He looked at her closely. ‘Really?’
‘Of course. This is my first trip out since I saw you last. So what are you doing?’
He took a swift glance back up the road – no one was in sight – and took a deep breath. ‘Something’s going on at the castle,’ he said. ‘Or was. Last night. I came up here yesterday about six – not for any reason,’ he added hastily. ‘Just wanted to get out of the house for a bit of peace. Well, it was dark, obviously. I had my torch, but when I got out of the wood I switched it off. You know, a bit like we did on the tower. And that was when I saw it. A light in the castle.’
‘What? Where was it?’
‘See the near tower, the one we went up? See those windows halfway down? It was there. A flash. I saw it again a minute later, passing that big window further along the wall. A yellowy light, moving to the right. Then it vanished like it had been cut off.’
Emily furrowed her brows. ‘Who do you think it is?’
‘Well, I don’t think it’s the abbot’s ghost, that’s for sure.’
‘It might be Harris,’ Emily said suddenly. ‘If he noticed the mess we left he might have lain in wait, in case we came back. He probably lurked there for a couple of hours until he was sure it was going to stay quiet.’
‘I thought of that too. It’s possible. But I don’t reckon it’s true.’
‘Why?’
‘Because on my way home last night I went up Harris’s driveway. You can cut onto it by nipping round those bushes there.’ He indicated the hollies he had emerged from. ‘And I reckon he was at home. The curtains were shut mostly, but I saw his wife bringing plates through into the kitchen from a room at the back.’
‘You didn’t see him, though?’
‘No. But she wouldn’t be eating without him, would she?’
‘I suppose not. So, if it wasn’t Harris . . .’ She left the question floating.
Simon raised his eyebrows at her. ‘Exactly.’
‘But how did he get back in?’
‘That’s what’s been bugging me. He could never climb up without the rope. No way.’
‘Maybe it’s someone else.’
‘Right, like the whole of the village is queuing up to break in. No, it has to be him. He’s worked out some dodge, found some crack to squeeze through. He realized he could do it without us.’
‘Would he do that?’ Emily kicked at a nearby stump, cracking a piece of sodden bark away.
‘Of course he would! He’d like it better without us. No one to tell him what to do. He wouldn’t be lonely; he’s got the fairies to chat to whenever he wants.’
‘He’s not like that – ’
‘Whatever. The problem is that he’s bound to get caught. Sooner or later, and in Marcus’s case sooner, he’ll walk right into Harris or some kid will see his bum disappearing up a drainpipe or something. Don’t deny it – you know it’s true. If he keeps coming back, he’ll be caught and we’ll all be for it. They’ll take him down the station and an hour later they’ll be round your place and mine. Believe me, I know what they’re like. They won’t miss a trick with a boy like Marcus.’
‘It won’t happen,’ Emily said. She had a cold feeling running down her spine.
‘Too right it won’t,’ Simon said grimly. ‘And that’s because I’m going in now to flush him out.’
‘Are you mad? You don’t even know if he’s there today. You’re asking to get caught yourself.’
‘Not this time, I’m not. I’ve just been spying on Harris again. He’s got friends over. There are three cars parked outside his house. He’s fine for an hour or two – probably all day if he’s having a few drinks. As for Marcus, you’re right, he might not be there, but I think he will. He isn’t capable of leaving it alone.’
As they stood there in the wood, surrounded by the constant swishing, sliding noises of the melting snow, Emily noticed for the first time the bulging rucksack strapped to Simon’s back. She had a sudden flash of insight and laughed.
‘He isn’t the only one,’ she said. ‘We can’t leave it alone either. You may be right about Marcus getting caught, but that’s not the only reason you’re going back in. And it’s no coincidence that you met me hanging round here either.’
‘You don’t have to come.’
‘You’re right, but I will. What’re my other options? Go home and watch TV? No thanks.’
‘We’re not staying this time. Just long enough to kick that idiot out.’
‘Sure.’
