Kingdom Lock

by I. D. Roberts

  KINGDOM LOCK

  I. D. ROBERTS

  Contents

  Title Page

  Map

  Prologue

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  By I. D. Roberts

  Copyright

  PROLOGUE

  The Hindu Kush near the North-West Frontier

  December 1914

  ‘You must. If we stop, we die.’

  ‘I need a moment …’ the girl said, and slumped down in the snow.

  The young man halted, and turned round. The girl had removed her lambskin Kalpak hat and was pulling at her bootlaces.

  ‘We don’t have time …’

  Amy Townshend raised her head. Her face was ivory white and drawn at the corners of her small mouth. But her emerald eyes sparkled defiantly.

  ‘I have a stone,’ she said. ‘In my boot. Besides, I haven’t seen any sign of our pursuers for a while now. I think we may have lost them.’

  Kingdom Lock stared down at her. He knew India and safety were no more than a few days’ hike away, but they needed to press on. How close their pursuers actually were, he wasn’t sure. But he knew they hadn’t lost them.

  ‘Hurry then.’

  ‘Go ahead. I can catch you up.’ Amy’s face disappeared behind a curtain of matted, long auburn hair as she continued to struggle with her laces. She tutted and put her rag-bound fingers to her cracked, full lips, winced, and began to pull at the pieces of material with her teeth.

  ‘I won’t leave you, miss,’ Lock said, his eyes fixed to the top of her head, a splash of chestnut red amongst the crisp whiteness of the landscape around them.

  ‘I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself,’ Amy said.

  Lock turned his gaze away and began to scan the snow-covered mountain range that filled the horizon. A bitter wind stung his face as it whipped at his tattered coat. He glanced over his shoulder and squinted into the milky sun.

  ‘The border is just over that ridge.’

  Amy didn’t respond. She was concentrating on inching her foot out of her boot.

  ‘Jesus, miss!’ Lock said, and knelt down. Despite Amy’s foot being bound, he could see it was badly swollen and bleeding.

  ‘It’s nothing. A stone I tell you,’ she said.

  ‘That’s more than a stone, miss,’ Lock said, taking hold of her foot and peeling back the bloodied rags. ‘How long?’

  Amy winced and shook her head. ‘A day, maybe more.’

  ‘Why the hell didn’t you say something?’ Lock said, and before she could protest, he quickly ripped a strip of material from the hem of her skirt.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Amy insisted.

  Lock ignored her and slowly unbound her foot. He then began to wash the blood and pus away with snow. Amy kept jerking her foot back, but Lock held firm and started to re-dress it with the strip of clean material.

  ‘We need to get your boot back on or your foot will freeze. This will hurt, miss.’

  Amy glared back at him. There were tears in her eyes, but she nodded for him to go ahead. ‘Your left eye, Mr Lock, the green one …’ she said, clearly trying to distract herself from the pain as Lock forced the boot back on as gently as he could. ‘It goes almost brown when you’re angry.’

  ‘I’m not angry, miss. Just concerned.’

  Amy squirmed and cried out briefly, but the boot eventually passed over her ankle. Lock tied it loosely, then got to his feet and held out his hand.

  ‘I can manage,’ Amy said, pushing the offered hand away.

  ‘If you say so, miss,’ Lock said. He gathered his coat about him, hitched his scarf back up around his head and took one last look back the way they had come. Bugger. His eyes followed their erratic footprints clearly marked in the virgin snow. That was bad.

  ‘We haven’t lost them, have we?’ Amy put her hat back on her head and shakily tried to stand.

  ‘I can’t see them. But they’re there, somewhere.’ Lock gripped Amy’s coat and lifted her tiny frame. She tried to protest, but Lock was firm. ‘You can’t walk, so I will carry you.’

  Amy didn’t protest, even when Lock hoisted her unceremoniously up onto his back and started walking.

  ‘This is your own fault, you know, Mr Lock,’ she said.

  ‘What is, miss?’ Lock said, adjusting the weight of the girl on his back.

