Knightfall--The Infinite Deep

by DAVID B. COE

  “I can speak.” Gawain’s voice, weak but clear.

  “What did you see there, brother?”

  “I believe there’s a second corridor.”

  Landry and Draper eyed each other.

  “I think so, too,” Landry said. “Anything else.”

  “Your armor and clothes are still in the dungeon. I noticed this when they removed mine. I saw no weapons, but the rest is near.”

  “If we can escape the cells, that dungeon should be our first destination.” Landry said this softly, so only Draper could hear. He kept his eyes on the stairway, lest Redman surprise them again. He also didn’t want Brice or Nathaniel to hear. It wasn’t that he mistrusted the knights, but through his own carelessness he had revealed to the Monk that he and his fellow Templars were seeking a means of escape. He didn’t want to share with the young knights any information they might reveal under torture.

  “After the dungeon, that second corridor.” Draper kept his voice low, too. “When?”

  Footsteps prevented Landry from answering. The pirate that Redman had sent to the torture chamber emerged from the corridor. Seeing Godfrey, Tancrede, Landry, and Draper all standing by their doors, he halted, eyes narrowing.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Conversing,” Godfrey said. “Unless we’re prohibited from doing even that.”

  “Conversing about what?”

  “The weather, of course,” Tancrede said.

  “Did you find those spikes?” Landry asked.

  The pirate grinned and held out his hand. A half dozen pieces of iron, all of them similar to the one he already had, rested on the man’s palm.

  “Too bad, Templar. Your plan might have worked, had you managed to keep your mouth shut.” He chuckled and crossed to the stairway.

  “When are we to be fed?” Landry asked, stopping the man.

  “You got food and water during the night.”

  “Yes, we did. How many meals have you eaten today? How many more will you have?”

  The pirate frowned, his gaze skipping from one face to the next. “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s not my decision.”

  “We need water,” Draper told him. “Even if you don’t bring us food, we have to have water. Without it, we can’t heal.” He pointed to the next cell. “Gawain, our friend whom Redman tortured most recently. He needs water now. We all do.”

  “Like I said—”

  “It’s not your decision,” Landry repeated. “Yes, we know. But we’ll die without it. Think about that.”

  The man hesitated, nodded, and finally climbed the stairs.

  Once they heard the outside door open and shut, Godfrey asked, “What was that all about, Landry?”

  “You don’t want water?”

  Godfrey said nothing, but stared his way.

  “I have an idea,” Landry said at last. “That’s all I’m prepared to say for now.”

  “You don’t trust us?” Gawain called.

  “I trust you with my life, brother. But the less any of you know, the less chance of Redman extracting the information with his torches and blades.”

  Silence met this.

  After a few moments, Godfrey said, “Yes, I understand. Good, Landry.”

  “What about me?” Draper said, whispering again. “I know more than I should.”

  “I have faith in you, brother,” Landry said.

  Draper nodded. “As I said before. Reckless.”

  Landry had to smile.

  Chapter 15

  The pirates brought them no food or water that night. Nor did they take Brice or Nathaniel to be tortured. For reasons beyond Landry’s understanding, Redman and his men ignored the Templars for a time. Landry took this as a sign from the Lord that he should attempt his escape this night.

  His bruises and gashes felt no better late in the day than they had that morning. His muscles were stiff and sore. The ache in his hands pulsed with every beat of his heart and reached deep into his bones. After stretching and fisting his off hand throughout the afternoon, he found that he could move his fingers with a minimum of discomfort. His sword hand remained swollen and tender. He thought it likely that at least two of his fingers were broken, and maybe his thumb as well. Like all Templars, he had trained to fight with both hands. But he was far better with his right than his left. He knew they couldn’t get away from the prison without a battle, and he dreaded the coming encounter.

  Godfrey led them in prayer at sundown and into the evening. When they finished, they fell into a heavy silence. Back in their Temple, it would have been normal for them to turn to wordless contemplation after Vespers. Here, it felt odd.

