The Last Siege

by Jonathan Stroud

  ‘Marcus?’

  ‘Any time’s good for me.’

  ‘Don’t your parents ever want you for anything?’

  ‘No. Well, my bike’s back this way. I’ll see you here at two. Happy aunting. Happy kicking.’ Abruptly he turned and set off back up the road, following the hedge. Emily and Simon watched him go.

  ‘He is weird, you know,’ Simon said.

  ‘My bike’s that way too,’ Emily said at last. ‘Will you be OK?’

  ‘Oh yeah, I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Tomorrow . . .’

  ‘We’ll give it a shot. If it’s difficult, we’ll give it up. Whatever Marcus says.’

  ‘See you tomorrow then.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Simon walked off slowly down the road. Emily ran in the opposite direction. She was very late.

  Capture

  {3}

  At half past two Emily arrived at the lane flustered after a prolonged lunch and an endless goodbye. She was hot, bothered and late. As she came out of the trees under the grey slab of the sky, she saw Simon and Marcus waiting for her near where they had parted the day before. They were standing together awkwardly in silence, Simon hefting a large rucksack over one shoulder, Marcus smoking a cigarette. Marcus was coughing as she approached, looking ill and white in the face, but as he caught Emily’s disapproving eye he took another short drag. The end flared red, then died.

  ‘Thought I’d try one out,’ he said defiantly.

  ‘Go right ahead,’ Emily said. ‘If you want to kill yourself.’

  ‘I will.’ There was a pause. Emily looked at Simon. He nodded at her in greeting.

  ‘You’ve never had one, I suppose,’ Marcus said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘What, not ever?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I don’t believe you. You must have tried. Ah, you’re blushing.’

  ‘No I’m not. Shut up about it.’

  ‘I’ve got the rope,’ Simon said.

  ‘Well, I bet he has,’ Marcus went on. ‘Haven’t you?’

  Simon ignored him. ‘Nicked it from my dad’s shed. Used to use it with his trailer. I reckon it’s long enough.’

  He opened the loose top of the rucksack and held it open for Emily to look inside. It was filled with coarse brown rope.

  ‘It’s like the ones at school,’ Emily said.

  ‘Yeah, bit thinner. Can you climb them to the top?’

  ‘Mostly.’

  ‘What about you?’ Simon proffered the open rucksack to Marcus. ‘Could you climb that? No point us going if you can’t.’

  Marcus’s cigarette was burning down to a stump in his fingers. He threw it onto the snow and trod on it. ‘Of course. Wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise, would I? We’d better get on with it. It’ll be dark in a couple of hours.’

  ‘Has anyone seen him? Harris, I mean.’ Emily looked over at the thick shadows of the hedge beside them.

  ‘I know who you mean.’ Simon was irritable. Evidently he shared her nerves. ‘No, but we’re not through the hedge yet. We’ll have to go carefully.’

  ‘Where are we getting in?’

  ‘Further along. Where the hedge is closest to the moat. Less far to run.’

  Simon tightened the drawstrings on his rucksack and slung it over his shoulder. Then the three of them set off along the hedge. When they got to the entrance gate, they slipped one by one across its mouth, keeping low, scanning the snow beyond the grille for any sign of movement. Everything was quiet. They continued along the hedge, circling out a little way to avoid treading in the deepest drifts. Already Emily could feel her heart pounding and as yet she wasn’t even breaking the law. She followed close on Simon’s heels, with Marcus scuffling and slipping behind her. Several times she heard him cough messily under his breath. He was in an odd mood. Perhaps he was nervous too.

  They crossed the car park and made a small diversion over a gate into the next field, which undulated with frozen furrows. The castle hedge continued on their right and Simon kept as close as possible to it. At last they came to a spot where the hedge was thin and scrappy. Simon shrugged the rucksack off his back and knelt in the snow, peering through the patchwork of holes between the branches. The others flopped down beside him.

  ‘Can’t see anything,’ Simon whispered. ‘We’re not spotted yet – and if you stop doing that it might stay that way.’ This was to Marcus, who was coughing again into his hand.

  ‘Just a tickle in my throat.’

  ‘Serves you right,’ Emily said.

