Day of Deliverance jc-2

by Johnny O'Brien

  At last, they were inside. The great chapel was only lit by the gentle flicker of candles, but even by this light Jack could see that the building was magnificent — a huge rectangular cavern with clifflike walls and windows soaring up to a spectacular fan-vaulted ceiling way, way above.

  Angus elbowed him in the ribs. “Wake up — what now?”

  People were milling about and gradually taking seats for the service. They had minutes at most before their pursuers followed them inside the chapel.

  “What about over there?” Angus whispered. He pointed to a small wooden door set into the wall in a corner of the chapel.

  “Worth a go. But don’t get noticed.”

  They moved quietly over to the door, aided by the shadows inside the chapel. While the others formed a screen, Jack tried the handle.

  “It’s open!”

  Jack eased the door ajar and, checking that no one was watching, they each slipped into what seemed to be a large, dark cupboard. Except it couldn’t be a cupboard, because grey moonlight glimmered through a narrow slit window above them.

  “What is this place?”Angus whispered.

  “It’s the bottom of one of the chapel turrets — look, there are stairs,” Fanshawe replied.

  “Do you think anyone saw us?”

  “I don’t know, it was pretty dark in there, but we don’t want to risk it. Let’s go.”

  Jack started to climb the narrow spiral staircase. After a few minutes they reached a second wooden door that opened onto the massive roof of the chapel. The turret was one of two at the west end of the chapel that looked out over the River Cam. On the opposite side of the roof soared the taller twin turrets built into each corner of the east end of the chapel. They stood in silence in the doorway at the top of the spiral staircase, straining to hear any sound from below.

  “Hear anything?”

  The choir had stopped singing and the congregation below were still, awaiting the start of the service. Suddenly, they heard a scrape of ghostly footsteps echoing up the staircase towards them.

  “They’re coming — we’ve had it,” Angus whispered, panic in his voice. “We can’t go back down there and there’s no way off this roof.”

  Jack smacked his forehead in a moment of inspiration. “The other turrets. They must have staircases too! We could go back down one of those.”

  Angus smiled. “Nice one.”

  The four of them dashed across the roof towards the turrets on the east side. Angus rattled the door handle of the north-east tower.

  “It’s locked!”

  “So try that one.” Jack pointed at the south-east turret and they clambered up over the crest of the roof and down towards it. It was a cold night, but Jack’s palms were sticky with sweat. He turned the handle of the door in the south-east turret.

  “Locked too. We’re stuffed.”

  “Those guys will be up on the roof in no time. We’re trapped…” Angus said between his teeth.

  “And I don’t want a crossbow bolt in my head,” Fanshawe said, trembling.

  “Unless…” Angus craned up at the massive octagonal turret that towered above them, tapering into the darkness of the night sky.

  “No way…” Jack said.

  “We don’t have a choice — I don’t want to be around when those guys get here. It looks easy enough — all those vent holes and gargoyles or whatever they are. We don’t need to go all the way up, just to that parapet thing in the shadows so they can’t see us…”

  Jack took a deep breath and turned to Trinculo and Fanshawe. “We have no choice. The crest of the roof will give us some cover for a few minutes as we climb.”

  “But…”

  Jack was frightened, but he felt himself getting angry. “Get a grip, Harry, or we’re all dead. Do exactly what Angus does… and don’t look down.”

  Angus stepped off the roof balustrade and onto a sloping slab of stone a few feet up the turret.

  “It’s not bad, the stone is easy to grip,” he whispered down.

  Fanshawe, Trinculo and then Jack started to follow Angus up the outside of the turret, placing hands, feet and even their whole bodies in exactly the positions that Angus showed them. They were pumped up with adrenaline and progress was surprisingly quick. After a few feet, Angus came to his first obstacle — a large stone overhang. By stretching his hand across the overhang he located a cloverleaf-shaped air hole, which give him just enough purchase to lever himself up and over. He rapidly ascended the next section and arrived at a further overhang at the bottom of the parapet. Repeating the manoeuvre, he suddenly found himself inside the stone parapet — a sort of decorative crown a good fifteen metres above roof level. From here, he was able to lean over and help first Fanshawe, then Trinculo and finally Jack up and into the parapet.

