Darkest Hour (Age of Misrule, Book 2) (39 page)

“You did that?” she said.

Veitch couldn’t tell if it was astonishment or horror he heard in her voice. “You can’t go in halfhearted. They’ll tear you apart.” He paused, then added almost apologetically, “I had to disable it with the bolts before I could move in. Probably wouldn’t have stood a chance otherwise. You know, wouldn’t fancy one of them in a fair fight …” He realised he was starting to ramble and caught himself. “Come on.”

He attempted to lead them back the way he had come, but the tunnel system was a maze and every turn looked alike. He had the horrible feeling they were going deeper into the heart of the complex. “There was some big hall where they were all praying or something. If I could find that I’d know we were on the right track.”

“So we’re lost?”

“Blimey, it’s not Oxford Street down here!”

“It’s okay. I wasn’t criticising.” Her voice sounded weary; a wave of pain crossed her face.

He instantly felt guilty at bristling. “I just need to get my bearings.”

They headed down the tunnel a little further and stopped outside a heavily sealed door. From behind it, they heard the unmistakable sound of birds; it was as if a whole flock had been imprisoned within.

“I’ve heard that before,” Ruth said.

“Want to check it out?”

“Best not.”

They both felt oddly uneasy in proximity to the door, even more than the heightened sense of tension they had experienced in their journey from the cell. But before they could decipher the clues presented to them, the very walls of the tunnel reverberated with the crazed sound of a tolling bell. It wasn’t how Ruth had heard it before; it was relentless, jarring, and she wanted to clutch at her ears to drive the sound out.

“Shit, we’ve been rumbled.” Veitch recalled the first time he had heard the noise in the abandoned mines under Dartmoor, just before the Fomorii swarmed in pursuit. “Come on!” he said insistently, grabbing her wrist. “We haven’t got any time now!”

They hurried onwards, Ruth desperately attempting to keep up, but they hadn’t gone far when they heard a rising tide of Fomorii grunts and shrieks approaching them. Veitch cursed under his breath and pivoted, heading back the way they had come. He took the first side tunnel he came to, sighing with relief when the faint slope appeared to go upwards. Yet as they rounded a bend to the right they came up against a stream of fast-approaching Fomorii at the end of a long stretch of tunnel. The sudden roar that erupted from the mass as it surged like oil along the corridor was terrifying.

Veitch spun round again, putting his arm across Ruth’s shoulders to propel her forward. “It’s like a fucking ant hill.” He took another branching tunnel and tried to batten down the cold weight of fear rising in his chest so Ruth wouldn’t see it, but he knew they were rapidly running out of options.

This tunnel was sloping up too, but the clamour behind them was increasing in intensity, drawing closer. Even if they made it out of the tunnel, they had to get through the castle before they were safe.

Suddenly Ruth grabbed his arm and hauled him to a halt. “We can’t stop!” he snapped.

She was pointing to a trapdoor in the wall they had just passed. It was about four feet off the floor, the size of a domestic oven. Seemingly oblivious to the approaching noise, she pulled herself away from him and wrenched the door open. A cold blast of air surged out of a dark tunnel. “We could hide in there,” she said exhaustedly. “We’re not getting anywhere running around.”

He could tell from her face she was aware of all the thoughts he had been trying to hide from her, but she seemed more determined than scared. He nodded. “Let me go first, though. Just in case …”

He collapsed the arms of the crossbow and boosted himself. Ruth followed immediately behind his boot heels. She pulled the trapdoor shut behind them, plunging them into an all-encompassing darkness. It was freezing cold in the tunnel, and intensely claustrophobic. Veitch had to wriggle to get his shoulders forward; he was uncomfortably aware of the weight of rock pressing down upon his back.

Shivering, they lay as still as they could, until they heard the awful sound of the pursuing Fomorii rushing up the tunnel. Their blood ran cold; it was like the screech of demons surging out of hell, hungry for souls. As the creatures approached the trapdoor, Veitch screwed his eyes tight, listening to the noise, wishing he couldn’t hear it, waiting for the flood of light as the trapdoor was pulled open. And then they would be torn from their hiding place, ripped apart in a blood-frenzy of tearing claws and rending jaws. Any second now. He winced, waited.

