Inferno

by Jo Macauley

  It was as if time slowed down. He saw the flash of the gun as it jerked in his hand. He saw the cloud of black smoke emerge from it, and breathed in the acrid smell of gunpowder. He saw out of the corner of his eye the tip of a guard’s spear thrusting towards him in a blur – but too late to stop him.

  And through the smoke he saw the King fall.

  John stood like a statue, his face white and frozen in horror, the pistol still outstretched in his hand. How? I ... I wasn’t aiming for him?

  A cry from Strange woke him from the spell and suddenly time was running normally again.

  “HOLD! TAKE HIM ALIVE!”

  Strange had grabbed the soldier’s spear but too late to stop the point slicing through John’s coat. He felt a sudden pain as if a red–hot poker had been plunged into his shoulder. The other soldiers were converging now, halted at the sound of Strange’s voice. Their weapons were drawn, but with John surrounded, all eyes were on the carriage in which the King lay, shot at point-blank range. One of the men in robes was bending over the fallen, unmoving body. He slowly rose, his face ashen.

  “He is gone. The ... the King is no more.”

  John felt rough hands grabbing him from all sides as panic and confusion gripped his mind. He was sure he had aimed away from the King ... . But now he was a traitor and a murderer. Surely nothing now could save him from the gallows.

  I did it for you, Polly...

  * * *

  John was numb, in a daze, barely aware of the journey to the Tower. He weakly allowed himself to be manhandled into a building, vaguely aware that it was not a dungeon but some sort of soldiers’ barrack room.

  “Leave him to me,” he heard Strange say. “You have done well today, men.”

  Done well? What did he mean? The King was dead! Did he mean Polly? Had they found her?

  “W-where’s my sister? Is she found?” John said weakly. “I ... I don’t understand what happened ... My aim ... I was aiming away—”

  “No talking until I show you what you have done.”

  Just then, the door opened and four soldiers shuffled in, carrying a body in purple robes.

  John turned away. “No! I don’t want to see. Take me to the dungeons!”

  “Why would they take you to the dungeons?” asked a familiar voice. A man emerged from an office at the end of the room. He wore only a white shirt and breeches, no wig; it took John a few seconds to register who it was, and even then he refused to believe it.

  “Your Majesty...?”

  The King laughed, and just then the figure being carried into the room began to squirm.

  “Enough,” Strange commanded the soldiers. “We’re out of sight of prying eyes now.”

  “I can see why she is considered such a good actress!” said one of the soldiers.

  Still in the men’s arms, Beth sat up and faced John. Her purple robes slipped open, revealing a metal breastplate. She knocked on it with her knuckles, and looked at John with a smile.

  “’Tis a good thing I’m so tall for a young woman, is it not?” Beth said. “We managed a decoy quite well. I was certain you wouldn’t aim at me. I just knew it.” She looked at Strange, and her smile widened. “Though I’m grateful for the loan of this armour...”

  “Some quite admirable improvization on Miss Johnson’s part still let Vale and his cohorts think you’d achieved their nefarious plot,” Strange added, but then his expression darkened. “Unfortunately, the scum are still at large.”

  “But ... I ... you...” John gasped. Then the room began to swim and blur. He started to sway – and everything went black.

  Chapter Nineteen - Circle of Flames

  Beth put her arm round John’s shoulders. He had just come round and was sitting up in one of the soldiers’ beds, a mug of water in his hands. She wished she could do more for him. Having just learned of their decoy plan and its success – but that his sister remained unfound and that Groby and Vale had got away – the poor man’s mind was in turmoil.

  “How? How could they have got away with Strange’s spies everywhere?”

  Beth sighed. “I know. Vale had lots of his own men in the area who obviously helped them escape – I don’t doubt he had a plan mapped out for their escape. There was a big, chaotic fight and somehow in all the confusion they slipped through the net.”

