Isabella's Heiress (37 page)

They crossed the junction into Giltspur Street and waited as more horsemen joined the others in the Old Bailey before carrying on, using the mist as cover.

“Dolts! These curs wouldn't be so brave if they weren't on those horses.” Father Henry glowered at the riders as he looked back.

“Maybe so but it would appear the rules of the game have changed. It isn't sunset yet and they are on the street. We must assume that they will not hesitate to engage us if we meet, so we must be careful how we tread.”

Father Eamon headed further up the street until he stopped in the doorway of The Fortune of War alehouse. A smell of excrement and gas made his eyes water as Father Henry crouched next to him and they surveyed the scene in front of them. Thousands of livestock, cattle, sheep and horses, mingled in a huge open space that opened up in front of them. The scene they looked at was
framed to the right by the flat-fronted grandeur of St Bartholomew's hospital, resplendent and spotless and on the left hand side by a ragged mix of ale and slaughterhouses.

The heat given off by the animals was enough to cause the mist to rise and they stretched for almost as far as the eye could see. There were no horsemen anywhere near here and Father Eamon allowed himself a wry smile as he looked at the livestock.

“Smithfield.”

“I wondered why I couldn't see for the tears.” Father Henry was using the sleeve of his jacket to wipe them away. The methane given off by the creatures in front of him was enough to drop a bull and whilst he had the constitution of one, Father Henry was still only a man. It was all he could do to concentrate on Father Eamon's words.

“You see the cattle nearest to us?” Father Eamon looked at the long haired creatures slowly wondering through a group of horses in front of them. A gentle sway of their heavily horned heads was enough to clear their path.

“Yes.”

“They are going to be more useful now than they ever were in a butchers window.”

Father Henry gave Father Eamon a quizzical look. Father Eamon leant closer and whispered in his ear. As he leant back Father Henry smiled.

“Ah, I see.” He looked back at the scene that was now shrouded in mist, the flickering glow of the scaffold the only clue to what they had seen. “But how do we get them down here? The horsemen never cross north of Newgate Street.”

Father Eamon concentrated intently on the scene in front of him, “We don't, we bring Smithfield to them.”

Father Henry looked across at the sea of animals and then looked back into the mist before moving on.

Emma looked around from the pillar that she was hiding behind. It had been twenty minutes since she had left Taryn chained to the wall and although she was less than thirty feet from her, she still felt a pang of guilt in leaving her there. As she waited, her mind raced through all the things that could happen if she didn't make it out. Trying to block out the thoughts was impossible when there was nothing else to fill the void and Emma found herself almost grateful when, after half an hour, a monk came into view. it shuffled along; its gnarled hands hidden in the folds of its sleeves, and Emma felt her pulse increase as it got closer. A low, guttural snarl crawled on the air as it talked to itself, although Emma could not for one second, imagine what it had to say. She slowed her breathing and prepared to execute her plan. Once she had control, she concentrated on the monk.

You want to unshackle the woman don't you? Look at her, hanging there. Nothing would make you feel better than to release her from her chains.

The monk paused but Emma didn't blink. Her stare burned through its hood and slowly it turned towards Taryn. It walked towards the shackles but paused and shook its head.

Don't stop now; this is something you have to do. Everything inside you is compelling you. Nothing else matters.

The monk started to look around and for a second Emma's heart skipped a beat as she thought it might have realised what was happening to it but then she saw it rummage in its habit and pull a large rusty ring of keys from inside.

Taryn whimpered and turned her head to one side as the monk placed her left hand in his and twisted her wrist
to expose the lock. Emma could feel her fear from where she stood.

“Nearly there, Taryn.”

The keys jangled as the monk struggled and for a second Emma thought that he wouldn't be able to free the lock but the shackle fell away from Taryn's hand and she fell limply to the ground.

Good. Now pick her up and carry her over here.

Emma felt a mixture of relief and disgust as the monk came closer with her friend on its shoulder. Getting her off the wall was the easy part. Now she would have to find a route out of here that didn't involve going through the large open hall she had just come through. With its open piazza's and high walkways, someone was bound to see them before they got far. All this time, she was careful not to let her eyes leave the monk lest the connection be broken. It stood there bent forward from the weight of Taryn and drawing in rasping breathes.

