly complete the last few paces. But she was not there.

  ‘Orly!’ he called.

  ‘Sh!’ she hissed and touched him on the shoulder.

  There – but invisible. And seeing what Far had not. For when he turned to the front, it was to face two soldiers a few paces ahead. Where had they come from? They were stern-faced, wearing tunics and carrying spears. He could see just beyond them a way through the rocky outcrop, and a little way along it a little wooden shack just sticking out of a recess. Obviously they were the guards of the bridge. Orly had been quick enough to use her gift. Far hoped he could somehow persuade the soldiers that his journey was lawful.

  ‘So where you been, young fellow?’ said one of the guards.

  ‘On the High Ridge. Lovely morning for it,’ said Far with a friendly smile, pointing behind him, though he hardly needed to. ‘I’ve been looking for herbs. I’m a healer.’

  The front guard turned to his mate who shook his head.

  ‘A healer eh?’ The guard poked his spear into Far’s stomach.

  The other guard quickly went behind.

  ‘I like the early morning,’ began Far, already feeling this was lost. The spear was steady against his belly.

  ‘You’re in trouble, son,’ said the man behind his back.

  Far could feel him binding his hands. He attempted resistance and his arm was twisted.

  ‘Ah!’

  ‘Then let my mate get on with his job,’ said the front guard, with a dig of the spear.

  Far let himself be tied.

  ‘The Queen’s got a thing against healers,’ said the front guard with a wry grin. ‘You might have heard. One of your crowd didn’t do her son much good.’

  Far began, ‘I was only gathering herbs…’ when the spear pressed into his belly. Deeper this time.

  ‘Save the details for the executioner.’

  A rope was thrown over his head and pulled close in to his neck. And he was led away like a pig to market.

  Chapter 65

  Toby was stretched out in the chair before the fire, drinking soup, that beautiful, healing soup. And opposite him, in the other chair, was Maeg smiling at him through her gapped teeth. The firelight flickered on her plump face. She wore the same red spotted headscarf that he recognised from his last visit, but her hair was whiter. In her features he clearly saw Erdy, her son. Earlier they had spoken of him, while she was washing away his soreness in the tub. Toby told her what he knew. And Sly pricked her ears up, and he could have sworn she understood – and, if the fox could speak, have added much more.

  He was relaxed before the fire, enjoying the sensation of being warm and fed, the stiffness gone. The depression that had held him earlier had lifted, but he was left with a nagging pain.

  ‘I have abandoned my friends,’ he said.

  Maeg nodded, pulling a long hair from her ear.

  ‘You’ve had a hard time,’ she said. ‘Alone in the Underworld, rowing the ferry boat back and forth, with only the dead for company. And then once you return you are off again, still soft with suffering.’

  ‘I should not have left them,’ he said, shaking his head.

  ‘Did you have any choice?’ she said quietly.

  He did not reply. Wondering what else he could have done. Could he really have stuck the company of lovers?

  ‘Are you in love with the girl yourself?’ asked Maeg.

  He avoided her eyes. ‘I haven’t time for love.’

  Maeg smiled, and said gently, ‘I think though it has time for you.’

  ‘I’m fond of her,’ he said carefully. ‘But love? I don’t know what it means. Besides, I hardly know her. Before this trip, most of the time I was with her she was unconscious. I was wondering whether she was dead. And then there were only a couple of days in the cave before I left – mostly she was pretty groggy. After that I was away for sixteen months with plenty to keep me occupied.’ He stopped for a second and then burst out, ‘I am infuriated that she is so close to Far.’ His eyes pleaded with the old woman. ‘But then anyone of my rank would be.’

  Maeg sucked her lips. ‘So it’s just rank, is it?’

  ‘I think so. Yes,’ he said uncomfortably. He wished she wouldn’t stare so hard. He spooned some soup, looking into the bowl as if the cauliflower and carrot held some deep meaning.

  ‘Are you jealous of Far?’

  He did not look up, and stopped to think, as if he really needed to. ‘No,’ he said at last. Then added, ‘Perhaps a little. Resentful. Is that the same as jealousy? Maybe. It’s so unfair. I was down below – and Far was doing… what Far was doing.’