But the sound carried on, up to the door, past it, and along the tunnel until it dwindled into the distance. “They’ll realise they missed us in a minute or two and they’ll be back. We have to get out of here,” he hissed.

“We can’t go out there.” Ruth’s disembodied voice floated on the air. “They’ll be looking everywhere. We don’t stand a chance. You’ll have to crawl on to see where this tunnel goes.”

Witch’s heart suddenly went up into his mouth. He inched forward slightly as a test and his shoulders rubbed painfully on the walls. “We’ll get stuck,” he protested.

“The alternative’s going out there and getting eaten alive.”

“I prefer that to getting trapped in here and dying slowly.” He had a sudden vision of how it would feel, the rock pressing in at him from every side, unable to move backwards or forwards, the rising panic, the sudden clutching insanity at the certain knowledge of one of the worst deaths imaginable. “Anyway,” he choked, “it’s so small it won’t go anywhere.”

“Of course it goes somewhere.” Ruth’s voice had a school teacher snap. “There’s a trapdoor on it, for God’s sake! They wouldn’t put a door on a tunnel that went nowhere.”

He couldn’t argue with her logic, however much he wanted to, and it was a certainty that there was no refuge for them back in the tunnels. “You better be bleedin’ right,” he said.

“Just get on with it and stop whining.”

“Oi, can’t you control that tongue even at death’s door?”

“Shut up.” She gave his calf a gentle punch; despite her words there was something reassuring and supportive in her manner. Veitch recognised a growing bond, or thought he did, and that was enough to drive him on.

With an effort, he dragged himself forward, shifting the muscles in his back and shoulders until they ached. There wasn’t even the faintest glow of ambient light ahead of them, which made him wonder how far the tunnel actually went. And the more they progressed, the more he became aware of the tiny space embedded in the rock, the size of a coffin, barely enough air to breathe. His chest began to burn; he was working himself up to a panic attack.

“How ya doin’?” he called out to deflect his mind. But all that came back was a gasp of assent that suggested Ruth was having as hard a time as he was.

Don’t panic, he told himself. There’s no way you can back out of this place in a hurry. You’ll go fucking mad if you lose it.

And just when he thought he couldn’t bear it any more, it got worse. It was the width of the tunnel that had been causing him the most problems, but at least he had been able to crawl on his hands and knees. Now the ceiling was getting lower. He tried to tell himself it was just a by-product of the panic he was holding in stasis, but soon it was impossible to crawl, and it seemed to be getting tighter and tighter.

He sucked in a deep breath, then another, then another, trying to calm himself enough to speak; he couldn’t let Ruth see how weak he was. “Bit of a problem here.”

“What?” The word was barely a gasp.

“The roof’s coming down. I think it just comes together, a dead end. We’re going to have to back up.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!”

He heard tears in her voice; she was running on empty and a failure at this point would destroy her. He couldn’t bear to hear that sound again. “Look, I’ll give it a bit longer, right? It’s not closed up all together.” The words felt like pebbles in his throat.

Slowly, on shaking arms, he lowered himself down until he was slithering like a snake. There was a brief moment of relief at the few spare inches above his head, until the ceiling came down so sharply there was only a gap of about seven inches. If he turned his head on its side he could just about keep going. His panic was on the verge of raging out of control; a band of steel was crushing his chest so tightly he was sure he was having a heart attack. He knew if he allowed himself to speak it would turn into a scream, and then he would be scrabbling at the rock until his fingers bled, and kicking and yelling, and then the last bit of thin air that seemed to be in the tunnel would finally go and he would be left choking and dying.

He felt Ruth’s hand on the back of his leg, so supportive he almost cried. “You can do it.” It was as if she could read his thoughts. There was such belief in her words it snapped him out of the panic. Focusing his mind, he pressed his cheek firmly against the floor and pushed with his toes. He moved forward an inch or two. He tried again, but this time the going was more painful. And then, suddenly, he was wedged. He tried to wrench his head back, but the rough rock of the ceiling only dug into his flesh like the barbs of a harpoon. He couldn’t go back.

In the flash of terror he was immobilised.