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’

  ‘OK.’ Simon grabbed the rucksack and began pushing it through the gap in front of them. ‘I’m going first. I’ll peg it to the edge of the moat. If all’s clear I’ll wave for you, Emily, to follow. Then Marcus. OK?’

  He shoved the rucksack across and began to wriggle after it, ploughing through the snow and cursing softly whenever a root or bramble snared him. In thirty seconds he had got to his feet and with a quick look in all directions was off over Castle Field, bending almost double as he ran. Emily and Marcus watched him go.

  He’s enjoying this, isn’t he?’ Marcus said.

  ‘He’s there!’

  Simon turned and signalled briefly. Immediately, Emily began squeezing through the gap on her stomach, ignoring the chill that permeated her clothing. Then she was out and up and running through the snow, fearful all the while of hearing the caretaker’s hideous voice, seeing him erupting from some hiding place in the ground.

  ‘All clear so far,’ Simon said, as she half fell to a halt beside him on the lip of the moat. He turned to signal to Marcus. Emily looked around and saw that Simon had chosen their route well. They were on the correct side of the keep: she could see the great tear ripping down through the stonework to the hole. It looked horribly high up. She shook her head at the stupidity of their plan.

  Marcus appeared beside them, wheezing gently. No sooner had he sunk down than Simon gestured at the moat. ‘It’s steep,’ he said. ‘But we should cross it here. If we go round trying to find an easy bit, we might expose ourselves.’

  Skidding down was easy enough, but the opposite ascent was hard. They had to yank themselves up a little at a time, forcing their numb fingers under the snow to grip onto the crispy grass beneath. When they got to the top, they were only fifty metres from the keep walls. Still there was no sign of anyone.

  Simon grinned. ‘Come on then,’ he said.

  All three ran the last leg, arriving at the wall together.

  ‘Good job it’s not snowed,’ Marcus said. ‘Our tracks will mingle with yesterday’s. Won’t be spotted. Well – off you go then, Simon.’

  ‘Wait till I get my breath back. And I need to plan my route and all.’

  Simon unpacked the rope with difficulty, spilling it to the ground in a tangle of heavy coils. He searched for an end and pulled one out at last. It had a piece of thick cord tied securely to it. Simon looped this cord several times round the back of his belt and fixed it with a complicated knot. Marcus and Emily watched agog.

  ‘Won’t it be too heavy for you to lift?’ Emily asked.

  ‘Should be OK, as long as you spool the rope out so that I don’t get the full weight of it, or it knots or anything. One of you’s got to do that. The other keeps lookout. If there’s any sign of Harris or anyone else, let me know right off or we’ll all be stuffed.’

  Marcus volunteered to hold the rope and Simon readied himself for the climb. Checking that the rope was loose and free behind him, he set his hands high and wide apart on the icy buttress wall. His fingers dug in between the stones and found their grip. Then he kicked first one boot, then another at the wall below, chipping off wedges of ice so that each toecap could rest in a small depression. When both boots were secure, he stretched up higher and dug in his fingers again. In this way, slowly, hesitantly, and with several slips of both boots, he began to move up the buttress wall with the rope hanging down behind him.

  ‘Well done, Simon!’ Emil
y said. She said it in a loud whisper, conscious of every sound. As she spoke, she was walking past the near tower and cautiously peering round it at the next face of the keep. All along that side the way was clear.

  ‘The trouble comes if Harris rounds that far corner,’ she said to Marcus, who was standing at the base of the buttress, feeding out the rope. ‘He’ll recognize us a mile off.’

  ‘He won’t,’ Marcus said. ‘Turn up, I mean. Anyway, if he did, I’d just run. He might know where you two live, but he’d not have a clue about me.’

  ‘Cheers. That’s good to know. Hey, look – he’s made it!’

  Sure enough, Simon had scaled the buttress wall almost to its top. Now he was sprawled upon it, his boots wedged into a foothold while his hands sought a good grip on the first vertical blocks of stone. There were two blocks there that had been severely weathered around the edges. Simon grasped these, and with a swift heave, pulled himself higher. A few quick adjustments, a scrabble of the arms, and in a moment he was standing upright, fingers hooked into the wall, feet resting at the very top of the buttress.

  ‘Nice one!’ Marcus whispered. ‘You’re almost there!’