  John’s face reddened. “This is all my fault. If only I could have thought of another way to stop them before all this happened – or taken them out somehow myself? But instead I came so close to shooting the K—”

  “No.” Beth interrupted, looking at him sternly. “You didn’t. John, you did exactly what you had to. You were backed into a corner and yet you still acted to protect His Majesty. Fear not – Strange’s spies and the King’s guards are out looking for them. In all the panic caused by the fire and the streets full of people, it’s going to be really difficult to find them, I fear, but you know we’ll do our best. We just need to think where to start...”

  “Fire?” said John vacantly. “I’d forgotten about the fire.”

  Beth smoothed down his ruffled hair. “I’m not surprised after all you’ve been through. But I’m afraid it’s still raging as badly as ever. Half the city is gone, and the rest is in grave danger.”

  “Then wherever Polly is—”

  “Wherever she is, she’s with Ralph. The gang were going to take him to her, remember? I’m sure he can come up with some sort of trick to fool her guards and get her away. You know how good he is at that sort of thing. And as soon as he gets word to us, we’ll find them.” Beth hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. She was also worried about the consequences if Ralph made a mistake and showed he wasn’t truly on the kidnappers’ side, then wasn’t able to get away...

  “They will be watching him like hawks,” John said, echoing her thoughts. He tilted his head to one side, frowning. “But there’s one thing that has been bothering me...”

  “All that’s happened the last couple of days and there’s only one thing that’s bothering you?” she teased gently.

  But he didn’t smile. “The rhyme. Polly’s answer to one of the questions.”

  “What – do you think they tricked you?”

  “No, no. They could never have come up with that; it’s not even a well-known line from the song. You would say ‘Oranges and lemons’ or ‘Give me five farthings’ or something wouldn’t you? Why did she choose that line, ‘Kettles and pans’?”

  Beth wasn’t sure where this was heading, but she felt a sudden tingle of anticipation. “What comes next? I can’t remember it that well.”

  “Say the bells of St Ann’s...”

  “Is Ann a favourite name of hers? A friend?”

  “Not that I know of, but I’ve been thinking – Blackfriars church is called St Ann’s. What if ... what if that’s where they’ve taken her? She might have been trying to tell us something?”

  Beth felt her heart quicken with hope – but it soon mingled with fear. “The fire’s been heading towards Blackfriars...”

  “What? Oh my goodness. Polly! What if she’s there and the fire’s already too close, and—”

  “Hold on,” Beth said, reaching out a hand to calm him. “If the fire’s been causing an obstruction, Groby won’t have been able to have got word to his men to ... hurt her. And with any luck, our ruse worked and they think the King is really dead! Groby’s men would be so afraid of failing to follow orders they would stay ’til the very last minute, waiting for word to set her free or—”

  John stood up, not letting Beth finish. “If there’s even a chance we’re right and she’s at Blackfriars, we’ve got to get there ourselves – with all haste!”

  * * *

  It felt wrong to be heading straight towards a place where it seemed the sky itself was on fire. Pressing through the crowds coming in the opposite direction, Beth and John tried to ignore the bemused looks that anyone should be in such a hurry to head towards danger. By the time they reached the Fleet River, the bridge
was a frenzied bottleneck. Rather than trying to force a way against the tide of humanity, Beth veered to the right and led John down the grassy bank to the water’s edge. The river was actually little more than a ditch at this point – stinking and muddy, but fordable.

  “We’ll get out feet wet, but ’tis the only way,” she said, beginning to make her way across.

  “I’ve a feeling they’ll soon dry out,” John replied grimly, looking at the fire ahead of them. “Part of me just prays to God that we’re wrong, and Polly isn’t at St Ann’s.”

  “The fire’s spreading unevenly. There seem to be a few gaps,” Beth gasped as they scrambled up the other side, their feet squelching in their shoes.

  Rather than coming back up onto the pandemonium of Ludgate Hill, Beth headed for a tiny opening further down the Fleet leading to an alley. It was so narrow it was like entering a dark tunnel, though one lined with ancient, ramshackle houses. Even here, people were still emerging with their arms full of children and the few goods they owned. Eventually the alley opened out onto a wider street.

