The Last Siege

by Jonathan Stroud

  She heard Marcus give a little whimper.

  The footsteps started again. Motionless, they listened to them pass away along the edge of the wall into silence.

  The footsteps were gone.

  Nobody moved. Nobody said anything.

  {4}

  ‘Well done, Emily.’

  She sat up, looked at Simon.

  ‘I’ve never seen anyone climb so fast. You did it quicker than me.’

  ‘Sheer desperation.’ She was numb. Every muscle ached. ‘Was it you who pulled me up?’

  ‘Yeah. Marcus took care of the rope.’

  ‘Cheers. Cheers, Marcus. So we did it then.’

  ‘Only just. He came round from the side just as I ducked down. He might have seen the rope before we got it in, if he’d looked up.’

  ‘But he didn’t.’

  ‘No.’ Simon slumped back against the inside of the wall. ‘Well done too, Marcus,’ he added.

  Marcus was sitting opposite, wedged between them, leaning on a metal railing. He was very white, except for two red spots on his cheeks. His chest rose and fell raggedly. ‘You don’t have to be nice,’ he grunted. ‘I know I was crap.’

  ‘You got in,’ Emily said. ‘That’s what counts.’

  ‘I’m knackered. I feel like I’m going to die.’

  ‘Give it a minute, you’ll be OK.’

  ‘I feel like a fag.’

  ‘No way. That would get Harris down on us.’

  ‘How? He’d never smell it.’ Marcus began to fumble in the pockets of his coat.

  ‘So go ahead and risk it. And see what happens if he comes inside.’

  ‘We should be careful,’ Simon said peaceably. ‘For a start, if he comes in, we’re exposed up here. We need to move.’

  ‘Why should he come in? It’s locked.’ But even so, Marcus shuffled round a little to take a look at where they were. As he did so, his hands stopped rummaging in his coat and he became silent and still.

  ‘Oh yes,’ he said quietly. ‘This is what we came for.’

  They were sprawled on a metre-wide stone walkway that ran along the inside of the keep wall. In most places it was roofed, but where they were lying the ceiling had been smashed away by the same titanic impact that had forced the hole in the outer stones. Every three metres or so along, an arch supported the ceiling, and across each arch modern railings had been driven into the stonework. These provided safe support for anyone passing along the walkway.

  It was a necessary precaution, for beyond the arches was a void. Far below stretched a carpeting of pristine snow.

  ‘Floor’s fallen away,’ Marcus said.

  ‘Might have, don’t know.’

  ‘Of course it has. See that fireplace on the same level as us?’ It hung there, a carved recess opening out into nothing six metres or more above the floor. ‘That’s a monster. That would have served the great hall, which was here on our level. We could have walked into it from this passage. But the hall floor’s caved in. Down there would’ve been storerooms, I expect.’

  ‘Let’s go and see,’ Simon said.

  As they got to their feet, Marcus gave another exclamation. ‘What’s that?’ He pointed down through the gap at a small wooden construction sitting in the snow. ‘Looks like a garden shed.’

  Emily looked. ‘It’s a shop. Sells guides, postcards and stuff.’

  ‘Keep your voices down!’ Simon spoke in a whisper.

  ‘OK, boss. Let’s find some stairs.’ Marcus had regained his good humour. ‘Which way? I reckon left.’

  He set off, passing immediately into the relative dimness of the covered walkway. A little snow had blown in through the arches, but for the most part the flags were dark and wet. Emily smelt a peculiar cool dampness emanating from the stones that seemed separate from the chill of the midwinter day.

  ‘Aha!’ Marcus halted. The passage ahead changed direction and continued on at ninety degrees, but here also a low arch led onto a stairwell. Steps disappeared up and down into darkness.

  ‘Down first,’ Marcus said. ‘We need to survey our territory, gain control.’

  Something in his words fired them with new energy. Almost on top of one another they pelted down the steps, past a couple of arrow slits and out through another arch into a sudden blaze of light and snow.