  ‘This situation. We should have done as I said, taken a boat and headed north across the Black Sea.’

  ‘The ports and the waterways are heavily patrolled, miss, otherwise I would normally agree. This way, east and south, across country, means we have a better chance of avoiding capture.’

  ‘Well, that’s not looking so bright, is it?’ Amy said. ‘How long have those riders been on our heels? Nearly four weeks now? Never deviating, always close behind.’

  Lock didn’t answer her. But she did have a point. Their pursuers had stuck with them.

  ‘I didn’t need your help, you know. I was perfectly capable of escaping from that internment camp.’

  ‘Perhaps you were, miss. But I’m just following orders.’

  ‘That’s what my father always tells my mother when he gets things wrong.’

  ‘Does he often get things wrong?’ Lock said.

  ‘Frequently. He left me behind in Constantinople, didn’t he? Thinking there would be plenty of time for me to finish my schooling and then follow him and maman to India.’

  ‘Be reasonable, miss. How could he know that the Turks would declare war when they did?’

  ‘It’s his job to know, Mr Lock.’

  ‘I think that’s being rather unfair,’ Lock said.

  ‘Maybe,’ Amy sniffed.

  Lock trudged on in silence. The cold was beginning to creep up from his already numb feet, but he had to ignore that. He had to just keep moving. But after a few paces, he paused. He could feel the tremor of Amy’s body through his back and realised that she was laughing softly to herself.

  ‘Miss?’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing, just a childish thought …’

  ‘Go on,’ Lock said, ‘talk. It will keep us alert.’ He continued walking.

  ‘I was thinking that this is not how I expected to see in the new year, that’s all.’

  ‘What, a relaxing hike in the mountains?’ Lock said. ‘So what would a typical new year be then, miss?’

  ‘Oh, some damned dull party. Father and Mother love to entertain. Always a full social calendar for them, no matter where he’s posted in the world.’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll want to throw a big party when we get you safely back to India. To celebrate.’

  Amy grunted. ‘Yes, I expect so.’ She fell silent again and Lock drifted off into a kind of trance, just listening to his breath rasping in his throat and to the scrunch of the snow beneath his feet.

  ‘Tell me,’ Amy said after a while, ‘have you done this before?’

  ‘Done what, miss?’

  ‘Rescued a woman?’

  ‘On occasion.’

  Lock laboured onwards.

  ‘Do you … kill? To order, I mean?’ Amy said, breaking the silence once more.

  ‘On occasion.’


  Amy paused. ‘What about dancing? Do you dance? And don’t say “on occasion”.’

  ‘Dance?’

  ‘Yes, you know, at balls and parties.’

  ‘I can’t say I’ve been to many balls, miss.’

  ‘Well, I think you are right, my parents will probably throw a party,’ she said. ‘Will you come? If it was more than just a celebration of my return, if it was, say, my birthday?’

  ‘Will it be? Your birthday?’

  ‘Not until March. I’ll be eighteen then. Can’t avoid a party on one’s eighteenth, I suppose.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘I’d like you to come, if I do have a party. Would you, Mr Lock?’

  ‘We’ll see, miss.’

  ‘I’d like to dance with you.’

  ‘It may be a while before you dance on those feet, miss,’ Lock said.

  ‘Oh. Yes, I suppose …’

  ‘But what about your beau? Won’t he be jealous if you danced with me?’

  ‘That’s an indelicate question, Mr Lock,’ Amy said. ‘But, if you must know, yes, I suspect he would be. Anyway, I shall decide whom I dance with.’

  ‘Good for you, miss. Spoken like a true suffragette.’

  ‘Don’t be facetious, Mr Lock.’

  ‘I meant it as a compliment, miss.’

  ‘Did you?’ Amy sounded dubious. ‘Besides, Casper can go to blazes if he has a problem with the men I choose to dance wi—’

  The ground in front of Lock kicked up a spray of snow. Moments later a gunshot rang out, echoing loudly off the mountainside. Lock felt Amy tense as he staggered and turned.