They set off through the margins of the wood until, still overhung by the last black branches, they arrived at the boundary hedge. Here it was thin and scraggy and had been reinforced in patches by strips of poor wire netting. Simon forced a particularly weak-looking section downwards.
‘Go on then, hop over.’
‘In full view?’
‘The snow’s melting. No one is going to be around. I can’t be bothered to skulk any more. Come on, after you.’
They negotiated the fencing and entered the field. The snow was still thick against the hedge, but looser now and wet. They ploughed through the deepest drifts and set off towards the gatehouse bridge.
As they went, Emily said, ‘Someone rang for me the other day. Didn’t leave a message, or say who he was. It might have been Marcus trying to get in touch.’
‘Only rang once? Didn’t try very hard.’
Scaling the wall was far easier for Simon than before, since the treacherous ice that had caked the buttress had now melted, leaving the grooves and indentations nicely exposed. Emily bided her time while he climbed by scanning the horizon for danger, but Simon was right. No one seemed to be out. She also checked the snow around the buttress for recent footprints, but to no avail. The whole area was a churned and slushy mess.
Before long the rope had been thrown down and Emily had climbed up, a little shakily, as her muscles were stiff and out of practice. Her hair was whipped around her face by the wind, which seemed to be picking up speed. Soon they stood on the walkway as before, Emily looking down into the cavernous hall space. The wind whistled past the broken arches at the top of the keep wall. She could see the castle crows hunched gloomily in their shapeless nests.
‘No sign of anyone,’ she said.
‘Well, he’s going to be tucked up on a day like this. In our room, most likely.’
It was a relief to get into the sheltered section of the passage, out of the ceaseless gale. They climbed the stairs to the door, Simon signalling Emily to be silent. At the top, he gently pushed the door open a crack and peered inside. He frowned and, abandoning all caution, marched right in.
‘Not here,’ he said redundantly.
Emily looked about. ‘Not up the chimney?’
‘Marcus? You wouldn’t see for the soot.’
‘That’s a point. Someone’s done some cleaning up here. I’m sure there’s less mess than when we left it.’
‘Think so? Well, he’s not here now. Let’s keep looking.’
They descended the stairs, pausing at the junction that led to the chamber. ‘Which way?’ Simon asked.
‘This floor first. Might as well be systematic.’
They worked their way speedily into the depths of the keep, keeping their eyes open and their ears peeled. They saw nothing and the only sound was the wind scouring the passages. In chamber, chapel, latrine and pillared room there was no sign of Marcus, or any that he had ever been there. The room with the main staircase was empty too.
‘Lots of ways to go here,’ Simon said. ‘Let’s split up. I’ll check the tower, you see what’s through those two doors. One goes to the main entrance, if you believe what Marcus says.’
He clattered up the staircase. Emily entered one arch, and found herself inspecting the kitchen that had once served the great hall. It was a dead end. Three brick-lined baking ovens were built into one wall. Ordinarily Emily would have been quite interested in these, but for now she was impatient to be gone. She retraced her steps and approached the
other arch, this one complete with a modern door.
She flicked up the large black metal latch and eased the door back. A very dark staircase – straight, this time – led down steeply. Emily descended and presently arrived at another door. This one was much older, dark with age and pitted with the holes of worms and wear. It swung open loosely to her touch. Beyond it the steps continued and in the dim light she saw that they were ground shallow and smooth with the feet of centuries. They ended at a short passage of equally worn flagstones, which led to a set of double doors, thickly studded with metal nails. This was the entrance to the keep.
No sooner had she started on her way back than Emily stopped. She had the sudden queasy sensation that she was being watched. She looked up the steps in case Simon had returned, but the distant door at the top was open and empty. No one there . . . But the unnerving feeling persisted. Hurriedly, she stepped forward—
And heard a scraping sound directly above her.
She jerked her head up, her blood running cold. Something on the ceiling?
No – but there were two round holes set in the stonework, deep and dark. The murder-holes. One was right over her, a little wider than her head. She looked straight into it but saw nothing there but shadows.
