Stanley still wore the melancholy expression from the morning. I had no idea why. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he had told me the story of his origins and that the death of his family had been painfully brought to his mind. Or maybe it was other reasons that had prompted him to spend the day sober in our cave.
Now he took the floor and addressed the people who crowded the place around the campfire. "Listen up, men! I suppose there isn't very much left of the booty we made yesterday after today's binge."
The men bowed their heads in dismay. Another reason to loathe this gang. Like animals, they satisfied only their immediate needs, no one thought of tomorrow. At least I had a dream.
"Be that as it may. We can't afford to rest any longer, so I suggest that tonight we go to a house Evan has discovered for us. It's close by and at the moment the owner has flown the coop."
"Who is the owner?" asked Ronald, one of the bandits no older than myself. There were few old members in the Club of Wolves at all.
"It is Captain Stephen Fletcher, the leader of the Royal Guard."
I was staggered. Life had its funny coincidences. During the day I had tried to become one of their own, and at night I had nothing better to do than rob their leader's home.
"Fletcher is quite a rich man and for all we know he is a man who is very much in love with his young wife after all," Stan continued. "At every reception she is seen wearing the most precious jewellery and I could bet that this jewellery is stored in some casket in her bedchamber. Fletcher is currently indispensable at the royal court, as his guards are being trained for an imminent confrontation with France. His wife is on a visit to her parents. That means the estate is empty at the moment. We won't try to break down the doors of his house, that would mean too much noise. And you know, noise ..."
»... is our worst enemy," his men roared loudly in chorus, laughing.
"Instead, we will climb down the chimney into the fireplace. With a rope we will pull up all the precious objects."
"But a chimney is much too narrow for us," one of the robbers said.
"Too narrow for most of us," Stanley corrected and then looked at me and grinned. "But not for all of us."
He nodded slowly and then said, "Since you proved yourself yesterday, you will climb down there and Richard will accompany you."
Richard started up, "But Stanley ..."
"Don't argue!" the boss retorted sharply. "I know you don't like George, but that doesn't matter. This is about the club, damn it. You and George are the only ones emaciated enough to fit down the chimney, all right?"
"Sure," Richard replied.
"Five of us will set out," Stanley explained further. "Me and Ronald will cover you from the outside. Timmy is the strongest, he'll hold the rope at the top of the chimney. You climb in and tie the loot to the rope. When there's nothing left to grab, we'll pull you out and that's it. Nothing could be simpler. What could possibly go wrong?"
Chapter 18
Stephen Fletcher's house lay in complete darkness far away from noisy pubs and bawling passers-by. The portal of the new town house could be described as rather ostentatious. There was no light at all from the large windows and the impenetrable blackness behind the panes of glass seemed downright eerie. That's where we were supposed to go in?
"How do we get to the roof?", I asked Stanley in a whisper.
He looked at me with a smile. "Climbing. You'll go first, George. That shouldn't be a problem for you. There are plenty of ledges and statues to hold onto. You will take this rope with you. When you get to the top, tie it to the chimney and lower it so Richard and Timmy can follow you."
With that he handed me a thick, coiled rope which I slung over my shoulder.
From the wardrobe of our hideout, I had been given a simple black shirt and trousers especially for that night, just like all the other members of this nightly foray. In these sinister clothes our figures were hardly distinguishable from nocturnal shadows.
"Now go on, George!" urged Stanley. "And good luck."
I made my way to the doorway of the house and looked up. Stan had indeed been right. There were plenty of ways to make my way to the roof here. With a daring leap I made it to the lowest window sill and pulled myself up onto the cold stone. My arms ached from this exertion. I took a short breath before continuing on my way. I looked up again and could see that there were considerable indentations between the bricks next to the window. I used these depressions as temporary ladder rungs to reach the top piece by piece. Don't look down, I thought to myself, and concentrated on the difficult path. The danger of simply slipping and falling was quite great and I was now at a height where I would have to pay for a fall with at least a few broken bones.