  Landry listened for the pirates. Voices and laughter reached him from beyond the prison walls. Dogs barked, and he thought he heard strains of music, someone picking at a lute or lyre.

  He moved to the door, placing his feet with care. For now, he didn’t even want Tancrede or Godfrey to know what he was doing. The risk of being discovered by the pirates was too great.

  Pulling the splint of iron from within his clothes, he snaked his arm through the bars and reached down for the lock. Once more, he was working blind, and because of his injuries, he had to do this with his off hand as well.

  This time, he found the lock itself with ease. Grasping the sliver between his thumb and forefinger, he used his third finger to locate the keyhole. He tried to insert the iron piece, but on his first try, he scratched it across the face of the lock. Shifting his hand, he jarred the lock as well, making it clang against the iron door.

  “What was that?” Gawain asked.

  He heard steps in the next cell. Pulling his arm back in, he looked over to the adjacent door. Tancrede was there.

  Landry shook his head.

  “It’s nothing,” Tancrede said to Gawain. “Probably a rat.”

  Landry grinned. Tancrede stepped away from the door, and Landry tried again.

  He reached through the bars and down, leaning against the iron door, shivering slightly with the cold. This time he used extra caution feeling for the lock and managed not to bump it, or make it shift against the door. When he tried again to insert the sliver into the keyhole, he missed on the first attempt. With this as well, he took care not to make any sounds that might alert the others to what he was doing.

  On the second try, he found the keyhole, but this was no guarantee that he would prove successful. He had gotten in some mischief as a youth, breaking locks with objects not much different from the scrap of iron he’d found in the torture chamber. But in the past fifteen years he’d had little experience with locks, and even less with undertaking such a venture with his off hand, and without the benefit of seeing what he was doing.

  He tried to shift the mechanics within the lock, pushing and twisting the iron sliver in one direction and then another. He knew what he was listening for – that memory from his childhood remained clear – but this was a more formidable padlock than any he had mastered as a boy. His hand began to cramp. His palm sweated, making his fingers slick. At one point, as he adjusted his grip on the piece of iron, it nearly slipped from his grasp. He paused, took several long breaths, and resumed his efforts.

  “Landry!” Tancrede’s whispered voice.

  He stopped again and listened. Footsteps on the stairway.

  With haste, Landry withdrew his arm. He retreated to his pallet, hiding the iron spike as he did.

  Voices echoed in the chamber. The door to his cell opened. One of the pirates placed a fresh bowl of water and some scraps of bread and meat on the floor.

  “I don’t suppose you’d care to leave us a key?” Draper said with a grim smile.

  Landry shot a quick look at his friend. Draper, though, kept his gaze on the pirate.

  The man answered with a mocking smile. “You mean like this one?”

  He raised his key for Draper to see: a wave of his hand, a blaze of torchlight on the iron he held. This was enough to give Landry a look at the key: the shape, the length, t
he angle of its teeth. Then the pirate turned, left, and locked their door again.

  Landry cast another glance at Draper and nodded his approval.

  While the pirates fed the Templars in the other cells, Landry and Draper shared what they had been given. By the time they had finished, Redman’s men were gone.

  Landry approached the door again. Tancrede and Brice were at the other two doors. He faltered, unsure of what to do.

  “Let us help you, Landry,” Tancrede said.

  “Help him with what?” Brice asked. The beginnings of a beard shadowed his jawline, and his dark hair, once neatly shorn, hung over his brow.

  Tancrede didn’t answer, saying instead, “Some things we have to do alone. I’m not certain this is one of them.”

  “If they’re tortured,” Landry said, hoping his friend would know who he meant, “they might speak of this. They might not be able to help themselves. And then this one hope will be gone.”

  “You don’t trust us,” Brice said, his voice flat, an accusation in his dark blue eyes. He remained unbruised, unbloodied. “Nathaniel and me. That’s who you’re speaking of, isn’t it?”