  They made it just in time. Looking across the roof from their position perched up in the shadows, they saw two figures emerge from the darkness.

  “Keep down!” Jack whispered.

  They crouched behind the low crenellated wall of the parapet. Fanshawe was exhausted. He plonked his bottom onto a narrow part of the parapet. Jack wished he hadn’t. There was a loud squawking as a fat pigeon made a brave bid for freedom from Fanshawe’s descending buttocks. But Fanshawe was unable to control his downward momentum and the poor bird was flattened.

  “Don’t move!” Angus hissed.

  Below, the two men cautiously approached the eastern turrets, their crossbows at the ready. They tested the locked doors on each of the two turrets in turn. Jack could hear them in furtive discussion and he strained to hear what they were saying. All he could tell was that they were not speaking English. It sounded more like Italian, or… Spanish.

  After a further search of the roof, the men crept back over to the open doorway in the north-west tower and disappeared down the staircase. Jack leaned his head on the stonework behind him and let out a long sigh of relief.

  Angus whispered, “They’ve gone. What now?”

  “We can’t stay up here — we’ll freeze to death.”

  “We should stay here for as long as we can stand it, then maybe drop back down when the service is finishing.”

  Angus peered down. “I reckon getting down’s going to be harder than coming up.” He thought for a moment. “I know… give me that.”

  He took his own backpack, and then Jack’s, and fiddled with the straps to tie them together. “Not perfect — but I can probably use this to sort of belay each of you down, across the overhang at least, so you can get a foothold.”

  As the service finished and people began leaving the chapel way below, they started their descent. Jack went first — initially dangling like a pendulum from the straps of the backpack. He hung in space for a moment and caught sight of the poorly lit street — a good sixty metres below. If Angus let go or if he slipped, he’d have about three seconds to live. At last, his foot touched the safety of a cloverleaf air hole and in a few minutes he had picked his way back down to the safety of the roof. The others followed and soon they were back at the open tower door. All was quiet. Then, as they started on their way back down the spiral staircase, Jack noticed another small wooden door — one they had not seen when they first entered.

  “Hey, what’s this?” He tried the handle. “It’s open. Come on!”

  There was no light, but they pressed on regardless, closing the door behind them. They didn’t know it, but they were now in the giant attic of King’s Chapel, between the roof and the great stone ceiling vaults. The thin layer of stone under their feet was the only thing between them and the vast emptiness of the chapel below.

  “Musty in here.”

  “But it’s indoors and safe. I vote we hunker down here till morning and then make our move.”

  Jack awoke shivering. His whole body ached. The nervous exhaustion from their efforts the night before had somehow carried them through a night of fitful sleep on the cold stone floor. There was now some light in the attic area and he reached over and gently s
hook the huddled shapes of the others who awoke, groaning.

  They retraced their footsteps down the spiral staircase and then crept out of the door at the bottom of the turret and into the chapel. All quiet. Soon they were across the college quad, through the gate and into the street. Jack was tired, cold and aching, but he was also exhilarated by their incredible escape. He banged Angus on the back.

  “We made it!”

  Wrong. Suddenly, he felt a cold lump of metal pressing against the back of his neck.

  A voice whispered, “Do exactly what I say.”

  Peace,Love and Understanding

  They were bundled into a covered cart. One of their assailants travelled in the back with them while the other took the reins at the front. Jack had little time to study the men but he could tell immediately they were not the Spaniards who had pursued them up onto the chapel roof the night before.

  The man with the pistol was firm but surprisingly polite. “I apologise for the rough tactics, but you are in great danger. I would like each of you to lie down on the bottom of the cart until we get out of town. We will then have more time to explain.”

  “But…” Trinculo started to complain. The man, suddenly flushed with anger, thrust the pistol into his face.