You feel the overwhelming urge to leave this place. You must get out of here as quickly as possible but you must not be seen.

As the monk started to turn back the way it had come, Emma added a final thought before it started off.

Take her to the closest exit.

The monk carried on towards the pillar from where it had appeared. Emma watched as it was careful to keep to the walls and use the shadows to cloak it movements. As it went to turn the corner Emma followed on, making sure that she never lost site of them.

The monk headed towards a huge well which had a bucket the size of a balloon gondola suspended above it from a block and tackle; Emma didn't want to think what they used this for. As they carried on through the halls, gothic arches opened out onto piazzas full of obelisks and fluted columns, some complete, some broken halfway up.
People hung from the walls but to a person, they were either unconscious or delirious. Voices called out names of people who would never appear and screams mixed with the other sounds of this place. Steam hissed from crevices in the floor as pools of flames illuminated the walls in a deep red glow. It was all Emma could do to keep the sweat out of her eyes as they travelled, pillar by pillar, towards the exit. Emma thought back to her second year at St Andrew's where she had attempted to read The Divine Comedy in a vain attempt to impress her then-boyfriend. She had struggled through the Inferno and Purgatory before realising that nothing was going to save the relationship, least of all a religious poem and had given up.

“THAT'S RIGHT, CHILD, CRY BITTER TEARS! IT MAKES THE PAIN ALL THE SWEETER!”
The voice was close by but it wasn't as all encompassing as it had been earlier, even so it was all Emma could do to keep her concentration on the monk.

Now, as she watched a man having his tongue ripped out by two monks, she wondered what circle of hell this was. She didn't remember much about it, except that the first circle was reserved for, amongst others, poets and good pagans, which seemed a bit rough on the poets. The only other thing she could remember was that bankers were consigned to the seventh circle, which seemed fair considering some of the shits she'd dated in the City. Her mind was brought back to the present by a lengthy scream from some unseen part of the hall.

Time and again Emma had to force the monk to throw itself into a recess or behind a pillar as other monks suddenly appeared from nowhere. Her heart would suddenly thump out a deep, jarring beat as she prayed that neither she nor Taryn were discovered. It was becoming tiring
trying to concentrate on the monk as well as ensure that she wasn't caught in the process.

The vaulted ceilings, at one time so high up that they were lost from view were now slowly coming down to the point that Emma could make out the individual bricks. And it was getting cooler. They were heading upwards. At first Emma hadn't been sure but now there could be no denying it. Slowly but surely they were heading towards the surface. Emma felt a cautious optimism creep in as she saw the end in sight. She allowed herself to believe, for the first time, that they might actually succeed.

The hallways were giving way to smaller chambers and Emma was now starting to feel a cold chill run down her back where the sweat that coated her was now cooling. She watched as Taryn's limp body swayed on the monk's shoulder. So far they had been lucky as the monk had been careful to ensure that it had found places that could hide them both but now it was heading to a huge flight of stairs which led up to a series of arches and as Emma looked around she realised they would be totally exposed. She looked up to the bridges above her. Somebody was bound to see them at some point, so she prepared to make the monk run at the first hint of them being discovered.

The monk started to climb the stairs and stuck to the far right hand side where it could minimise its exposure. The problem was that anybody looking down would see them regardless and Emma knew that it was just too far to go without somebody seeing something.

The steps were a stretch for Emma. She climbed but she found herself falling further and further behind the monk as she struggled on up. Her chest was starting to hurt from the exertion and she started to panic as she realised that the monk was getting away from her.

Had she been able to pay more attention to the steps
in front of her, she would probably have noticed the crumbling stonework before she trod on it but instead she placed all her weight on the rubble and went flying forward straight in to the jagged edges of the step. As her upper shins made contact with the dirty white masonry, she let out a yell of surprise. It was pointless trying to stifle it as the pain shooting through her legs needed an outlet somewhere but it meant that, just for a second, she lost her connection with the monk.

It was only momentary but it was enough for it to regain control of its own mind. It stopped its slow ascent of the steps and looked over its shoulder at the burden that had appeared out of nowhere and then back down the steps to the woman who had just screamed behind it.

“Oh shit.”

Emma desperately tried to regain control over its mind but she was exhausted from the effort of getting Taryn this far and the monk now blocked her thoughts.

You need to make it to the nearest exit with Taryn, nothing else matters.

