by Paul Crilley
Emily watched him step back into the tunnel. His sudden departure made her feel incredibly exposed. They were alone now. Really alone.
It was all up to them.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Locked in. Riddles. The Great Fire is sighted.
I can’t believe him!” said Corrigan, for about the twentieth time. “Locking us in here like this. Who does he think he is? “The Abbot, the Abbot, fast as a rabbit,” said the Prophet. “Yes, thank you, Thomas,” said Corrigan. William watched the man as he sat on his bed, playing
with the threads of his blanket. “You called him Thomas. Do you know who he is?” “Hmm?” Corrigan glanced up from where he was push
ing against the wood of the door, testing for any weak spots.
“Him? Aye. I think so, anyway.” “And?” prompted William. “Thomas of Ercildoune.” “Is that supposed to make sense to me?”
“You must have heard the story of Thomas the Rhymer.”
The name rang a vague bell in his head, but he wasn’t sure why. William shook his head.
“He was taken to Faerie by the Faerie Queen a few centuries ago. He became something of a favorite of hers. But she thought his life would be in danger during one of the wars, so she sent him back home. With a special gift.”
“What was the gift?”
“That he could never lie again. That everything out of his mouth from that moment on would be the utter truth.”
William thought about this. “Doesn’t seem much of a gift to me.”
“I know. I think the Queen had gone a bit funny in the head. She was quite old at that time.”
William stared at Thomas in pity. “And this is what her gift has done? Turned him into some kind of Prophet? Kept prisoner so others can use him?”
“Looks that way, doesn’t it?” said Corrigan cheerfully.
“But … doesn’t that bother you?”
“Boy, the only thing that is bothering me right now is getting out of here before that priest comes back.”
William sighed and pushed himself to his feet. The wine cellar was quite large, although the Prophet used only a small section against one wall. There were two torches lighting his living area. William approached him.
“May I borrow one of your torches?” he asked. “I’ll bring it right back, I promise.”
“Promises, promises, sow what you reap. Easy to give, and hard to keep.”
“Uh … all right,” said William, unsure if that was a yes or no. “I’ll really bring it back. I’m just going to search the room for a way out. Maybe we can get you out of here as well, yes?”
“Out, out, Thomas does doubt. In, in, away from the din.”
William straightened up. He was having serious doubts regarding Thomas the Rhymer’s sanity. How were they supposed to get anything of use out of him if he just kept speaking gibberish?
William carefully took one of the torches out of its wall sconce. Thomas shifted on his bed, moving closer to the remaining torch, but otherwise, he didn’t seem to mind.
William took the torch deeper into the wine cellar, passing stone pillars that supported the low roof. He did a complete circuit of the room, peering into the small niches in the walls, but there was no other door. No other way out.
He moved into the center of the room and lifted the torch above his head. Nothing in the ceiling, either.
He lowered the torch once again, but as he did so, he noticed something odd. The shadow cast by one of the pillars was slightly skew. The other three pillars cast shadows that were perfectly straight, but the shadow for the center pillar seemed to bend slightly.
William hurried forward and saw this was because the shadow fell across a slight dip in the floor. He got down on his hands and knees, holding the torch low to the floor. The dip leapt out in stark relief thanks to the flames. It traveled in a straight line directly into one of the wall niches.
William crawled forward and got down onto his stomach, using the torch to peer into the niche. Inside, instead of a small nook used to hold wine, he saw a hole that ended at a metal grill. It had to be some kind of drainage system, in case of flooding.
“Corrigan,” he called. “Over here.”
Corrigan stopped trying to slide his bronze dagger between the door and the doorframe and hurried over to join William. He peered into the hole.
“Can you fit?” asked William.
“Reckon so.”
He got down onto his belly and wriggled into the opening. William couldn’t see what he was doing because he was blocking the light, but he could hear the piskie banging on the metal, trying to dislodge it. He eventually stopped and retreated back into their cell.
“It’s loose. Need more leverage, though,” said Corrigan, then pulled himself back into the hole feetfirst. It only took a few hard kicks to dislodge the grate.
“I’ll find my way round to the door,” he called. “You see if you can get any sense from Mr. Rhymer over there, preferably something not in verse.”
Corrigan pulled himself through the opening and disappeared from sight. William straightened up and returned the torch to its wall sconce. He stared at Thomas, uncertain how to start, uncertain if the man was even sane.
He sat down at the bottom of the bed. “I’m supposed to ask you some stuff,” he said after a while. “But I think you must be pretty sick of that, yes? Questions all the time.” He smiled awkwardly at Thomas. “I thought I had a tough life. My mother always used to say that no matter how bad things were, there was always someone worse off than you. I never believed it until today.”
Thomas’s rocking slowed as William spoke.
“I wonder what Em is doing?” mused Will, more to hear the sound of his own voice than anything else. The silence was oppressive. “If I know her, she’s probably already found Merlin and stopped the Fire King. Then I’ll look like a fool, as usual.” Which was the problem with having a sister who was so smart. He knew he could never be as clever as her— he knew that in the pit of his being. But Emily didn’t. She thought he was just as clever and was simply not applying himself. That he was lazy. In fact, Will reckoned she thought that about everybody. That everyone could be smart if they just applied themselves. Was that a bad trait or a good trait? Will couldn’t decide. It was certainly an infuriating trait.