  “Do what I say,” he ordered.

  They lay flat on the rough wooden surface of the cart. Although Jack was scared, he noticed that the pistols the man wielded didn’t look very sixteenth century — in fact they were bang up to date.

  Jack’s body was still aching from the night spent up on the tower and being bashed around on the bottom of the cart as they headed out of town didn’t help matters. After a while, the driver turned back towards his colleague.

  “Here — this’ll do.”

  The cart rumbled to a halt.

  “Right, gentlemen, I want you to get up, one by one, and step down from the cart. Please don’t try anything stupid.”

  They had pulled up by a small copse next to the road. The landscape was flat and boggy for miles in every direction and in the distance they could still see the spires of Cambridge. The sun had risen into a clear blue winter’s sky and Jack waited for its weak rays to warm his bones.

  “Sit down by the wall there.”

  The men seemed more relaxed now that they were out of Cambridge. They both looked to be in their mid thirties, fit and clean-shaven.

  “Here we go.”

  The taller of the two men handed round a steaming thermos. Fanshawe and Trinculo looked confused.

  “What is it?”

  The man chuckled. “Not something you will have tasted. We call it tea.”

  Jack took a sip. As the hot liquid slipped down his throat he began to warm up.

  “And this might help…”

  The man handed out some dried salt beef. Again, Fanshawe and Trinculo were suspicious, but seeing Angus and Jack help themselves, they tucked in.

  “Better?” the man asked. Jack nodded. “First, an apology for the gun toting. We needed to get you out of there quickly. Now… introductions.”

  “My name is James Whitsun,” he gestured to the shorter man, “and my colleague here is Tim Gift.”

  But Jack had already worked out who they were. “You’re Revisionists.”

  Gift smiled. “And of course you are Jack Christie and Angus Jud.” He sighed. “You don’t know how much trouble you’ve caused us.”

  “So you can explain why those people were trying to kill us and what is going on?”

  Whitsun took a slug of tea and a deep breath. “Yes. Your friend Marlowe doesn’t just write plays. He has some unusual, and dangerous, friends. He also has an addiction to risk-taking… and money. He seems to have got himself into a position where he is what we would call a double agent. He works for the English state, and also for the Spanish state. Not a particularly comfortable position to be in as the two countries are virtually at war. But he thinks he’s cleverer than both.”

  “Those people who chased us last night, they were Spanish?”

  “Correct, Jack. Marlowe is involved in a Spanish plot against the English state. Those men are Spanish agents who are working with Marlowe. Marlowe has all sorts of connections among the aristocracy and the court — he is a useful asset. The Spanish are known to us and we have inveigled our way into their trust. Recently, however, Marlowe has also come to the attention of Sir Francis Walsingham — Secretary of State.”

  “The founder of England’s first secret service,” Gift added.

  “The Spaniards have been keeping a close eye on Marlowe and saw you accompany him to his rooms. They were suspicious that you might be after him. They may even have thought you were also working for Walsingham. In order to save himself, we understand that Marlowe told the Spaniards that you had threatened him and searched his apartment. He said you had panicked when the Spaniards arrived, and that you then escaped with knowledge of the plot to take to Walsingham in London.”

  “And they believed that?”

  “Marlowe got away with it — he is no fool — and the Spanish will have him safe and secure by now. He betrayed you, but you’ve been very lucky. Once we became aware of your situation, we were able to distract the Spaniards sufficiently to pick you up.”

  Fanshawe muttered bitterly, “If I ever see that Marlowe again, I’ll…”

  Jack interrupted. “So, how do you know these Spaniards? What do you mean they trust you? And how did you find us… rescue us?”

  Whitsun glanced nervously at Fanshawe and Trinculo. “A little too much information, for just now, Jack. However, we are going to take you somewhere safe — to someone who can answer all your questions.”

  “Who?” Angus said.

  “Dr Pendelshape, of course.”

  Jack’s heart skipped a beat when he heard the name.