  “Try to understand, brother. These others – I’ve known them for some time now. I’ve known Godfrey since I was a boy. I only met the two of you in Acre, and while I admire your courage, and your strength, I don’t know – I cannot know – how you might endure what Redman intends to do to you.”

  “This is another test of your faith, Landry,” Godfrey said, joining Brice at the far door. “You must have faith in God, of course. But you must also have faith in your fellow Templars, not just those you know well, but all of them. Let all of us help you. Tancrede is right. You cannot do this alone.”

  He placed the sliver in the swollen palm of his sword hand and wiped his other hand dry. “Very well,” he said. Grasping the piece of iron between his thumb and first finger again, he checked the stairway. Satisfied that it was clear, he slid his hand through the bars and held up the scrap of metal for his brothers to see.

  “I found this when they took me to be tortured. If you can’t see it, it is a piece of iron, a spike or perhaps a nail. I believe I can use it to defeat the lock on my door. And then on your doors. Forgive me for not revealing this sooner. I sought only to preserve this secret.”

  “Have you tried using it on the lock yet?” Gawain asked, appearing beside Tancrede.

  He was as badly wounded as Tancrede; they looked like twins of a brutish father.

  “Once, yes.” He smiled. “I’m the rat you heard.”

  Gawain’s eyes shifted to Tancrede. “Try again,” he said.

  Again, Landry reached through the gap in his door and to the lock. He couldn’t deny that it was easier not worrying about the noise he made. In moments, he was working the sliver in the lock again.

  “To the side more,” Brice said. “The left. Your left.”

  Landry shifted his hand and tried again.

  “Up,” Gawain said.

  Landry frowned, but altered his approach again. For several seconds he worked the lock, but to no avail.

  “More to the left.”

  “To the right.”

  “Higher.”

  These instructions all came at the same time. Landry pulled back from the door enough to glare out at his fellow knights.

  “You’re not helping.”

  He went back to work. The others remained silent. For a short while.

  As they began to offer advice again, Landry looked back at Draper and rolled his eyes.

  “Remember the key,” Draper said.

  Landry nodded and closed his eyes, picturing the key he had glimpsed in the pirate’s hand. Holding to that image, his eyes still shut, he turned the sliver of iron between his fingers and altered his angle of attack yet again.

  Minutes passed. He sensed the impatience of the others, but did his best to ignore them. Something caught on the tip of the iron, and he thought the lock might open. But the metal slipped. He tried the same approach a second time, and a third. He was getting close. He knew it. One more twist and—

  Ti-clack!

  He opened his eyes and stared back at Draper. The Turcopole raised an eyebrow.

  “That sounded promising.”

  “Landry?” Godfrey said, his tone almost reverent. “Did it open?”

  He removed the iron from the lock, and held it to his palm with his ring finger. Then he felt for the shackle. It had opened from the body. Landry slipped the lock free of the joint holding the door shut.

  “Landry?”

  “Yes, it’s open,” he said, keeping his voice even. He drew his arm back through the barred opening of the door and stared at the lock. He was amazed his ploy had worked.

  Draper took his place at the door.

  “The stairs remain clear. Shall we free the others?”

  “Not yet,” Landry said.

  He pushed open the door, muttering an imprecation at the creak of the iron hinges. He checked the stairway again.

  “What now?” Tancrede asked, a roguish grin on his bloodied lips.

  “I’m going down that corridor. I want to see what’s there.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yes. If Redman and his men return, and all of us are gone, they’re bound to find us. We can only expect to have one chance at this. We need to be certain that every detail is worked out.”

  “He’s right,” Godfrey said. “Go, brother. Godspeed.”

  Landry reclaimed his blanket from within his cell, and hurried out to the common chamber. “I need straw from your pallets. Just a few handfuls from each of you.”

  The other Templars obliged, handing him bundles of straw through their doors. He gathered the straw in his blanket and carried it back to his cell. There, he arranged the straw and blanket to make it seem that he was bundled on his pallet.