  ‘Suppose it was reversed and you’d spent sixteen months with her? Would it be alright then?’

  He looked up for an instant, then retreated to his soup. ‘They are such an unsuitable couple. She’s an orphan.’ He stopped again, felt his face reddening. He’d never had conversations like this. ‘Yes, I admit I feel excluded. I’d like to punch Far on the nose and slap her round the face. I don’t know what I’m feeling half the time. That’s why I had to leave.’

  Maeg nodded.

  For a minute they didn’t speak, Maeg idly rubbing Sly’s head.

  ‘What should I do?’ he said at last.

  ‘What do you want to do?’

  He put down the soup bowl and stood up. He leaned over the leaping fire, grasping the high mantelpiece.

  ‘I can’t abandon them.’

  ‘You can’t,’ she agreed.

  He turned to her. ‘Anything could be happening. They could be dead. Captured. Tortured. I put them up to this. And then left them to it.’ He clenched his fists and sighed. ‘I would so love to stay here a few days.’

  ‘I would love you to, Toby.’

  ‘But I can’t.’

  She nodded and rose. The back of her hand wiped a watery eye.

  ‘You must get there by cover of night,’ she said.

  And here he had second thoughts. Must he really give up warmth and safety for the cold of the night? For danger and maybe death. Must he? But there were friends out there, there was a promise to his father…

  The choice wasn’t his.

  And Toby realised in that instant something of the pressure of being king. He was chosen. And there was no other way he could go. No matter how it weighed on him. He could do it badly, he could do it well – but he must do it. Or how could he live in the world?

  The die was cast.

  At the cottage door she embraced him. She had given him a water bottle, bread and cheese. He abandoned his blanket, kissed the old lady on the cheek…

  And followed Sly into the night.

  Chapter 66

  Far paced, hit the wall and returned. Fading light came in through the high window, making an orange patch on the wall opposite. His legs ached with walking, he had tried sitting down in the straw but it stank of pee and sweat. It was crawling with bugs. Sooner or later though he would have to succumb. He couldn’t walk all night.

  He leaned against a damp wall and shivered. Was it to end here?

  He’d gathered from the soldiers that the Queen had been killing healers. Any and every one of t
hem. She had found them collectively guilty of the murder of her beloved son. To be a healer was to be complicit. You could say the Queen’s plan had worked. In her trawl, she had at last caught the guilty one. Rather expensive in lives, but she’d got him.

  But every healer? He shuddered at the thought. All those deaths… Soldiers bursting into workshops… If he’d known their fate, would he have still killed Zeke? Except he could not have known. And how many other lives did killing Zeke save? He couldn’t answer that either. As Zeke couldn’t kill them, he couldn’t count them.

  The gaoler had given him the good news; the executioner wouldn’t be back till the morning. But then the backlog would be cleared. The Queen didn’t believe in keeping prisoners. That way, said the gaoler, she didn’t have to waste money feeding them.

  He was impressed with the economics.

  It was so cold. Far rubbed his shoulders and blew into his hands. The damp chill soaked through to his bones. At least Orly was safe. Invisibly, she had followed him down to the castle, with the guards. Even holding his hand part of the way. She was not able to get down to the dungeon. The door had shut too quickly. Just as well. What could she do in here?

  He’d used the Voice to tell Orly that he was safe until the morning. And other more personal matters: his feelings for her, urging her to stay alive and not do anything stupid – but in reality it was rather late to be saying that. Every now and then he spoke to her, but it was painful and unsatisfying, as he couldn’t hear back. And so had no idea how she was faring.

  They’d had their few hours on the mountain. Was that to be it? The end of their relationship. Peasants do not marry ladies. Love cannot break down walls. Or kill Queens.

  Pray she was safe!

  She had come here with the same mad idea as himself. In the castle, but not as a guest dining at the Queen’s table. She was a fugitive. A mouse baiting the cat. Quite a one-sided contest. If caught she would take her place in the queue for the executioner’s block. He might find all his friends there in the morning.

  Toby too. Or was he somewhere else – still in a mood? Though he could be shivering in the cell next door. Well, he’d find out early tomorrow when he walked the last walk. Did princes take precedence on the block?