  It seemed that for Simon, the difficult part was over. Now that he had reached the bumpy part of the wall, his progress was much quicker and more confident. They watched him clamber up, ever nearer to the hole.

  Marcus fed out the rope. ‘He’s good at this,’ he said lightly. ‘Did you say his brother was in prison for something? Was it burglary by any chance?’

  Emily frowned at him. ‘Shut up, Marcus. It was your stupid idea in the first place – that’s why he’s doing it.’

  ‘Yes, I’m just saying he’s got a natural gift for it, that’s all.’

  ‘What’s wrong with you today? Shut up!’ Emily turned full circle, scanning the horizon. Then she walked to the edge of the tower and peered round it again. No one was in sight. A soft cheer sounded behind her. Marcus was waving his arms and pointing.

  ‘He’s done it!’ he said in a hoarse whisper. ‘He’s got inside!’ Emily looked up just in time to see Simon’s boots disappearing in through the hole in the castle wall. She ran back to stand with Marcus, watching the hole. There was a pause. The rope had stopped spooling from Marcus’s hands. At the point where it vanished into the hole, it twitched once or twice, but was otherwise still. Emily and Marcus stood together, eyes fixed on the hole. Nothing happened.

  Terrifying possibilities ran through Emily’s mind. She darted a panicky look at Marcus. ‘What’s up?’ she hissed. ‘Do you think maybe Harris . . .?’

  Marcus frowned, shook his head. ‘Nah, we’d have heard something. He’s all right. Can’t have fallen either, or the rope would have gone through.’ He didn’t look too confident.

  Suddenly the rope jerked in his hand, making them both start. Simon’s head appeared in the hole, wearing a broad grin. He raised a cheery thumb. ‘Piece of piss!’ he called. ‘You should see it up here! It’s great! Hold on a sec while I get the rope fixed.’ His face retreated.

  ‘What a star!’ Emily said.

  Marcus shrugged, muttering something that Emily did not catch.

  After a few moments, Simon reappeared above them. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘The rope’s tied to the railing. One of you come up.’

  Marcus looked at Emily. ‘So,’ he said, ‘who’s going to follow the star?’

  ‘Oh, you can,’ Emily said quickly. ‘It was your idea, after all.’

  ‘Yeah. OK.’ He said it grudgingly, but Emily saw his face brighten.

  Somewhat gingerly, Marcus approached the edge of the buttress, gathered the rope in both hands and, with his feet bolstered against the base of the wall, began to hoist himself up. He went very slowly, taking a great deal of time between each new grip and swinging side to side in an exaggerated fashion. His feet scrabbled for purchase on the buttress.

  Simon was watching from above. ‘Come on!’ he called softly. ‘Rest your weight properly on the wall. Plant your feet square. It’s easy!’

  Marcus did not reply. Emily was alarmed to see that his face had gone bright pink with the effort. He was barely at the top of the buttress and he was already struggling. Twice, one of his feet slipped against the stone and he almost lost his hold, spiralling round helplessly before managing to stabilize himself again. Emily could hear him taking great gulps of air and letting them out again too rapidly.

  ‘Just take it steadily,’ she called. ‘You’re doing fine! Isn’t he, Simon?’

  Simon blew his cheeks out and raised his eyes to the skies. ‘Yeah,’ he called. ‘Fine. Try not to let your feet get higher than your hands. The blood goes to your head.’

  Emily walked impatiently back and forth at the bottom of the wall. Deciding it would be wise to stand well clear of the drop zone in case Marcus let go altogether, she idled across to the edge of the tower and glanced round it.

  And went rigid with shock.

  Mr Harris was strolling along the base of the castle wall towards her. He was at the far end, next to the opposite tower, and had evidently only just turned the corner. At that moment he was irritably scanning the furthest reaches of Castle Field for signs of trespassing life. As she watched, he stopped, raised his hand over his eyes and peered out towards the distant hedge. This was Emily’s good fortune, for if he had been looking straight ahead he would certainly have seen her.

  Emily jerked back out of sight, cold blood flushing through her veins.

  ‘He’s coming!’ She raced back, shrieking the whisper out. To her horror, Marcus had climbed no higher than when she had last looked at him. He seemed frozen in position, unable to go either up or down.