  On the furthest ridge behind them, no more than a mile away, there were now three men on horseback.

  ‘Bugger!’

  Lock turned away and laboured on. He tried to think only of their escape and not the impact he would feel when the expected bullet pierced his body ending his mission. Not long now, a voice in his head whispered, it won’t take long for our pursuers to cover the gap between us on horseback. Hide! We need somewhere to hide, his subconscious screamed. But he could see nothing, only a barren, harsh, unforgiving landscape.

  Suddenly Lock lost his footing, and both he and Amy fell to the carpet of snow.

  ‘I can’t … believe … you just dropped m … me!’ Amy lifted her head and scowled. She pulled herself to her feet, brushed herself down and hobbled over to Lock’s side. He was hauling himself up and she helped to steady him. ‘We’re done for, aren’t we?’ she said.

  ‘Don’t say that.’

  ‘Just be honest with me,’ Amy said. ‘We can’t run, we can barely walk. And I won’t let you keep carrying me.’

  ‘I was asked to get you home, and home is where I’m going to get you, miss.’

  ‘If only we could find some shelter,’ she said.

  Lock shook his head. ‘I told you. If we stop …’

  ‘We die. I know.’ She tried to force a smile. ‘But … Look, we could hold them off for a while. Maybe even scare them away. See.’ She fumbled in her coat pocket and produced a pistol.

  ‘Where the hell did you get it?’ Lock could see it was a good weapon, a Browning FN Model 1903, the sidearm favoured by the Ottoman police, and it was lighter and easier to use than the British Webley he carried. Only his gun was useless now. He’d used the last of its cartridges some time back.

  ‘My servant smuggled it to me at the camp,’ Amy said. ‘I do know how to shoot.’

  ‘I’m sure you do, miss. But shooting a man is very different to shooting a squirrel.’

  ‘I’m well aware of that, Mr Lock,’ she said.

  ‘And you’ve had that all this time?’

  ‘Of course,’ Amy said.

  ‘And you didn’t think it important to let me know?’

  ‘No,’ Amy said. ‘Why should I? If the time came, I could produce it. As I have done so now.’

  Lock shook his head. ‘Besides, how many bullets have you got in that thing?’

  ‘Two.’

  ‘There are three of them.’

  ‘Well, we can get them to line up,’ Amy waved her hand to and fro, ‘one behind the other. Only need one bullet then.’

  Lock snorted and turned his attention back to the ridge. It was snowing now, but he could still make out the darker shapes of their pursuers, and they were getting closer and closer by the minute. ‘But you’re right,’ he said. ‘We need to find shelter.’ He scanned the landscape in front of them. ‘There are some rocks just a little way ahead. Do you think you could make it?’

  Amy stuffed the pistol back in her pocket, straightened her skirts, and nodded up at the towering figure of Lock. He opened his coat and she stepped into its protective veil. Amy hooked her arm around Lock’s waist and they slowly stumbled on towards a small grouping of boulders fifty yards ahead. The snow was falling thickly about them.

  The two fugitives edged forward, and with every passing minute Lock knew that their pursuers were closing in. He glanced back once but couldn’t see anything through the curtain of snow.

  Amy pulled up suddenly. ‘Stop!’

  Lock halted. Now what? Amy was pointing ahead. Lock strained his eyes but he still could see nothing but whiteness and the darker mass of the boulders.

  ‘We … we will have to go around,’ Amy winced.

  ‘Why? We haven’t the time—’

  ‘Crev … crevasse.’

  ‘Where?’ Lock stared into the snow.

  ‘That slight dip in the ground …’

  Lock looked again. He could see it, yes. It seemed to be quite wide just in front of the boulders and ran for a good distance off to their right. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Mother took my sister and I skiing … in the Alps last winter. We were taught to … recognise the signs. The snow is so light … acts like a little blanket over a ditch. But one wrong step, and … whoosh!’ Amy made a diving action with her hand.