  “That won’t deceive them for long if they choose to enter the cell.”

  “I’m going to leave the lock in place, but unlatched,” Landry said. “If they choose to enter, the blanket will be the least of our worries.”

  Draper’s eyes widened a bit, but otherwise he merely dipped his chin, acknowledging this. Landry stepped back and considered the pallet with a critical eye. Draper was right. It wasn’t very convincing. He hoped darkness and the limited view from outside the door would be enough to keep them from seeing through his artifice.

  He slipped out of the cell, closed the door, and set the lock in place, making it appear as though the shackle was still engaged.

  “With any luck at all,” he said, “I’ll be back before Redman returns.”

  “And if you’re not?” Gawain asked.

  “Draw his attention away from Draper and my cell. If he notices the lock is open, we’re all dead.”

  Landry started down the shadowed passage, running the fingers of his off hand along the stone wall. After ten steps, no more, he could see nothing in the inky dark. He walked slowly, carefully, favoring his injured leg. He covered what felt like a long distance without sensing the corridor he had noticed last time.

  Had he missed it?

  He caught sight of the faint orange glow of torches ahead of him. The torture chamber. He thought of retrieving one of the torches from there and carrying it with him down the corridor he sought. As quickly as the idea came to him, he dismissed it. If by some chance Redman and his men came for Brice or Nathaniel with the intent of abusing them as they had the others, he would be discovered.

  Landry had just made up his mind to turn back, when the quality of the air changed. The whisper of a breeze from the right. The corridor. He ventured away from the left-hand wall and took a tentative step forward, both arms outstretched.

  A second step, and a third. His sword hand skimmed the stone corner of the intersection, making him flinch, sending bolts of pain up to his elbow. Cursing the Monk and Gaspar, he sidled away from the wall and continued down this new corridor.

  He stumbled when the stone walkway gave way to dir
t. But he kept his feet, and trod on, counting his steps.

  At stride forty-three, he sensed another change in the flow of air. Halting, he turned right and slid his feet forward, expecting to bump into a wall. Again, he found a corner, this time with his off hand. He would explore this passage later, after following the one he was on to its end.

  “Forty-three,” he said, muttering the number, committing it to memory.

  He angled back the other way and continued along the path he had been following.

  At eighty-eight, he paused, sensing another current of air. He eased to the right again, reaching across his body with his good hand. A second corridor off this one.

  “Eighty-eight. And forty-three.”

  On he walked. After another fifty paces or so, he thought he saw light ahead. Not light, so much as a break in the absolute darkness. Thirty steps later, the corridor ended in an open chamber. The glow of starlight and torches from a high opening in the wall ahead of him spilled a dim pool of light onto the floor, bringing into relief piles of items he couldn’t quite identify.

  After the dark of the passages, this light, such as it was, allowed him to explore the chamber. The first of the piles appeared to be old uniforms, some bearing the red cross of the Templars. Others bore the black and white of the Hospitallers. A second pile included more mantles and tabards, but also coats of mail and armored leggings. They were long neglected, the metal rough with dirt and corrosion, but in the absence of the Templars’ own armor, these pieces would serve Landry and his friends well enough.

  Hope cresting in his heart, Landry hurried to the next pile. More abandoned clothes, and a few more shirts of mail.

  He made his way around the chamber, pausing to scrutinize each mound of items. As he dug into the pile just beneath the high window, a shout startled him. He straightened, his heart pounding, his face lifted toward the window, and he listened.

  A second cry made him whirl, the blood draining from his face, leaving his cheeks cold. The sound hadn’t come from outside, but rather from behind him. The torture chamber. Brice, or Nathaniel. He crept back out of the chamber along the corridor to be sure.

  A third scream resounded through the passageways, chilling him. He could sneak up on them, kill the men as they tortured the Templar. He had armor here. Maybe he would find weapons as well.