The wall ledge of the next floor came into view and I grasped this safe-looking foothold with relief, when suddenly a chaos of screeching noises and swirling air raged around my head. I almost lost my footing in shock. My fingers clawed convulsively into the stone and only now did I realise that I had merely startled a few pigeons who had come here to rest for the night. My fluttering heart gradually calmed down and I took a deep breath, trying not to think about how close I had just come to death.
Just one more floor, I thought to myself and pulled myself up the ledge, my hands digging into pigeon droppings - just one more floor. I was now facing a statue of a half-naked woman. Ignoring the femininity, my gaze slid upwards. The roof was almost within reach. I climbed onto the woman's left hand, grabbed her head and pushed myself upwards. My knee landed on her shoulder. My left foot sought a hold on the curve of her breast and slipped off. For a blink my heart stopped. I fell, felt the pull to earth and immediately felt my right arm bounce against something that opposed my fall. My hand reached blindly for it and got hold of it. Jerkily, my fall ended. My arm hurt tremendously. I looked up and realised I was hanging from the foot of the statue. It took superhuman effort to pull my body back up. I was not particularly muscular. It was only thanks to the fact that I was as light as a flea that I was able to pull my own body weight up. I marvelled at my own efficiency, for without the imminent danger to my life, my muscles would have refused to work long ago. When I finally lay on the wall ledge and closed my eyes, I first needed time to reactivate my strength. Now I would not make any more mistakes, I swore to myself.
I pulled myself up by the statue, climbed onto her hand and now my face was in front of her face. The stone lips seemed to want to mock me.
This time I spurned her bosom and instead immediately mounted the other shoulder. For a moment, only my legs were in contact with the stone. I stretched out and reached the roof with my hands. Fortunately, it was so close that I didn't need another heavy pull-up. I pulled myself up with a slight movement and got to feel the roof tiles. They were not particularly slippery, so my hands and feet found a good grip. I carefully climbed up the slope until I reached the chimney. There I exhaled with relief and immediately set about winding one end of the thick rope around the chimney. I tied a knot and threw the rest of the rope down towards the ground. Only now did I allow myself to sit down on the roof ridge and relax my tired muscles. I would have preferred to close my eyes and rest, but I knew that the hardest part was still ahead of me. All I could allow myself was a little rest.
It wasn't long before a first panting figure scrambled up the rope. Timmy didn't seem quite used to such exertions any more. When he finally sat next to me on the top of the roof, it was impossible for him to utter a single word from sheer exhaustion.
Richard reached the roof ridge a little later. He showed hardly any signs of exhaustion. Even now he managed to look past me in a hostile gesture. He was probably hoping to annoy me with this ignoring behaviour, but I had already experienced quite different things in my short life than that something like this could touch me.
"All right, we have no time to lose," said Timmy, who finally managed to speak a few words.
He rolled up the rope that was dangling into the abyss and then dropped it into the n
arrow opening of the chimney.
"Have fun, boys!" he said, and watched as Richard was the first to climb up the chimney, grasp the rope and shimmy down into the dark abyss. I followed him immediately. My hands gripped the rough hemp and the stuffy darkness of the chimney flue enveloped me. I was too excited to feel anything like fear in the face of this eerie place. Besides, in Richard's presence, I wanted to appear as hardened and casual as possible. So I climbed the remaining feet to the ground like a man. It was hard to breathe as cold soot filled the vent with its dust. Several times I had to fight a strong urge to cough, but I managed to suppress it each time.
At last the narrow brick enclosure of the chimney widened, a sign that the ground was coming into view. My feet sank into a mountain of ash. A cloud of dust swirled up and obscured my vision for a few moments.
"Where have you been?", Richard's voice reached my ear.