  Into the white courtyard, open to the sky. They did not halt, but went onwards, spreading out like bullets strafed from a gun, cutting trails in the clean snow of the open space. All around them grey-green walls and empty arches looked down. Conscious of the need for silence, they stilled the cries of triumph that rose in their throats, but they were seized instead with a fiercer compulsion – to run, to dance, to kick the snow in savage fountains as they went, to inscribe their presence in the forbidden place. Back and forth they ran, weaving in loops and circles, arms out like aeroplanes, dive-bombing each other but never touching, never catching another’s eyes. Once, Simon scooped a handful of snow and tossed it towards Emily, but it was a half-hearted act and if she noticed she did not respond.

  They came to a halt separately, Marcus first, then Simon and Emily in different areas of the space. Marcus and Simon flopped down on the steps of two gaping archways. Emily propped herself against the stonework midway along a wall, raised her head and shut her eyes.

  She felt the blood throbbing in her temple, wrists and legs. Her chest shuddered with the exertions of her heart. A wave of dizziness came, a firework display of white lights exploding on her retina. When it passed she opened her eyes again.

  A rim of masonry bordered the sky, jabbing its broken edges against the clouds. Weak winter light fell on the topmost stones. Two birds, either crows or ravens, passed diagonally across and disappeared behind the snipped-off columns that marked the skeleton of a window. The black sticks of their nests projected messily from several holes and sills on the wall.

  Emily could hear the wind whistling through the upper windows, but in the belly of the keep the air was still. Her pulse was settling down; she felt warm and relaxed. Her mind drifted, fixing on a pair of narrow windows that opened inwards onto a single broad internal arch. Perhaps, on a vanished level above the great hall, they had once let light into the lord’s bedchamber. She could almost feel the airiness of that pleasant upper room, glimpse a far view of the woods and fields, the rushes on a stone floor, a crackling fireplace . . .

  There was a low whistle. Emily came back to herself and looked around. Both Marcus and Simon had disappeared.

  She waited, but when the whistle was not repeated, Emily straightened and wandered over to the shed. She brushed the frost off the single window and looked inside. Cheap guide pamphlets were stacked tidily on a shelf, along with an empty cash box and a wooden rack filled with small souvenir offerings – postcards, bookmarks, pencils, rubbers. Emily remembered that she had bought one of the rubbers herself, when she visited years before. It had been a pink one with a black sketch of the keep on it, and she had been very pleased with it at the time. Now all the bits and pieces just seemed tawdry, fit only for children.

  Behind the shelf were a chair, a cupboard and what looked like some sort of heater. More in hope than expectation, Emily went round to the side of the shed and tried the door. To her vast surprise it opened. She stood rigid for a moment, her heart beating hard, then shrugged. She could hardly break in any more seriously than she had already. She stepped inside.

  The floor was laid with a threadbare piece of carpet. A rack of old magazines and books was stored under the shelf, presumably to allay the boredom of the castle attendant. Otherwise, the shed was empty. Emily tried the door of the cupboard, but found it secured with a small padlock. Her attention was mostly taken up with the heater. It didn’t have a cable, so it wasn’t electric; if it was gas or paraffin and there was some fuel left in it, perhaps she could make it work. That would be interesting . . .

  She looked the heater over briefly, but decided not to risk trying any of the switches. Simon would probably know what to do.<
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  Another whistle sounded as she came out. Marcus had emerged from a dark doorway beyond the hut and was signalling to her excitedly.

  ‘I’ve found the well!’ he called. ‘Where’s Simon?’

  ‘No idea. Let’s see it, then.’

  She followed him down two shallow steps, worn into a curve at their centre, out of the snow, out of the light, into a dark chamber lit only by the arch and a narrow slit in the wall. The air inside smelled wet, like a cave. Emily could see Marcus moving in the far corner of the room; she paused where she was while her eyes adjusted.

  ‘Here it is, look – under this grille.’

  His voice echoed around the chamber. He was bending down now, tugging experimentally at something. Emily came over. The floor was slippery with water.

  ‘It’s a bit loose. We might be able to pull it free.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Marcus.’ She could see what he was doing now. There was a wide hole in the flagstones, a circular gap of utter blackness. On top of it was a square cover of latticed metal strips bolted to the stones at all four corners. He was tugging at one edge, which made a slight grinding noise.