  ‘Harris! He’s coming!’

  Marcus let out a gurgle of despair, and above him, Simon banged a fist against the ragged stonework.

  ‘Move, Marcus! You’ve got to speed up! Harris is coming!’

  Another gurgle. ‘I can’t . . . I’m stuck!’

  ‘You’ve got to! Or we’ll all be caught!’

  ‘Oh God . . .’ Marcus’s arms were shaking with the effort of holding on. He snatched his lower hand away from the rope and planted it above the other. Then he did the same with the next. It didn’t seem to get him very far. His face was contorted, his feet skittered against the wall. Above him, Simon leant out of the hole, stretching an arm down.

  ‘That’s it! A bit higher and I’ll grab you! Where is he?’ This was to Emily.

  ‘By the far tower! He’s stopped, but he’ll be here in a minute!’ She was frozen in panic, unable to decide whether to run or try to climb. The white expanse of the field offered no shelter. Perhaps the moat . . . but then she’d be leaving Marcus – and Simon – to their fate. Her eyes flicked from Marcus’s dangling form to the empty space at the corner of the tower. Any moment now he might appear.

  ‘Come on, Marcus!’ His feet were kicking frantically at the wall, as if he wanted to run up it. She could hear Simon muttering encouragement and invective. His hand was outstretched. Marcus swayed back and forth, inching upwards with every swing.

  He would never make it, and even if he did she could never follow him in time. She thought of her previous attempts at rope climbing in the school hall – the pain in the arms, the watery weakness in her muscles. She didn’t have a hope.

  Simon was now half out of the hole, preventing himself from falling by locking the back of his knees under the lower of the two metal rails that spanned the gap. His outstretched fingers swiped the air a little above Marcus’s swaying head.

  ‘Reach up!’ he hissed through gritted teeth. ‘I’ll pull you.’

  Marcus made a Herculean effort. He wedged a foot against the wall, lifted a hand, gripped, strained – and noticeably advanced up the rope. His other hand stretched out, wavered – and was seized so firmly in Simon’s fist that Marcus cried out in pain. Immediately, Simon began to wriggle back through the hole, pushing himself with his free hand. As he retreated, Marcus seemed to levitate: he looked to be rising up the wall of h
is own free will. In a matter of seconds he was at the hole. For a moment his bottom and legs dangled in thin air, then a hand appeared, grabbed him by the back of his belt and yanked him out of sight. There was a distant yelp.

  Emily was already on the rope. No sooner had Marcus disappeared than she took hold and began to climb, frantically going hand over hand, ignoring any doubts, slips of the feet, the aches in her muscles. Her eyes were locked on the stones of the wall in front of her, but she could sense the distance above and the terrible proximity of the corner of the tower. How quiet it was. No sound came from Marcus or Simon. Her boots scuffled on the stones. Her blood pounded in her ears.

  Hand over hand. Step over step. The top of the buttress appeared. There was better grip on the stones here – she could push up with her feet, as if on a ladder. The muscles of her shoulders cracked; they felt like they were tearing. She tried to block out the memory of her many failures on the ropes of the hall.

  In her head she could see Harris walking. He must be very close now. Stride after stride. Long legs going. Head craning forward. Eyes open. Coming nearer. A bird of prey at the corner of the tower.

  He would hear her feet on the stones, hear the rope flicking against the wall. Now he would be running, arms out, ready to round the corner and seize the rope, shake her loose and let her drop.

  Hand over hand over hand.

  Suddenly her hood was seized and lifted and she was drawn upwards and forwards into the hole with her zip digging into her throat. Two hands grabbed her, pulled her over a jagged surface of flint and down again onto a stone floor, where she twisted and sprawled on her back.

  ‘Quick, quick.’ A whisper. An endless spool of rope descended on top of her. Four arms gave a final heave and then the end whipped past, hitting something metal with a dull impact on the way. Simon and Marcus ducked down next to her, white-faced, eyes staring.

  No one breathed.

  In the silence they heard footsteps crunching through snow.

  The footsteps stopped.

  They did not look at each other. Emily was staring at the lacerations in the toecaps of her leather boots. There were five of them on the left boot, three long, two small.