I crawled out of the semicircular opening and found myself in a large salon. Suddenly the memory of Longhill entered my consciousness. It was astonishing how much this noble drawing room resembled the drawing room in Lady Isabelle's castle. I saw myself again in fine clothes, sitting on a sumptuous couch, rattling off French vocabulary. Suddenly I had Lady Isabelle's face before my eyes again, her pale beauty, her large, loving eyes and her ...
"Where have you been?", Richard's voice cut through my thoughts. "We have no time to lose."
From the sharpness of his words, I could only easily read that it was a great burden for him to have me, a freshman, with him on this raid. His antipathy towards me had apparently not changed and I had no idea whatsoever why he held such a grudge against me.
I followed him through the salon. Cautiously we looked around, making out only dark shadows and faint outlines. The only light that reached us was the pale moonlight that filtered in through the windows. Torches or oil lamps would have given us away, so we had to manage like this.
"Do you have any idea where the bedchamber might be?" he asked me, though I could tell from his voice how much effort it took him to ask.
"Probably on the side facing away from the street," I said and opened the large double door of the salon.
We walked quietly through a cool corridor in the direction I had mentioned. Although we knew that there was not a soul in the house, we moved extremely cautiously. By now I could make out almost nothing, as the last window was about thirty feet from where we stood. I felt the walls for a door and felt only cold metal, which I sensed belonged to the armour of a set of knight's armour. A little further into the darkness I found what I was looking for. The outline of a wooden door became palpable and soon I held a heavy metal handle in my hand, which I slowly pushed down.
"It's locked," I turned to Richard in frustration.
"Damn!" he answered from behind me. "However, that is a clear sign that there must be something valuable there."
"You're right," I replied. "His wife's jewellery."
"We should just break down the damn door," Richard now suggested. "The house is currently unoccupied anyway. No one will hear us."
"All right. We'll throw ourselves against it at the same time to make it burst open."
We took a short run-up, Richard whispered 'Go!' and we threw ourselves with all our strength against the wooden barrier. The lock gave way with a clang and the thin wooden door flew against the wall full of energy.
The room that now opened up in front of us was bathed in bright moonlight coming in through the large, unbarred windows. In fact, it was the bedchamber of the house. A huge bed with a velvet overhang occupied the centre. The walls were adorned with several large paintings whose golden frames probably had a higher value than the paintings themselves. On a dresser against the wall I caught sight of exactly what I had hoped to see - a large casket. Richard rushed to the ornate box and opened it.
"Gold, diamonds!" he groaned. "Evan really was right. That guardsman's wife has more jewellery than any princess."
"Best we take the whole box now," I suggested.
Richard lifted it up and said with a gasp, "Oh God, it's heavy."
"Take it to the fireplace and have Timmy pull it up! I'll have a look around meanwhile," I instructed him.
For a moment Richard looked at me as if to object to my tone of command. Then he changed his mind in view of the situation and left the room with his heavy luggage.
Meanwhile, I went to a chest of drawers and opened the lower doors. Strangely, the individual compartments inside were completely empty. Only a cream-coloured envelope caught my eye. I found the presence of a single document in such a large chest of drawers more than strange. Slowly, I took the envelope and found that it had already been opened, hiding a letter inside. I held the inscription on the envelope up to the moonlight and read:
Au capitaine Stephen Fletcher,
patron de la Garde du corps
Instantly I remembered the French I had once learned from Lady Isabelle. Strange, I thought, that I had not forgotten all this over the years. I decided to recall those lessons. Who knows, maybe one day I would go to France where these language skills could prove very useful.
"George, where are you?" Richard's voice reached my ear at that moment.
I quickly tucked the envelope into my shirt and left the bedchamber, leaving the destroyed door ajar again.
I walked like a blind man through the long corridor, following only the memory of the way there. Finally I reached the door to the salon, where Richard was waiting for me with an annoyed expression on his face.
"Damn it, we have to get out of here, George. There are voices outside the house."
I listened and sure enough, a loud roar reached my ear, "You there, get down from there!"
"They must mean Timmy," I said to Richard, frantically trying to suppress my rising fear.