  ‘Stop pulling it. You don’t want that loose. Someone could fall in.’

  ‘I wonder how deep it is. Some of these wells go hundreds of metres down into the bedrock. Let’s see . . .’ He turned, still crouching, and began scuffling about on the floor, feeling with his hands. ‘Aha –’ he seized a fragment of stone and dropped it through the grille – ‘listen . . .’

  There was a lengthy pause. Then a dull thud sounded, far below.

  ‘Huh.’ Marcus straightened. ‘Looks like it’s dried up.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Emily said. ‘Still, leave it alone, eh?’

  ‘Mind you, it might not be a well at all. It might be a dungeon where they chucked enemies and left them to rot. There’s a French word for it, but I’ve forgotten it. Yeah, that might be it. What we need’s a torch.’

  ‘Let’s go and see what Simon’s doing.’ She knew it was irrational, but Emily found that she badly wanted to lead Marcus out of the dark room and away from the grille. Whether it was a well or a dungeon didn’t matter. That hole led to a place where your bones would lie secret and forgotten, far from the world and the light.

  ‘What are you two doing?’ As they approached the bright slab that marked the entrance, Simon’s form half-blocked it out. ‘Come and see what I’ve found! Better than grubbing about in here.’

  They left the chamber and came out into the whiteness of the snowy yard.

  ‘This way.’ Simon pointed along the side of the wall to another dark arch.

  ‘What is it?’ Marcus was shielding his eyes against the light.

  ‘I’ll surprise you. Do you remember it, Em?’

  ‘Can’t remember a thing. Too long ago.’

  Simon set off and Emily followed him, but Marcus remained rooted. ‘In a bit,’ he said. ‘I want to check out the hut first.’

  Emily looked back over her shoulder, but Marcus was already halfway to the hut. Simon paid him no attention. He went through the arch and across another dimly lit room to a spiral stairwell hidden in the corner. Up they went, their feet scraping on the stone. After a couple of rotations they passed a landing with archways leading off, but Simon continued to climb. Finally they came to another level. A passage ran to the left behind a padlocked grille; other bars blocked further progress up the stairs. But right beside them was a door made of light wood.

  ‘Check it out,’ Simon said.

  Emily pushed it open and went through, down two steps into a room.

  ‘Oh. It’s lovely,’ she said.

  It was a room of light. It was quite small and was laid with a simple wooden floor of creamy-brown planking that she knew immediately must be modern. The walls were whitewashed stone and on one side was a large window with a pointed arch in which glass had been fitted. At that moment the sun must have come out through a cloud, for its light was pouring in through the glass, splashing cleanly on the whiteness on every wall. Through the window she could see the distant outline of the snow-covered landscape, the flecked lines of hedges and fringes of blue in the sky.

  ‘You could live here,’ said Simon.

  Emily nodded. With the sunlight spilling in, it almost felt warm.

  ‘And look at this.’ Simon gestured at a massive fireplace protruding stubbily from the opposite wall. It too was whitewashed, and was inlaid with a modern metal grate. Emily went over and stuck her head into the recess.

  ‘I can see the sky,’ she said, hearing her voice boom hollowly. ‘It’s a working chimney.’

  ‘The whole room’s been restored,’ Simon said.

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs.

  ‘This is brilliant!’ Marcus came through the door and pounded down the steps. He was flourishing a pamphlet. ‘You should see what – ’ He paused and glanced about him. ‘Oh, nice room. You should see what I’ve found in here!’ he went on. ‘It’s got everything in it! I’ve only scanned through, but it looks really interesting and I was right – there were lots of battles. It was Cromwell who destroyed the outer walls. He put barrels of gunpowder in pits under them, and he was going to do the same to the keep because they’d supported the king, but he got called away. Hold on . . .’ He flipped the pages of the pamphlet. ‘Yeah, there was a big battle near the castle. Two thousand men died before the Round-heads took control.’

  ‘Really.’ Simon sounded deeply bored.

  ‘King John laid siege to the castle too. Earlier, obviously. And Edward the Second stayed here once. How do you think he died? Well, I’ll tell you. A red-hot poker up the bum!’

  ‘It says that in there?’ Emily asked, surprised.