  “But first, we need to know, did Marlowe give you anything before he left?”

  Fanshawe looked nervously at Jack. Jack nodded. “Tell them, Harry.”

  “A letter. I swore on my life not to open it. He also gave us money for our services to take it to Walsingham,” Fanshawe replied.

  “Perfect. If you can hand us the letter, please.”

  Fanshawe hesitated.

  Whitsun insisted, an undercurrent of menace in his voice. “Please.”

  Fanshawe reached into an inside pocket and handed the letter to Whitsun who whisked it from him. “Very good. We certainly don’t want this getting into the wrong hands. We’ll take a proper look in a minute.”

  Gift got to his feet. “And now I’m afraid we have some rather unpleasant business to see to.” He removed his pistol from inside his cloak and eyed Fanshawe and Trinculo.

  “Jack, Angus, you may want to look away. What we have to do is unfortunate, but necessary.”

  Jack was incredulous. “Hold on, you’re not going to…”

  “Don’t intervene, Jack, these people already know far too much — their knowledge could wreck our plans.”

  As Gift spoke, he was unaware of the odd figure approaching a little way down the track. He was perched up on a donkey and wore a grey hooded cloak — a bit like a friar from a monastery. As he reached the group, he dismounted and led the donkey towards them.

  Whitsun and Gift were distracted, and Gift surreptitiously reholstered his weapon.

  “What now?” he muttered impatiently.

  The figure walked slowly towards them, the hood of his cloak covering his head. He did not reveal his face.

  “What do you want old man?” Gift said.

  “Alms for the poor.”

  “We have nothing, go away,” Whitsun replied in frustration. “We’re busy.”

  “In that case, peace be with you.”

  Without raising his head, the friar made a sign of the cross in the air. Then, as Whitsun and Gift started to turn away disinterestedly, he placed his hand inside his cloak and withdrew a heavy wooden club. The first blow caught Gift square on the head and he crumpled to the ground. Whitsun reached for his weapon,
but he was not quick enough. With his second blow, the friar buried the club into Whitsun’s face. He fell to his knees clutching his nose. The friar landed a second blow to Whitsun’s head and he too fell unconscious to the ground.

  “As I said — peace be with you — brothers.”

  The friar threw back his hood and his face was revealed.

  “Monk!” Fanshawe cried. Immediately Fanshawe and Trinculo embraced their old friend.

  “Steady, steady.”

  “But how…?”

  “You didn’t think I would let the great Fanshawe Players leave town without me, did you?”

  “You followed us?”

  “We were thrown out of the buttery late last night. I checked Marlowe’s rooms — but he had gone… and so had you. I searched college, but found not a trace. I had to sleep in one of the staircases. This morning, I went out into the street. I saw you come out of King’s College and I was about to shout, and then I saw those two men take you. I decided to follow…”

  They laughed. “Thank you for that Monk. I didn’t know you cared.”

  Monk shrugged, sheepishly. “You’re the only family I have.”

  Jack knelt down to inspect Whitsun and Gift.

  “Are they dead?” Angus asked.

  Jack felt for their pulses. “No, but they’re out for the count.”

  “What do we do?”

  Jack thought to himself. “They can take us to Pendelshape, but on the other hand, they are completely ruthless. Look what they just tried to do.”

  Monk wielded his club. “I say we finish them off right now.”

  Jack put up his hand. “No. You don’t want blood on your hands. We’ll tie them up nice and tight — that’ll give us time to get away. Angus, you help me search them for anything useful.”

  A moment later, Jack and Angus were rummaging through the clothes and belongings of the two men while Fanshawe, Trinculo and Monk prepared to leave.

  Angus removed the two pistols. “We’ll take those for a start.”

  “And I think we’ll have Marlowe’s letter back,” Jack said.

  Jack felt a smooth object in one of the inside pockets. He looked round to be sure that the others were busy. “Hey, Angus,” he whispered. “How much do you think VIGIL would like to get hold of a Revisionist time phone?”