Marcus.
Emily turned and ran up the staircase as fast as she could, past the second door and up to the first, where she nearly collided with Simon.
‘You all right?’
‘He’s in the room with pillars! By the murder-holes – come on!’
She careered round the corner and pelted back down the long passageway. Into the pillared room she skidded, with Simon right on her heels—
And found it empty.
Simon was gasping for breath. ‘What are you doing, Em? What made you think—?’
‘He was here, spying on me through the holes. I heard him, I know I did. Yes! Look at their coverings. He’s ripped them up!’
Between the circular holes were two see-through Perspex sheets that had been torn away from the bolts fixing them to the floor.
‘How’d he do that?’ Simon wheezed. ‘Must’ve got some tools.’
But even as he spoke, Emily was heading out by the opposite door.
‘He must have gone this way. Come on, we can catch him!’
They ran back through chapel and chamber until they arrived at the stairs.
‘What do you think? Up, down or along?’
‘Not up – he’s cut off there. You go down, I’ll go along.’
Emily stormed down the stairs, round and round, so fast that she felt giddy. The light grew dimmer as she went. At the bottom she spilled out into the high black storeroom, lit by the arch in the far wall. She began to run towards it, then stopped and spun around, trying to take in the hidden depths of the chamber. It would be just like Marcus to hide here, wait for her to go blundering past . . .
No – the room was empty.
Out into the daylight. She was back in the great open expanse of the hall. The hut was close by, its door hanging open.
There was a shout from above her. Simon was on the walkway opposite, waving. ‘He is here somewhere! I’ve found his stuff.’
‘Where?’
‘Up the stairs in this corner tower. Doesn’t lead anywhere, but there’s a stash of things you wouldn’t believe! Masses of food, a camping stove, you name it.’
‘But no Marcus?’
‘I reckon he’s down there. I’d have seen him if he’d been going ahead of me.’
His head disappeared from the opening. Emily strode across the hollow heart of the keep through the melting snow. There were several more archways to choose from, into any of which Marcus might have fled. One led to the room with the well. She tried this first.
Her eyes took a long time to focus in the dim light. The air was damp; water dripped from points across the whole ceiling, splotting and splashing and collecting as puddles in the corners of tilted flagstones.
Emily took a few steps inside to give her straining eyes more chance. At first she could make nothing out; then she began to distinguish a particular patch of darkness that seemed deeper and less remote than everything around it. It was low and lumpish, blue-black against the grey-black of the rest of the room.
Emily moved slowly towards it.
From the lump of darkness came a sudden harsh clashing noise, metal scraping on metal. Emily’s heart jolted and she almost turned to flee.
Instead, she heard herself speaking, falteringly. ‘Marcus?’
No reply came from the blue-black darkness. It moved a little. Another violent clang sounded. Emily shivered with the impact.
‘Marcus? Is that you?’
The shape unfolded, became long and slender. A familiar voice spoke testily.
‘Of course it’s me. Who else would it be?’
‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘Trying to prise the grating open. I want to see if it’s a dungeon.’
‘Not that. I mean here, back in the castle. You’ll be caught.’
‘So might you.’
‘Yes, but we just came to find you, make you see sense. Then we’re going.’
This time he did not speak. Emily knew he was staring towards her.
When his voice finally came it sounded odd, with a hard edge. ‘Why did you think I’d be here? Who else is looking for me?’
‘We – no – Simon saw a light in the castle last night. He guessed it must be you. No one else knows, Marcus.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Of course.’ There was a commotion somewhere outside. Emily turned towards the entrance and spoke over her shoulder. ‘Come out of there a minute. I can’t talk to you if I can’t see you.’ She climbed out into the light. Simon was waiting outside.
‘He’s in there, is he?’
‘Yes. He’s coming out, I think.’