The monk dropped Taryn to the ground and started to make its way back towards Emma.

C'mon do as you're told! Pick Taryn back up!

The monks pace increased and Emma found the sweat on her neck starting to chill. She knew that it was pointless trying anything else. The monk raced on down until it was only four steps above her. Emma tried staying perfectly still as she had the last time one of these had come looking for her but it was no good, she needed to breathe and her body defied her, so she braced herself for the monks assault.

It jumped the last two steps with raised arms. Emma ducked to the left as it flew forward. More by luck than judgement, her shoulder gave it a jarring blow in the lower ribs. Instead of landing on her, it fell sideways and
smashed its back against the wall that ran the length of the stairs, where it collapsed to the floor and slid down another three steps before coming to a halt.

Emma looked around in desperation, expecting to find a sudden influx of monks descending on her but her scream had been swallowed up in the enormity of the hall and the wave of human misery coming out of it. She hurried up the steps as quickly as her bruised legs would allow and lifted Taryn up by the waist. She was shocked to see how light she was and tried not to look at this frail old woman as she struggled up the final few steps.

Once at the top, she was confronted with a set of six arches. She put Taryn down and raced along checking each one, caution now a luxury she couldn't afford. At the bottom of the stairs, she could see the monk was stirring and knew she had to be out of there before it could raise the alarm. All the arches led into darkness and it was impossible to know which one to take. Emma, whilst all the time keeping an eye on the monk, stood back and tried to work out what to do. The taste of sulphur in her throat was now slowly receding although her nose still burnt from the heat of the lower chambers but for once this worked to her advantage as she picked up the slightly cooler air coming from one of the archways nearer the middle. She stepped forward and risked sticking her head in the first of the middle two archways. She was in luck; the air was cooler.

Emma raced back to where Taryn was lying barely conscious and picked her up.

“Nearly there, Taryn.”

She turned and lifted Taryn through the archway and into the darkness as behind her a low wail turned into a screech that cut right through the air. The monk had come round.

As Father Eamon looked at the people now standing in front of him, he lamented the fact that they had lost so many good men and women to the Soul Gorger. He knew that the task now facing them would not be easy and the depleted ranks he now had facing him, was not going to make it any easier.

Father Henry was looking out of the window at the cattle below. They had managed to get into the butchers that sat on the junction of Giltspur Street and Hosier Lane, a small alleyway that ran down to Snow Hill. The ground floor was a pen to hold cattle waiting for slaughter but upstairs was a set of rooms, covered in dust and floored with broken and creaking wooden boards, which were now filled with the few guides that they had managed to round up at such short notice. Sister Ignacia stood to one side with a subdued look on her face. Father Eamon knew what was going through her mind but there was nothing he could do to help her now, they would know soon enough how this would turn out.

Father Eamon looked at the large man by the window. “Father Henry, how long will you need to prepare yourself?”

Father Henry turned from the dirt smeared window,
“That depends on how many people you can spare. That is an awful lot of livestock out there.”

“How many will you need?”

Father Henry looked back out the window before responding, “I would say a half dozen if you can spare them.”

Father Eamon paused, that would seriously deplete his end but Smithfield's was huge, “Take your half dozen and leave now. We do not know when or if Emma will make the exit but we must be ready in any case.”

Father Henry nodded and looked around the room. “Kira, Ansgar, Fayre, Colter, and Botolf you will come with me.” Father Henry looked around the room for a final person and as his eyes passed the far corner, a wry smile spread across his face. “Drystan, I should have need of you for this as well.”

The man in the corner had been largely overlooked by the other people in the room but now, as he stood up, his bulk became apparent. His head sat on a bull neck and his arms were the size of cannonballs.

“I wondered when you'd be calling me.” His baritone voice had a gruff Welsh timbre to it and his words, whilst few and far between, carried a presence that could fill a house. “When do we start?”

“Now.” Father Henry turned to Father Eamon, “When will we know when you need us?”

Father Eamon's eyes flicked to Sister Ignacia, “I think it will be obvious.”

“Aye, well I hope for all our sakes you're right.” Father Henry motioned for the people he had named to follow him as he swept out of the door and down the stairs.

When they had gone, Father Eamon turned to the ones that were left and counted them in his head before continuing.
Twenty two. Is that all? Ah well, it will have to do.