"We have to get out of here now," he whispered and ran to the fireplace. He crawled into the opening and I followed. I looked up and recognised Timmy's torso in the small, bright hole against the night sky.
"Get up there, boys!"
"Is the casket up yet?", I asked Richard.
He nodded and immediately set about climbing.
Again I heard shouts from the street. "Come down from there, you fucking thief, or we'll shoot!"
Shortly afterwards, the choppy bangs of discharging muskets pierced the silence of the night.
Richard let go of the rope and fell a good five feet down into the chimney ash. "My God!" he stammered. "Oh my God!"
I looked up and still recognised Timmy bent over the chimney edge, but he was no longer moving. Something warm dripped onto my face and my open lips. I quickly realised what it was and this realisation made me flinch in panic. I had the taste of blood on my tongue.
"Timmy!", I groaned out. "Oh God, Timmy!"
"You can't help him now," Richard suddenly shouted at me. "Timmy's dead."
Richard had already left the fireplace and hurried to the parlour window. In hasty steps I followed him and looked down at the street below us. I recognised the red tunics of the Guardsmen quite well.
"But ... But Stanley said that the leader of the Guardsmen wasn't here. He lied. Stan lied," I stammered, stunned.
"He certainly didn't lie. He just didn't know any better," Richard said and I wondered how he managed to keep his composure.
"He's going to get us out, isn't he?", I asked Richard in a last flicker of hope.
He just smiled at me superiorly and said, "My God, you're stupid, George. Haven't you realised what kind of club we are? In the Club of the Wolves there is only one law, the weak die and the strong survive. At the moment it looks as if we are among the weak."
"And Stan?"
"Stan is long gone with Ronald. Get over it, George! It's over."
Suddenly a wave of energy erupted inside me. "We have to leave, Richard," I urged.
"Too late. The Guardsmen are just coming in through the portal."
"I'm sure there's a back way out. We have to run."
Richard was
finally persuaded. He shrugged and followed me as if he didn't care what would happen to him.
Determined, I yanked open the door and was about to run down the stairs when I noticed the first Guardsmen there.
"Search the whole house!" a dark voice ordered. "I bet there are still some scoundrels hanging around."
I backed away towards the drawing room door and saw another exit on the other side of the room. "We'll go out that way," I decided and, followed by Richard, stormed to the second door.
I was about to open it when someone beat me to it. Several Guardsmen pushed their way towards me through the open door. I turned around hurriedly and realised that armed men were also approaching us from the other side. I turned to Richard and saw only an expression of final resignation on his face.
We were surrounded. The Guardsmen drew their rapiers and pointed the flashing blades at us.
Suddenly the circle opened and an older guardsman, showing off an impressive beard, stepped towards us. From his imperious posture it was clear that this could only be one man - Stephen Fletcher.
"Have you searched them yet?" he asked his men.
Instead of giving an answer, two men stepped forward and rifled through my and Richard's clothes.
The only loot they found was the letter I had stolen from the bedroom dresser.
Stephen Fletcher took the letter and examined me closely. "Interesting," he said quietly. "Exceedingly interesting."
He then turned to a subordinate from the troupe and said quietly, "Take them away!"
Chapter 19
The Tower of London. No place in the world as I had known it until then possessed more abysmal darkness than this. Nowhere else did one feel death more strongly than in a dark prison cell in this cursed old building.
We had been brought here after our arrest. No one had talked to us, not because the Guardsmen were forbidden to do so, but because they obviously found us unworthy of conversation. We were met in a large room by a bald torturer. When I had dared to ask what they were going to do with us, he had given me such a strong blow between the ribs that I was still suffering from the pain. He and two other guards had put iron shackles on us, which were connected with a chain. We had then been led down many tangled corridors and locked into a narrow cell where we now sat, leaning against damp walls.
Guardsmen of the King: A Historical Adventure Novel (George Glen's Adventures Book 1) Page 10