  “I know this place,” said John. “We’re in Blackfriars now – St Ann’s is just down the road on the right.”

  But when they tried to run towards Puddle Dock Hill, which led past the entrance to the church down to the Thames, a wall of flames confronted them. The heat was so intense that Beth and John jumped back and cowered round the corner. They waited, listening to the crackling house timbers, and the little explosions as glass in windows was heated beyond breaking point all along the street. Beth heard something fall near her feet and expected to see a burning splinter of wood, but it was a pigeon. Its wing feathers were blackened and scorched beyond use, and it writhed vainly on the ground. Before she could do anything, it stopped moving, its eyes staring sightlessly towards the fire that had ended its life.

  “There must be another way!” cried John, bringing her back to reality. He ran ahead to another, even narrower alleyway, which took them deeper into the labyrinth of back streets. It brought them to Ireland Yard, a rat-infested, rubbish-strewn thoroughfare – but at the end of it Beth could see a church. It was framed by leaping red flames, but the building itself was untouched.

  “That’s got to be it! There’s still time!”

  They sprinted down Ireland Yard, stopping at the point where it opened out onto the little churchyard of St Ann’s. The shadows of the gravestones danced eerily in the light of the fire raging in the background.

  “Coast looks clear,” John whispered.

  Just as he spoke, one of the big stained-glass windows shattered and pieces of glass in reds, blues and greens tinkled across the paving stones that encircled the church. They both jumped, but after a moment Beth edged closer.

  “At least now we can look inside before we try to get in,” she said in a low voice. She crossed the churchyard in a crouching run, then pressed herself flat against the stone wall of the church itself. They felt like fire bricks, almost too hot to touch. John joined her, and slowly raised his head an inch at a time ’til his eyes were above the jagged row of coloured glass left in the bottom of the frame. He quickly ducked back down, stifling a little cry. His chest was heaving rapidly.

  “Are they in there?” Beth hissed. “Have you been spotted?”

  John couldn’t bring himself to speak. Beth cautiously raised her own head up to take a look.

  There was a group of people in front of the altar. One was a burly, dark-haired man, another was Ed Hewer, who stood beside Ralph himself – and all three formed a circle round Polly. She was tied to a chair, a dirty gag covering her mouth leaving just her wide, terrified eyes visible. On her lap was her much-loved doll, Lucinda.

  “I don’t care what Groby said,” the dark-haired man was saying. “If we don’t get out now we’ll all be burned alive, and then it won’t matter how much he’s paying us.”

  “The girl must be dealt with,” Hewer insisted. “We’ve had no word from Groby, which means something must have gone wrong. If she isn’t taken care of, I’m a dead man myself. Besides, the job’s worth a lot of money to me.”

  “Oh? And how much might that be? More than we’re gettin’, I’ll wager.”

  “That’s between me and Groby. I work for him, not you.”

  “But I’m sure he’d be interested to know you’ve hired someone else to do your dirty work – an outsider we know nothing about.”

  “Ed knows me well enough,” Ralph said flatly. “I’ve been in enough trouble in the past. If I get caught again for so much as stealin’ an apple it’ll be the noose for me, so I’m hardly likely to blab, am I?”

  The man who had been speaking took a step towards Ralph, and as he did so he pulled out a knife.

  “That makes sense – assuming you’re tellin’ the truth...” He pressed the tip to Ralph’s throat, drawing a small dot of blood. Beth was impressed by the way her friend didn’t flinch. Even when everyone’s attention was drawn to more windows cracking, he remained impassive, his eyes on the man with the deadly weapon. Finally the man then turned the knife round so that the handle was facing Ralph.

  “Here, then. Do it. Let’s not waste any more time.”

  John joined Beth at the window, swallowing hard. “Oh, Lord...”

  Ralph was adjusting the knife in his hand, getting a feel for its weight and balance. He turned towards Polly.

  “He won’t do it, John, of course he won’t.”

  “How can he get out of it?”