“See, she thinks we should find Merlin. That he’ll be the answer to all our problems. Me, I’m not so sure. I mean, he could be anywhere. That’s why I wanted to search for the Raven King. Cavanagh had a lead, you see. That gave us something we could aim for. But try telling Em that. Oh, no. She knows her own mind, and you’d better not dare to disagree with her.” William shifted on the bed, noting that Thomas had stopped rocking altogether. William sighed. “I know she means well. But she’s not my ma. She never will be.” William tried not to think about what Emily had said back at Somerset House. That their parents were still alive, held captive somewhere. He wasn’t sure he believed it. After all, it was the Dagda who had told Emily, and he had been trying to get the key to the Faerie Gate. They couldn’t believe what he said.
Could they?
“If only she’d stop ordering me around,” he said quietly. “If she stopped treating me like I was five years old, things would be better. I know they would.”
He trailed into silence and cast a sideways glance at Thomas. He smiled ruefully. “This is what it’s come to. The only person who listens to me is a half-mad Prophet. No offense.”
William got up and walked over to the door, trying the handle just in case it had miraculously unlocked itself. It hadn’t. He supposed he should ask Thomas about the Raven King now. That was why they came here, after all.
“Oranges and lemons,” said Thomas.
William turned around to find the man sitting on the edge of the bed. He was staring intently at him.
“I’m … sorry?”
Thomas stood up. “Here comes a candle to light you to bed,” he said, taking a slow step forward. “Here comes a chopper to chop
off your head.” Thomas lunged forward and grabbed him by the arms. William tried to pull away, but Thomas held him tight, his fingers digging into his skin. “Chip chop, chip chop—the Last Man’s dead !”
As he said these last words William heard a loud click from the door behind him. Thomas released his grip, and William whirled around and yanked open the door, almost tripping over Corrigan in his haste to get away.
“Hey,” snapped the piskie. “Easy there, tiger. What’s the problem?”
“Him,” said William, nodding his head at Thomas, who now stood in the doorway.
“All you that in the condemned hole do lie,” said Thomas softly. “Prepare you for tomorrow you shall die;Watch all and pray: the hour is drawing near, That you before the almighty must appear—”
“Stop speaking like that!” shouted William. “Why is he saying that? Is he saying we’re going to die? Is that what he’s saying?”
Corrigan was staring thoughtfully at Thomas, who stepped through the door and looked around the corridor with interest.
“I’m not sure,” said the piskie.
“Oranges and lemons,” said Thomas, moving toward the stairs. He paused at the bottom, then turned to look at them expectantly. “Oranges and lemons?” he said, a questioning tone to his voice.
“I’m not sure if he’s hungry, or if he’s trying to tell us something,” said Corrigan. “But he’s going in our direction, so get a move on. Before that Abbot comes back with Croth.”
They followed Thomas up the stairs and out into the dark interior of the church. William started moving toward the front doors, thinking they could unlock them from this side and escape. But he had only gone two steps before Thomas was dragging at his shirt.
“No go, you come; he comes, we go.”
“What?”
Thomas pointed urgently at the door. “He comes. We go.”
He released William’s shirt and moved off a few paces, then stopped and waited, staring expectantly at William and Corrigan.
“Seems he doesn’t want us using the front door,” said Corrigan.
“Then we go out the same way we came in,” replied William, heading for the door that led to the Abbot’s rooms.
As he pulled it open he heard guttural voices coming from somewhere up ahead. He froze. The sounds were coming from outside the church. The handle on the door leading out into the cemetery started to move. William closed the door.
“Someone’s coming,” he hissed.
“Who?” asked Corrigan.
“I don’t know, but it doesn’t sound like the Abbot.”
“Croth. He must have gathered up some of his heavies.”
“What do we do?” asked William.
“The only thing we can do. Follow our new friend.”
William turned. Thomas was disappearing through a door that was hidden behind a wall covering. He and Corrigan hurried after him. William had only just pulled the covering back into place when he heard the main doors of the church heave open to admit a babble of eager voices.
“Oranges and lemons,” whispered a voice.
Thomas was waiting at the end of a short corridor. When he saw he had their attention, he turned and disappeared up
a flight of stairs.
The voices in the church grew louder.
“Please,” William heard the Abbot say. “If you will just follow me. I have them downstairs. You can take them away and do what you wish with them.”
“Oh, we’ve got something planned,” said a voice William recognized as Croth’s. “Don’t we, lads?” A loud, bloodthirsty cheer greeted these words.
“And you can guarantee I’ll be left alone?” asked the Abbot. “If things get ugly. Out there. You’ll tell them I’m on your side?”
“I’ll try,” said Croth. “But my advice is to hide for the next few days. Things could get ugly.”