  ‘Christ, that’s all we need.’ Lock stared blankly ahead, through the snow that was now cascading around them in huge, pregnant flakes. To his right the indentation in the ground appeared to widen out and stretch as far as his vision could see. To the left, it seemed to stay about as wide as he was tall. He checked behind him again. If he didn’t act now then they were done for.

  But Amy was beginning to flag. She was limping worse than before.

  Lock heaved her upright.

  ‘We’re going to have to jump, miss. Do you hear? It’s not too far across, over to our left there.’ The boulders were perhaps ten feet away, maybe a little more, on the other side of the crevasse.

  Amy nodded.

  ‘Together,’ Lock said, gripping Amy’s arm tighter. ‘I help you, you help me.’

  Amy raised her head and peered over at the boulders. She nodded again. ‘Very well, Mr Lock, for you,’ she managed to smile.

  They shuffled a little over to their left, to where Lock hoped that the crevasse was narrower. After a few paces they stopped again. Lock pulled himself free of Amy’s grip and inched forward tentatively, tensing himself should the ground suddenly give way beneath him.

  ‘Far enough!’ Amy said.

  Lock stopped. He unwound the scarf from his head and neck and placed it at his feet, then turned and cautiously made his way back to the girl. They both stripped off their heavy coats, and Amy pushed her hat in one of the pockets. Lock walked back to the scarf marker, transferred Amy’s pistol to his own pocket, and threw the coats as far as he could across where he imagined the crevasse to be. They landed about seven feet away. He limped back to the trembling girl.

  ‘Ready, miss?’

  Amy stretched up and kissed his mouth. ‘Pour la chance. For luck,’ she said, and hooked her arm into his.

  Lock took a deep breath and cursed – cursed his luck, cursed his life, but most of all he cursed Major Ross and his bloody White Tabs for getting him in this situation in the first place. He’d had enough of this hero work in China, little more than eight weeks previously. And that had proved to b
e a disaster. He was tired, he was angry, but most of all he was cold.

  They ran.

  As they reached the scarf, Lock, with his arm gripping Amy’s delicate waist, hauled them both across the crevasse. He suddenly thought that they weren’t going to make it. The pile of coats was too far away. Lock yelled, but they crossed the gap and landed in a heap about a foot from the nearest coat. He gave out a cry of pain and grabbed his knee, then lay still for a moment, breathing deeply and grinding his teeth. But it didn’t matter; they’d made it.

  Lock wiped the snow from his mouth and moved forward to help Amy to her feet. But just as she reached out to take hold of Lock’s hand, the ground beneath her gave way. Lock lunged out, seizing Amy’s wrist just in time, and fell forward. The crevasse below was a gaping black hole with no end that Lock could see and Amy, eyes wide with panic, was frantically kicking at the wall of blue ice trying to get a foothold. But the more she struggled the more Lock’s grip on her tiny wrist slackened.

  Lock strained to anchor his weight and punched his toes into the snow. As he tightened his grip on Amy, the sweat of the effort began to sting his eyes. He checked for the pursuers. Still no sign.

  ‘I’ve got a foothold … pull!’ Amy yelled out and Lock gritted his teeth and heaved. The muscles screamed in his arms with the effort, but he finally dragged the girl out of the crevasse and onto firmer ground.

  Amy lay still, staring up at the white sky, gasping for air.

  Lock scrambled to his feet and snatched up their coats. ‘Miss, are you all right?’ He shivered, quickly pulling his coat back about him and helping Amy on with hers.

  Amy nodded and smiled weakly. She was shaking uncontrollably, but there was colour in her cheeks again. ‘You could do with a shave, Mr Lock,’ she said, rubbing her lips. ‘And a haircut.’

  ‘Come along.’ Lock helped her up.

  They staggered over to the boulders and crashed to the ground behind one of the rocks. Lock took the Browning out of his pocket and checked the magazine. It did only hold two bullets. He handed the gun to Amy.

  ‘Stay here, miss.’

  ‘Where … where are you going?’

  ‘Just stay put. Please.’ Lock got stiffly to his feet and hobbled away from the boulders, along to the wider edge of the crevasse.