  “This is Ralph we’re talking about. He’ll think of something.”

  Still, she watched closely, her heart beating fast as Ralph slowly advanced on the petrified girl until he was looming over her. He snaked the point of the blade towards her throat just as the man had done to him...

  Beth could see Ralph mouth something to Polly, and she nodded almost imperceptibly, but before Ralph had to do anything more, the tension was broken by a resounding CRACK. It was the sound of crashing timber coming from somewhere inside the tower of the church.

  All eyes turned upwards. The ceiling remained intact, but Beth noticed a spreading black patch in the cracking, sagging plaster. It was a rapidly spreading scorch mark – the spire of St Ann’s was on fire. Within seconds, the ceiling began to break up and crumble, showering those inside with burning debris and splinters of wood.

  “NOW!” Beth yelled. She threw herself over the window ledge, ignoring the shards of broken glass scraping her hands and legs. John flew over so fast that he overtook her, vaulting over pews towards Ralph and his sister. Beth went for the dark-haired man, who was feverishly brushing red-hot plaster from his smoking hair and shoulders, while Hewer himself stood and looked on in helpless horror, clearly completely out of his depth.

  The burly man quickly produced another knife, and Beth made a grab for it, but he was so strong that she failed to yank it from his grasp and now he turned on her. They wrestled desperately, Beth focusing all her might on the wrist that held the knife, but the man was much too bulky and powerful. It was a battle she was doomed to lose, and she only knew she couldn’t afford to let go. His stinking breath was in her face and his glinting dark eyes bore into her as they fought for possession of the weapon. With his free hand he forced her back against a pew with such force that it seemed her spine would break. She screamed in agony, but still kept her grip on his wrist. Larger pieces of burning timber were falling all around them now, and the pews themselves were catching fire. A burning beam as big as Beth herself came spinning down and fell next to her leg, the flames licking around the bottom of her skirt.

  In desperation, she hooked her foot beneath it and pushed it against the man’s body. She could feel smoke start to rise from her skirts – but she could also see flames erupting from the hem of her opponent’s doublet. It was a battle of wills, both their hands on the knife, the heat from the burning wood becoming unbearable against Beth’s leg, the man’s eyes darting from hers to his burning clothing. With one last effort, he pushed against her with all his might
. She toppled over the back of the pew into the row behind, losing her grip on the knife. With a look of malevolent glee he leaned over the pew and raised the weapon over her. Beth was in a heap, helpless to defend herself.

  But then, without warning, the kidnapper was no longer visible.

  There was a whoosh, and all Beth could see was a pillar of fire. His doublet was ablaze, the knife was forgotten and he was screaming and manically patting at the flames that engulfed him. As Beth picked herself up, the man tore off his tunic and threw it away, some of his other clothing still alight as he ran through a door leading to the crypt beneath the church, slamming the door shut behind him. She whirled around, still ready to fight, but she saw Hewer now trapped under another fallen beam, struggling to free himself.

  Looking across the church between the other fallen, burning timbers, she saw Ralph slicing through Polly’s ropes with the knife he’d been given. He and John then gathered her and her doll up and carried her, feet still bound, towards the door. Beth went to join them, but to her horror she saw that the door too was blocked by fallen debris.

  “The window!” Beth cried, the heat against her face almost unbearable now, and every breath searing her lungs. She led them to the broken window where they’d entered, kicking at pieces of fiery timber to clear their path as she went. She scrambled out first, then took Polly as Ralph and John passed her over. Just when it seemed they were getting away, she saw Polly pointing at something over her shoulder.

  “Look out!”

  Beth twisted round and saw that the long grass in the churchyard, dry and yellow from the summer drought, was also on fire now, and the wind was pushing it rapidly in their direction. Soon, the church would be at the centre of a circle of flames.

  Beth spotted a big, elaborate tombstone for some wealthy parishioner leaning up against the back wall of the churchyard. Getting the little girl to cling onto her back, Beth shouted to the others to follow her. They all managed to scramble on top of the monument just before the flames reached them.