He met the expectant eyes that were all fixed on him and drew his breath, “I know many of you are still hurting over what happened with the assassin but I must ask that you risk all once more. I ask a lot, I know this, but it is necessary if we are to continue our struggle.

“I cannot be sure that Emma will escape from that place but we must be ready if she does as they will not take her intervention lightly.”

The same rumblings of uneasiness that he had heard when they had prepared for the Soul Gorger now emerged in the room. Some avoided his glance whilst others looked at him with an unflinching gaze.

“We've been here before, Father Eamon, and not that long ago. Please do not misunderstand me; there is no one in this room who would not follow you into the gates of hell itself but for what? What makes this woman so special?”

The question was asked by a man at the back who wore a dusty three piece suit. His face was creased and folded but his eyes were sharp and they were focused on Father Eamon. Father Eamon went to answer but Sister Ignacia was already up on her feet and had whirled round to face the questioner.

“You want to know what makes Emma Elliott so special? I could start with the portents and omens or the fact that the enemy are so terrified of her that they sent something that hasn't been seen in half a millennia but I will settle for the fact that she has walked into the inferno that is Newgate Gaol because of her loyalty to a friend.

“I for one have no doubt she will make it back and if necessary I will stand alone against everything they can throw at her when she returns to this realm!”

The man cowered back at the rage burning in Sister Ignacia's eyes but it quickly disappeared and she stepped back. “Forgive me; I have a lot of emotional attachment
to the current events, maybe too much.”

“There is nothing to forgive; we all understand your feeling on this.” A woman with pale skin and shoulder length red hair came over and embraced her. “I will be standing right next to you, I promise. If Father Eamon believes that this woman is the one that is prophesied about, then that is good enough for me.”

A wave of ayes rippled across the room as a single tear slipped down Sister Ignacia's cheek. “Thank you, Aithne. I will feel all the better for you being there.”

Attention turned from the two women back to Father Eamon who had been quietly pleased to see sister Ignacia's response. It took the pressure off him and showed that she was back to her old ways and angry, and there was no one he would want less as an enemy than Sister Ignacia in a rage.

He looked at the expectant eyes that were now surrounding him, all the hesitancy and doubt having now been cast out.

“This will not be easy. If Emma escapes and they realise how close they have come to getting their prize, they will release everything they have to get her back. I have an idea how we can do this but it will require timing and no small amount of courage from those in this room.” Father Eamon spent the next twenty minutes explaining his plan before they left the room and went their separate ways into the twilight.

Emma was nursing a swelling on her forehead from where she had run into a wall as she had rushed to leave the final chamber. The monk's screams were still ringing in her ears as she raced up another set of stairs. It may have been
cooler since she had reached the series of anti-chambers that she was now ascending, but her legs felt like they were on fire. Her thighs felt like they were going to explode as she tried to cope with the combined pressures of the constant inclines and the dead weight of Taryn on her shoulders.

At the top of the stairs, Emma was met by a large iron door that opened out on to an exercise yard with high brick walls. A rusty mesh roof ran over the top of it, filtering in the night sky above through a grid of iron latticework and rivets. Behind her the voice was now exhorting the monks to catch her, its voice high with indignation as the screams reached a pitch which Emma was sure only dogs should be able to hear.

“Oh, thank God! We're nearly there, Taryn.”

Taryn wasn't responding and Emma was silently grateful for that. She was still having difficulty coming to terms with the fact that the wizened form on her back was the woman she had grown up with.

The courtyard was a perfect square and the cold flagstones laid on the ground provided a welcome relief for their feet. Emma forced the door open just far enough to drag Taryn through as a moan carried on the wind behind them.

It started off as a low monotone but grew from there to a collective wail. As it filled the air Emma fell to her knees, dropping Taryn's ragged form to the floor, and forced her hands against her ears but it did nothing to block out the sound. She got up and shoved against the door she had just come through until it slowly started to close but it wasn't easy. The passage of time had caused the hinges to rust and the doors weight had started to pull it away from the wall. It wasn't by much but it was enough that its leading edge was now embedding itself in the stone floor and making Emma's job next to impossible. Eventually
she gave up, her efforts exhausting her. Instead she looked around for an exit and saw another door in the far wall.