What did he mean by that? William turned away from the door and hurried after Thomas. Corrigan had already gone on ahead. The stairs wound around and around in a spiral, and Will realized they were climbing the tower he had seen when they first approached the church. His steps faltered with this thought. Weren’t they trapping themselves? If the fey came up the stairs looking for them, there would be nowhere to go.
William sprinted up the rest of the stairs and arrived in the bell tower. He slowed. Corrigan was standing on the wall that surrounded the top of the tower. Thomas was leaning next to him. They were both staring out into the city.
William hesitated. Something about the way their attention was fixed outward filled him with dread. He approached slowly, and with each step, more of the night sky was revealed. But instead of the blackness he should have seen, he saw orange-tinted clouds.
Another step. The orange grew brighter. William thought he could hear distant screams, people shouting.
Another step. The first of London’s buildings came into view. Another step, then another, and William was out on the battlement.
Corrigan glanced at him. “It’s begun,” he said bleakly.
William leaned on the wall. As he did so, he saw that it wasn’t clouds he was looking at. It was smoke.
From their position high up in the bell tower they could clearly see the fire devouring a small section of the city close to the London Bridge. The flames roared high into the sky, the hot wind fanning the fire and spreading it through the wooden buildings and dry thatch.
They could see small figures running around as people struggled to contain the flames. Bucket lines had been formed from the nearby Thames, but they had as much effect as spitting into the fire would.
“Water’s not going to do anything,” said Corrigan. “The only thing that can stop that fire is sending the Fire King back to where he came from.”
“Then we have to move!”
“Move where?” Corrigan nodded at Thomas the Rhymer, who was gazing in rapt fascination at the orange and red light pulsing against the clouds of smoke. “Did you ask him about the Raven King? Did he tell you anything?”
“No. Well, nothing except all that stuff about the condemned man dying.”
“But did he say it in response to a question? Prophecies and foretellings are never straightforward. They always come in riddles.”
William thought back. What was he doing before Tom spoke? He had just been sitting on the bed prattling on about his life. He had mentioned the Raven King, but he didn’t think he asked a specific question.
“Regardless, we need to find another way out of here,” said Corrigan. He hopped up onto the wall and peered over the edge. While he did this, William moved to stand next to Thomas.
“Thomas?” he said softly. The man’s face moved slightly, but he still stared out at the flames. “Tom, do you see the fire down there? It was started by a fey called Kelindria. We want to stop it. Because if we don’t do something, then the whole city is going to fall. Thousands of people will die. But to do that we need to find the Raven King. Do you know who that is? Because someone thought you did. A man called Cavanagh. He is in a society called the Invisible Order. They want to protect us from the fey. Thomas? Can you help us?” William waited, but Tom didn’t move. William sighed. Maybe Cavanagh had been wrong. Maybe Thomas couldn’t help them.
“I think it will hold,” said Corrigan.
William turned to Corrigan. He was pulling at the ivy that grew up the tower wall.
“I’m not climbing down that,” he said, horrified.
“You’re more than welcome to stay here,” said Corrigan, swinging around and grabbing hold of a stem. “See you at the bottom,” he said. Then he disappeared from view.
William leaned over the wall. Corrigan was almost halfway down the wall already, dropping hand over hand at an incredible speed. He heard a rustle behind him and turned to see Thomas climbing slowly down as well. That left just him.
He sighed. Looked as though he didn’t have a choice.
William pulled himself up onto the wall and lowered himself until his feet found
a grip in the branches. Then he let go with one hand and grabbed hold of a thick vine. He yanked it. He pushed down. The branch felt strong. He let go with one hand and grabbed a thick clump of the ivy. Then he started to drop slowly downward, moving hand over hand, shifting his feet around until they found solid purchase in the vegetation.
“Come on,” said a voice from beneath him. “You can drop the rest of the way.”
William finally looked down to see Katerina waiting about six feet below. He let go and dropped onto the grass.
“I saw that fey and his friends arrive,” she explained. “Came in here to hide till I could figure out what to do and saw the other two climbing down the tower.”
William looked around, but couldn’t see Thomas or Corrigan anywhere.
“They jumped over the wall at the back,” said Katerina softly. She held up a hand for silence. William could hear the sounds of raised voices coming from the other side of the church. “And I think we should join them. Rather quickly.”
William agreed, and they both ran through the graveyard and climbed over the wall to the street outside the church grounds. William could smell the fire now. Even though it was far away, the smell of burning wood and smoke hung in the air, scratching at the back of his throat.
“Over here,” called Corrigan.
William and Katerina hurried over to where the piskie was waiting at the mouth of an alley. He wasn’t looking at them. His attention was focused on something else.
William peered over his shoulder to find Thomas sitting hunched on the ground.
“What—?” he started to say, but the words died on his tongue.
There was something crawling from Thomas’s mouth.
William stared in horror as spindly legs pulled at the sides of Thomas’s mouth. He moaned, then started rocking back and forth as the nostalgae (for William realized this is what was in his mouth), pushed open his jaws. Thomas tilted his head back, then spat the creature out. It dropped onto the ground in front of Corrigan, growing larger as they watched.