‘Good. I’ve a few things to tell him.’ Simon lowered his voice and leant close to Emily. ‘When they see the murder-holes they’ll say it’s vandalism,’ he whispered. ‘And the first people the police’ll call on will be you and me, seeing as Harris met us outside so recently. Well,’ he added bitterly, ‘they’ll call on me first, but they’ll find out who you are too, believe me.’
Emily felt a little sick inside. ‘Can’t we get him to mend the covers?’ she asked.
‘Mend them? He’s bust them good and proper. The only thing we can do is get out sharpish. Ah, here he is,’ he said, raising his voice. ‘The defender of the castle.’
A slow figure emerged from the lip of shadow under the arch ‘Don’t patronize me,’ it said. It stepped forward into the light.
‘Oh, Marcus,’ Emily said.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Simon. ‘What’s happened to you?’
{11}
Marcus’s hat was pulled down low over his brows. A thick woolly scarf, which Emily had not seen before, was wound high around his chin. But these did nothing to disguise, and in fact only served to frame, the enormous blue-black bruises that were disfiguring his face. The worst spread across his left cheek, but there was a smaller, bluish one on his forehead above. Between them, his left eye was completely black, swollen and half-closed. The other eye looked tired and red.
The disruption to his face contrasted oddly with the clothes Marcus was wearing. As well as the jaunty new red scarf, he seemed to be kitted out in an entirely fresh set of all-weather gear. He had a large, shiny trekking jacket, decorated in a slightly garish blue and orange zigzag pattern. Beneath this showed the top of a thick Aran jumper. His over-trousers were made of the same material as the jacket, and were tucked neatly at the base of each leg into a svelte grey camping sock. These in turn protruded from two very shiny new walking boots.
‘Smart, eh?’ Marcus said. His face grinned wonkily.
Emily and Simon did not grin. ‘Marcus – how did you get like that?’ Simon said.
‘Are you talking about the clothes or the face?’
‘The face, of course. A
nd the clothes . . . Just tell us what’s going on.’
‘Your face . . .’ Emily said. ‘Did you slip and fall?’
‘Nothing as straightforward as that, I’m afraid, Em. No.’ His good eye fixed on her beadily from under his flattened fringe. ‘I told you Dad wasn’t going to be happy about me staying out, and happy he certainly was not.’
‘You mean – ’
‘It was the lying, apparently, that really got him going, that’s what he told me. The lying. That was worse, far worse, than the skiving off, no matter where I’d been. He never bothered to find out exactly what the truth was, but he sure as hell knew when he wasn’t hearing it. Oh, it was quite funny when I rolled in and came out with the early morning library story – you remember, Em, the one you suggested. I’m not blaming you: I couldn’t think of anything better, that’s all. I was listening to myself saying it and watching my dad’s hands and thinking to myself, I’ve never heard anything that sounds more like crap in my entire life. I could almost have hit me myself it was so lame. And the funny thing was that as I was standing in the hall, rambling on about books and study hours, my dad must have been looking over my shoulder all the time at my open rucksack – I’d forgotten to close it properly when we left here – and seen nothing in it except the end of my sleeping bag poking merrily out. Well, I might as well have had a neon light flashing away on my head saying, “I am a liar,” and he made his feelings pretty plain after that, Dad did.’
‘But,’ Emily said, ‘he . . . he can’t do that – ’
‘Don’t tell me what he can and can’t do!’ Marcus rounded on her savagely. ‘I know a hell of a lot more about it than you! And that wasn’t all he did either! No, he went off to his shed and came out holding a big mallet thing he uses at work. The kind you knock fence posts in with. Then he went to my bike where I’d left it leaning against the side of the house and laid it out on the concrete slabs by the back door. Proceeded to smash it to scrap metal. Took him quite a while. I timed him: six minutes, twenty seconds. Worked up quite a sweat. But I didn’t care. I knew what I was going to do even as I stood there watching him. When he’d finished, he went to lie down – worn out he was, poor man. I carried the pieces to the side of the garden like he told me to, out of the way. Then I went to the bathroom and bathed my face. Had some cereal. Slept most of the rest of the day.’
The Last Siege Page 11