Still, he wished he at least had a pistol or anything to stop Hamlet from a distance. He was skilled at throwing knives, but he doubted a blade or two would even slow him.
He was so lost in his thoughts that he almost didn’t notice the crowd gathering in the dark street ahead. They were in a residential area, surrounded by full districts of eerie silence, save the occasional scream, or breaking of glass as looters took what they pleased. Some members of the crowd held hastily made torches, the flickering light illuminating their coat clad backs.
He debated even checking to see what had drawn the crowd, but on the off chance it was something that could help him defeat Hamlet, he slowed.
Reaching the crowd, he pushed forward through the outer ring, then soon heard what had drawn everyone’s attention.
“This is our opportunity!” a man shouted from the front line. “London is in chaos, now it’s time for us to stop playing the victims!”
A bad feeling permeated Arhyen’s gut. He pushed forward until he could see who spoke. He didn’t recognize the man, but he wore a plain heavy coat, and tan trousers tucked into stovepipe boots, marking him a common working man, likely a mill employee.
“Now is the time to take back the respect we deserve!” he shouted, pumping his fist in the air.
The crowd shouted their agreement, pumping their fists. Some brandished weapons, holding them high like war trophies.
Now fully understanding the crowd’s purpose, Arhyen slowly backed away. This was not the time to get caught up in a mob. Some of the men and women gathered eyed him suspiciously as he backed away, so he stopped and gave a few half-hearted fist pumps of his own.
The leader shouted something else he couldn’t quite hear over the murmuring crowd, then everyone began marching forward. More shoddy torches were lit one by one, engulfing the crowd in their angry light.
Arhyen was shoved along with the moving crowd. He kept a slow pace, hoping they would all soon surpass him, and he could slip away into the darkness without having the angry mob turn on him.
“To the palace!” the mob leader shouted, echoed by the crowd.
That gave him pause. An angry mob might be of use to him, they might distract Hamlet so he could . . . no, they were moving too slowly. They would likely arrive long after Hamlet had finished his work. He needed to slip away.
He tried to lag further behind, but almost immediately someone shoved him forward. He glared over his shoulder at the culprit, then quickly turned back around. He might have to take his chances with a fight, but preferably not with a massive sailor, his tattooed arms bare to the cold. He was only part automaton, and most of the crowd was armed. Some might even have pistols, though they were illegal for civilians.
He bit his lip in frustration, then clamped down too hard as someone else shoved him. He tasted blood in his mouth. It was time to make a run for it.
He turned to go, but was met by a torch wielding woman with a fierce gaze, and a butcher knife in her free hand. She towered over him, her wide frame blocking any possible route of escape. She sneered, showcasing her numerous missing teeth.
With a gulp, Arhyen turned back around. If he couldn’t escape out the back, perhaps he could work his way to the side and slip away then.
He was jostled around, slowly making his way across, then was nearly thrown to the ground as someone shouted, “Halt!”
The crowd abruptly stopped moving, those in the back bumping into those ahead of them. He looked around for an escape route, but the bodies around him were packed too tightly. He’d have to shove his way through.
“By order of the Queen!” someone shouted, “You are all under arrest!”
Well shit. He hopped on tip toe until he caught sight of a whole troop of the Queen’s Guard illuminated by hand-held lanterns, preparing to circle the mob.
“We will not be put down!” the mob leader shouted. As one, they surged forward, carrying Arhyen forward with them.
He frantically tried to work his way backward, no longer caring if the mob turned on him. He could not risk arrest when he needed to meet with Hamlet.
He heard a metallic clang, then someone screamed. Someone in the mob must have attacked one of the Queen’s Guard, or perhaps it was the other way around. Thoroughly done with the situation, he dropped to his knees and began to crawl past people’s legs. He got kicked and kneed a few times, but eventually he made it to the edge of the crowd. Not even bothering to look for signs of danger, he stood and started running back in the direction he’d come.
“Halt!” someone called, likely a member of the Guard, but he didn’t look back.
He ran on into the darkness, plotting the city in his head for the next shortest route to the palace. He should never have joined the crowd. He’d lost too much time. If he wasn’t going to be too late before, surely he was now.
Liliana ran as fast as her legs would carry her, glad to be in her trousers instead of an encumbering dress. It had taken her several attempts to actually find someone who would speak with her, but now she had directions to the palace in her head, along with a few areas to avoid where angry mobs were seen gathering.
Darkness had fallen, but it didn’t slow her. She could see as well in the dark as most nocturnal animals, perhaps better. She knew she’d promised Arhyen she’d go home, and she never wanted to break a promise to him, but some things were greater than personal honor. She could not let him face Hamlet alone.
As she ran, she found herself desperately wishing Ephraim had been able to keep up with them. His cool, calm presence was what she really could have used in that moment, and she was sure Arhyen would benefit too. She and Arhyen were different in many ways, but they both tended to lead with instinct and emotion. They took uncalculated risks, whereas Ephraim viewed everything from a logical stance. If they were going to stop Hamlet from finishing his plan, while also avoiding the Queen’s Guard, the LN, and Hamlet’s minions, they needed logic. Ephraim had probably figured out Hamlet’s entire plan already, but he was too slow physically to do anything about it.