  ‘Well, no – ’

  ‘Marcus,’ Simon said, ‘you talk so much crap.’

  ‘It’s true, I tell you! I swear! I’m not making it up. I read it in a book.’

  ‘You read too much in books. What tripe!’

  ‘I’m sure it was Edward. It was so no one could tell he’d been murdered, you see. No obvious wounds. They laid his body out in a white robe and got the sorrowing commoners in to see him looking all sweet and saintly. And no one among all those thousands of mourners knew the evil truth – he’d been horribly bumped off!’

  ‘So how do we know now?’ Simon asked pityingly. ‘If no one knew at the time?’

  ‘Well,’ said Marcus, looking slightly put out, ‘someone must have ratted, obviously. They couldn’t keep the ghastly secret. Whispered rumours spread and – slowly, gradually – the terrible truth came out.’

  Simon sighed heavily. ‘And what’s that got to do with our castle?’

  ‘Nothing. Except that Edward was here – a king! Maybe he stood right where we are now.’

  ‘So what?’ Simon wasn’t disposed to humour him, but Marcus refused to rise to the bait.

  ‘And now there’s just us,’ he continued. ‘No one else. It’s perfect! Have you been to Windsor?’

  ‘Yeah, on a school trip,’ said Emily. Simon didn’t answer.

  ‘I’ve only seen it on telly. It’s the biggest castle in England, but it doesn’t interest me much. It’s too tidy. All comfy and modernized, with satellite dishes and cars parked in the courtyard. Got the Queen in it too, which is a downer. I mean, it’s boring. The best castles are small – ruined and remote like this one. They may be all empty and desolate, but there’s still something . . . I just think they’re still living somehow – do you know what I mean?’

  ‘Nope,’ said Simon. He was looking out of the window. The sun had sunk low over the trees of the wood.

  ‘I think I do,’ Emily said slowly. ‘They’re alive because you can interpret them how you want. They can be anything you choose. You can imagine how they were in the past, when they weren’t ruined, when people lived in them. And everyone’s free to imagine different things.’

  Marcus nodded. ‘Yeah, but it’s not all about the past,’ he said. ‘There’s us – right now. We’ve
taken over this place and we’ve got to decide what to do with it. This castle’s got masters again.’

  ‘Yeah, till nightfall,’ Simon said. ‘I reckon we’ve got half an hour, tops.’

  ‘Half an hour? We haven’t even started to look around!’

  ‘OK, you can stay longer, and try to climb down after dark. Use your head.’

  Marcus groaned. ‘Why didn’t we start earlier! What a waste!’

  Simon shrugged. ‘Look, we did what we came to do.’

  ‘We’ve barely scratched the surface. Ah! Look –’ Marcus flipped the pamphlet to the middle and opened it. ‘Look at the map: there are dozens of rooms and staircases left. Check it out! We can’t go now!’

  ‘Give over, Marcus,’ Emily said. ‘Stop getting so worked up. We put one over on Harris; no one’s ever done this – ’

  ‘We shouldn’t have started so late! It’s your fault, Em. If it wasn’t for your stupid aunts we could have got going at a sensible time, not two o’clock in the bloody afternoon!’

  ‘Tough! You’d never have got in without me. If it hadn’t been for me you’d still have been swinging about like an ape when Harris came round and caught you.’

  ‘How d’you work that out? I got up on my own.’

  ‘You practically had to be carried up!’

  ‘Get lost!’

  ‘Stop whingeing!’

  Simon shifted irritably at the window. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We may as well go. It’s no fun here.’

  Emily and Marcus both took a deep breath. ‘But I mean, look,’ Marcus said in a calmer voice, pointing at the plan in the pamphlet, ‘there’s murder-holes here and everything.’

  ‘Murder what?’ Simon asked.

  ‘Holes. Cut in the roof of the entrance passage. So defenders could pour boiling oil or fire arrows down on anyone who forced their way through the doors. Imagine that! You’d just sit quietly in the room above, waiting. Then when someone appeared below, you’d tip the vat of oil over and give him a shower of death!’

  Simon snorted. ‘You’d just love that, wouldn’t you? So where are they then, these holes?’