“Stay calm,” Ruth whispered behind him. “You can do it.”

Couldn’t she see? He started to writhe as he fought for some way to free himself, but any movement backwards only made the situation worse. There was no air at all; however much he sucked in, it felt like only a thin rasp reached his lungs. The rock pressed down on him, crushing harder and harder. Sparks of light started to flash in front of his eyes. He was blacking out; dying.

He didn’t know if it was a spasm or some last rational thought crashing through the chaos, but suddenly he gave one final push forward with his toes. It drove him an inch or so. Through the haze he discovered he could move his head a little. He pushed again, and after a tough moment when he thought his shoulders were going to jam, he slipped forward even further. He could barely believe it; the ceiling had started to rise again.

“It’s all right!” he yelled with barely concealed relief. “It’s getting higher again!”

Scrambling forward, he was soon back on his hands and knees, and although he couldn’t turn to help Ruth through, he gave her enough verbal encouragement to bring her past the scariest part.

The blast of cold air was stronger there, and a faint light glowed. “Why’s it so cold?” Ruth asked.

“Trust me on this-it’s winter up top, summer everywhere else. The whole world’s gone crazy. Situation normal.”

Veitch moved forward as fast as he could until the tunnel came to a sudden end. He smelled the clear, cold night air, heard distant sounds. “We’re through,” he said.

“Where are we?” Ruth whispered.

Cautiously, he leaned out of the tunnel. It opened into some tubular, stone structure. There was a drop beneath them into what appeared to be water; he could see the black surface reflecting light from above. Twisting, he looked up into a circle that framed the drifting, white haar, lit by the castle’s lights.

“It’s a well,” he said, retreating back into the tunnel. “Least, I think it is. Right, there are two wells at the castle. One’s too small, more like a cistern really. So this must be the other.” After the strain of the tunnel crawl, it took a second or two for the details to surface. “The Fore Well. The main water supply a few hundred years ago, but it’s out of use now so there shouldn’t be too much water in the bottom. Just in case we slip, like. Now if only we can climb out of the bastard-“

“How do you know all this?”

“Did my research, didn’t I? I wasn’t going to come waltzing into this place without knowing what I’m doing.”

“I’m impressed.”

He shrugged, but inside he was enjoying her praise. “It opens out on the Upper Ward. When I was up there a while back there weren’t any guards in that area, so we could be on to a winner. If we can get past the cover.”

“Cover?”

“There’s a grille fastened on top to stop all the tourists falling in-“

“Oh, shit,” she said, dismal again.

“Hang on, don’t start getting negative already. We’ve come this bleedin’ far. Just give me a chance, all right?”

Without waiting for an answer, he dropped in to the water. The icy shock almost made him call out. He was saved only by the fact that he had misjudged the depth. He plunged down beneath the surface and had to kick back up, spluttering and shaking from the cold.

“Are you okay?” Ruth asked worriedly. Her pale face was framed in the dark of the tunnel opening.

“Yeah, but it’s like fucking ice.” He blew the water out of his nose, treading hard to prevent the weight of the sword and the crossbow pulling him down.

“You need to get out quick before you get hypothermia.”

“Thanks for the advice.” He dug his numb fingers into the grooves between the stones, braced his back against one side of the well and set his feet against the other. Then, with a tremendous effort, he began to edge himself up. Twice he fell back into the freezing water with a loud splash and a foul curse, but no one came to investigate. The newly discovered steel inside him pulled him through and finally he had made his way to the top. Gripping the grille with his left hand to give him some support, he slid the sword under the area next to the fastening and heaved. It was hard to get leverage from his precarious position and he was afraid that either the sword would snap or the lock would hold fast, but after a moment or two he heard the sound of protesting metal. A second later he was heaving the grille off the well-head and climbing out into the freezing night.

He didn’t bother to rest from his exertions. Checking there were no guards in the vicinity, he rushed over to the Great Hall where he remembered seeing some netting in the armoury display. The corpse of the Fomor guard had still not been discovered.

Back at the Fore Well, he lowered the netting so Ruth could tie it round her. Then, bracing himself, he hauled her to the surface. Weakly, she rested against the battlements, looking round anxiously.