So, alas, she didn’t have Ephraim, and if she beat Arhyen to the palace, she wouldn’t have him either. It was all up to her, and she had no idea what to do. She’d already tried to reason with Hamlet, and she’d been unable to poison him. Now it seemed her only real option was to fight him. She’d proven that perhaps she didn’t have the heart to kill him, but she suspected he also didn’t have the heart to kill her. That was her only advantage.
She rounded another dark street corner. She could hear angry shouting in the distance, and a few screams. Occasionally someone hiding from the chaos would scurry past her on the street, or she’d catch sight of looters carrying big canvas sacks or large crates. She saw no officers of the Queen’s Guard, nor any of the Watch. She knew Hamlet couldn’t have possibly killed them all, but they were likely busy in other parts of the city. She briefly wondered how many might be protecting the palace, then she skidded to a halt. There it was.
In the distance she could see a massive rectangular building with a row of stone pillars decorating the foreground. Street lamps lined the heavy iron gate encircling the entire structure, gently lighting the pillars and building beyond. She could see guards posted around the entirety of the gate, and countless more around the actual building. They all stood at quiet attention as if nothing was amiss, but their numbers portended the Queen was well aware of the events taking place in the city.
She scurried closer, hiding behind small hedges in the green across the street. Once she was close enough to clearly see each of the guards around the gate, she paused her advance, lest she alert them.
Crouching low to the ground, she scanned the massive palace for signs of Hamlet or his henchmen. If he was there already, he’d somehow gotten past all the guards without alerting them. The other option, she gulped, was that they’d been wrong, and Hamlet had no intention of attacking the palace. He’d never confirmed that his finale would occur there, they’d just assumed. Now, staring at th
e silent guards, she was beginning to think they’d been wrong.
She was just preparing to turn around to go find Arhyen when her eye caught a brief hint of movement on the palace roof. She resumed her low crouch and stared at the point where she’d seen the movement. She was lucky the clouds had rescinded, letting the moon shine through onto the roof, else she likely wouldn’t have noticed it at all.
There. There was clearly someone walking along the roof, just a single figure. Could it be Hamlet? Would his finale take place without the aid of his minions? She supposed they could be elsewhere, and she supposed it really didn’t matter. Her eyes were glued to the solitary figure on the rooftop, and she knew without a doubt that she must find her way up there before it was too late.
She forced her gaze away from the figure and back to the guards lining the gate. How could she get past them without being seen? She supposed she could alert them all that there was a terrorist on the roof, but she suspected that would not end well for anyone. No, her best chance was to catch Hamlet alone, without a bevy of guards forcing him to act.
She scanned the line of guards once more, then quickly decided there was no way she was getting in the front gate. Perhaps around the back. She retreated far enough to not be spotted, then began making her way around. Eventually she reached the far end of the gated palace, which provided a more interesting option.
A long lake dominated a green park, leading up to a broad manicured strip of land bordering the actual building. The gate still continued all around, but the guards were fewer on this end, likely believing threats would not be coming from the water. They watched the gate at either end of the lake, but none were posted near the sandy bank. If anyone tried to approach the palace on one of the many boats moored along the waterway, they would still be seen long before they reached the shore, but few would expect a threat coming from beneath the water’s surface.
She took a nervous breath, scanning the dark choppy waters. She was no fine swimmer. In fact, the only time she’d ever been in such a large amount of water was with Hamlet, and he’d carried her across on his shoulders. She’d very likely drown before making it all the way across . . . but as far as she could tell, it was her only option. She was running out of time.
Her mind made up, she quickly scaled the unguarded fence surrounding the waterway, crouching low as she edged toward the bank and moored boats to her left. If only she could hop into one of the boats instead of into the icy black water. Who knew what could be dwelling beneath its surface?
Trembling with apprehension, she slipped into the water, gasping as the frigid temperature hit her. Now she knew another reason the waterway wasn’t heavily guarded. Anyone trying to swim across would likely freeze long before they made it.
She inched further into the water until it reached her throat, and her feet could no longer touch the bottom. She paddled her arms, bobbing gently up and down. Fortunately, she didn’t have the chaotic current to deal with here like she and Hamlet had in the Thames. She was able to maintain her position long enough to figure out how to float. She gave a few experimental kicks, propelling herself further across the water, being careful not to let her feet break the surface, lest one of the guards hear her splash.
This wasn’t so bad. At least she didn’t feel like she was about to drown.
She pushed onward at a snail’s pace, keeping her head barely above the surface. In the dark night, the guards would never be able to see her. With increasing confidence, she gently paddled on.
By the time she was halfway across the lake, her clothing had become a nuisance, especially her coat, yet she could not remove it. Though she’d lost the poison vial, she still had the blue vial in another pocket, Arhyen’s leverage. If she lost the coat, she’d lose that too, and she didn’t feel her icy hands capable of removing the vial to place in her trouser pocket.