Resisting the temptation to just stand with her eyes closed and lap up the cool air, Emma ran as quickly as her tired legs would allow towards the far wall and pulled at the door, but it wouldn't budge.

“Oh, come on! Not now, not after we've got this far!”

Emma raged at the door as she forced it first one way then the other but it was clearly locked and no amount of persuasion on her part was going to change that. She sank to her knees, crying in exasperation, and beat her fists against the iron barrier.

“This is bullshit! I've not come this far to fail now!”

As she turned towards Taryn a low tremble ran through the floor. It was coming from way below them and was barely noticeable at first but it was there. Emma tried to run to Taryn but the heat and the effort of carrying her up the stairs had taken their toll and she could barely manage a slow hobble. When she reached her, she was met by a hollow look.

“Taryn, I promise I'll get you out, babe.”

Her words were more for her than Taryn but she tried not to show her desperation as she said them.

“Who are you?”

The woman's eyes were clouded and vacant and Emma tried not cry as she knelt down. She gently brushed the strands of fine white hair from her eyes and looked for any recognition coming back but there was nothing there.

“I'm your friend, Taryn. Don't you remember? Don't you remember us growing up together?”

The old woman looked away for a second and drew her hand to her mouth as her eyes stared off into space.

“I used to have a friend but she left me. It was so long ago now.”

Emma choked down the tears as she cradled Taryn's hands in her own. It was like holding a baby's after they had gotten out of a hot bath as the loose folds of Taryn's skin rubbed against the youth of Emma's.

“I didn't leave you, Taryn, honest. I came as soon as I could, it's just that there's a time difference between here and there and I…I”

But it was no good; Taryn had stopped listening, instead choosing to drift off into a world of her own. Emma felt the heat returning to her face as the frustration inside of her started to build. There was a dampness returning to the air after the dry heat of the chambers below. She was determined not to fail now she had got this far but there was no way out except the way they had come in and that was a non-starter.

The tremble was now a rumble and Emma knew that they would not be alone for long. She looked around and concentrated on the locked door again. There was no way out except through that but it was closed to them.

The rumbling was joined by a clamour of voices and Emma knew they were on the stairs. It had taken Emma, with Taryn on her back, nearly half an hour to climb them but she knew it would take the oncoming mob a fraction of that. The air around her was heating up as she started to pace up and down working out what to do next. The door was stuck solid against the stone floor but would be no match for what was about to hit it and Emma knew she wouldn't be able to fight them.

She looked at Taryn, who rippled behind a heat haze that was starting to build in the yard. The old anger and frustration that Emma had felt when she had first arrived in the plane was returning and as she looked down, she could see the crescent-shaped indents in her palms from where she had dug her nails in.

Anger at her own stupidity started to mix with resentment towards Taryn for placing her in this position and Father Eamon for not stopping her from rushing into this action.

“This is bollocks. Where is everybody?”

The noise on the stairs was now loud enough that Emma could make out individual voices and the dark interior of the stairwell was starting to give way to the light given off as the torch flames rose upwards. They were nearly on them and Emma knew her time was almost up.

Adrenaline flooded her legs and she rushed over to the far wall in a final effort to open the locked door. She pulled at it but it was defiant in its obstinate refusal to budge. She placed both hands on the handle and hung off it, tugging with every remnant of her strength. The voices were only a few flights below them now and would be in the yard within seconds but the door wouldn't move and Emma found herself punching it and screaming in frustration. The door buckled. In her rage, Emma hit it again and again, her screams filling the superheated yard. By the time her energy was spent, the door was hanging off of its hinges and a corridor, leading off to the right was open in front of her.

The doors capitulation gave Emma renewed hope and she raced back to where Taryn was now slumped on the floor. She lifted her over her shoulders as if she weighed no more than the air around her and rushed for the open doorway. As she flew into the corridor, she heard the grinding of the stairwell door as it grated open under the pressure of the horde that was now in pursuit.

The corridor was long and narrow and also had a grate above it. At the far end was a door in the left hand wall and Emma focused on that as she forced her legs on. As she reached it, the door she had just come through flew
open and Emma caught the look of an enraged monk as the momentum of the mob behind it forced it to crash in to the opposite wall. The door in front of Emma was just locked with a latch and she lifted it and barged through in one movement to find she was standing on a wooden platform in the open air.