Letting go of the idea of disencumbering herself, she paddled onward.
Time ticked by slowly. Though the cold wasn’t unbearable for her, her movements felt sluggish, perhaps a result of her blood slowing in her veins. Keeping her head barely above water, she scanned the distant roofline of the palace. She saw no movement there. Had Hamlet gone inside? If that was the case, she had no idea how she’d find him in time. The palace was massive. There had to be hundreds of rooms.
Cursing her slow strokes, she paddled on.
Finally, just when she thought her limbs would refuse to move any further, she reached the opposite bank. She crawled up onto dry land and huddled there for several minutes, though she only seemed to grow colder now that the icy air was hitting her wet clothing. She found herself almost hoping Hamlet had gone inside. It would at least be warm in there.
First thing was first though, she had to get up on the roof. Arhyen had started running for the palace before her, so even though he wasn’t quite as fast, he should be arriving there soon. She needed to end this before he did.
She began forcing herself to stand, then froze.
“What is that?” a voice called out.
“Torches,” another said. “They’re coming this way.”
She exhaled in relief, realizing the guards were seeing something on the other side of the palace, not the wet freezing girl on the bank. She struggled the rest of the way to standing, then hurried forward, anxious to get the blood flowing to her limbs.
Guards at the palace front shouted to the guards at the back for aid. Liliana sighed in relief, watching the sentries blocking her way hurry around to the front to see what was amiss. She didn’t know who the torch wielders were, but they couldn’t have had more perfect timing. She hurried up the rocky bank, then over another fence, and soon enough she had her back pressed against the palace wall, glancing about frantically for a way up to the roof.
She peered up at the palace wall hesitantly. There were three horizontal rows of windows, one for each floor, which presented the best handholds. Unfortunately, each window was taller than her. She could make it to the bottom ledge of the middle row of windows easily enough, but hopping up from there to the next would prove difficult. Still, she had to try.
She could hear more guards shouting from the front, and could see no other guards near her. Now was her only chance. Her coat, trousers, and hair dripping water, she turned around and began to scale the building, holding on to narrow ledges with the tips of her fingers. She was overwhelmingly grateful that she’d worn her soft-soled boots. If she’d worn the hard-soled shoes of a proper lady, she never would have made the climb.
Soon enough, she was standing on the ledge of a second story window. Heavy curtains prevented her from seeing anything inside, though the room was dark regardless.
She looked up at the next ledge and inhaled sharply. She’d have to make a jump for it. Wringing the extra moisture that had gathered at the hem of her coat, she crouched in preparation, then sprung upward.
Her body sailed through the air, then her fingertips barely managed to cling to the ledge above. Her body thudded against the window as gravity caught up with her. She remained perfectly still, barely breathing while straining to hold on. The guards still shouted out front. Perhaps she was safe.
She gasped as the window she was leaning against suddenly illuminated. Someone must have heard her thunk and entered the room to assess the cause. She strained her arms to pull herself upward, but was forced to use her feet to scrabble against the window, making more noise.
She nearly fainted in relief as she managed to pull herself up on the ledge, but was once again perilously balanced. She slowly rose and grasped for the ledge above to the third and final window.
The brightness below her increased as someone moved the curtains. Had she taken a moment longer, they would have seen her body dangling right before them. Would they have called the guards to shoot her down?
She shivered, then struggled to slowly pull herself up to the next dark window ledge. Her arms trembling, she took a few seconds to regain her composure.
She pushed back the
brim of her cap, dripping residual water down the nape of her neck. She shivered again, then flicked more water from her hem. Just one more jump, she thought to herself.
She crouched down, then sprung up, her fingers once again barely catching the edge as she thunked against another window. This time, she did not pause before scurrying her way up. She waited for several heartbeats, but the window below her did not illuminate. She exhaled in relief.
With no more windows to bypass, she took her time finding proper handholds to continue her climb. She was scaling almost sheer wall, just below the edge of the roof, jutting outward above her head. This would be the tough part. She’d only get one chance to swing her arms outward and catch the ledge of the roof. If she couldn’t find a handhold, she would fall.
She took a deep breath and thought of Arhyen and Ephraim, and all the other people in London fighting for their lives. If they could survive, so could she.
Gritting her teeth, she flung her arms back just as she pushed off the narrow ledge with her toes. Her hands scrambled for a decent hold that could support the tug she’d feel as gravity caught up with the lower half of her body, but the stones were smooth and slippery. She opened her mouth to scream, then something clamped around her wrist and hauled her upward.
She was lifted through the air until her feet were a few inches above the roof. Hamlet tilted his masked face as he observed her like he’d just caught some sort of strange fish from the sea.
After a moment, he gently set her down on her feet, but she felt so weak and overwhelmed that she instantly crumbled to her knees.
“Greetings, Liliana,” he said calmly from above her. “Have you brought more poison for me to drink?”
Under Clock and Key (The Thief's Apprentice Book 3) Page 11