Shades of Red (10 page)

She held her small candle aloft and looked around. The floor was just tamped earth but was clean-swept and free of the straw and rushes that so often harboured fleas and disease. Darrell sank down on to the stool and gazed at the back wall of the room. It was fitted with shelves, each heavily laden with clay jars and baskets.

Looking for something to take her mind from her fears, she shook the contents of the priest's bag onto the rough tabletop. “He didn't say I couldn't look,” she muttered. Inside the bag were two leather-bound volumes — one large and heavy, the other smaller. The first proved to be a ledger with pages of row upon row
of letters and numbers written in a neat and careful hand. Darrell found it completely indecipherable.

“Not exactly a John Grisham,” she said dejectedly.

The second book looked less promising still. It was small and very worn — little more than a notebook with a creased and heavily water-stained cover of russet leather.

She flipped it open anyway and was rewarded with more of the same. The first several pages overflowed with neat rows of letters, singly and in pairs, though this time the entries appeared to be dated. Darrell traced her finger along the rows for several pages, speculating idly.

Letters — consonants and vowels both, but no words. Always in pairs — initials, perhaps? A code? Whatever it was, it worked, because Darrell could make nothing of it after half an hour.

She closed the book and went to return the ledgers to the bag when the back cover of the smaller book snagged on a rough board from the tabletop.

Inside the back cover were more letters, but this time not only in pairs. Words. The handwriting near the start was the same as that in the ledger lists, but after a page or two, a new handwriting began. Curious, Darrell drew the candle closer, tracing the letters with one finger.

The words seemed strangely shaped and yet familiar somehow ...

She scrabbled in the pocket of her skirt. After a moment her fingers closed on the broken stick of charcoal that she had found in her pocket near the grotto. She flipped open the larger ledger and ripped a blank page out of the back. The candle burned lower, but daylight was starting to creep through the cracks in the shutters.

Darrell bent her head began to transpose the letters carefully on to the scrap of paper. Her writing grew more feverish with every word.

After a time, writer's cramp knotted her hand and she looked up with alarm at the nearly guttering candle. Full daylight was evident outside the shutters now, so she let the candle burn itself out. Rubbing her hand, she held her tattered page to the light and began to read aloud.

Darrell had managed to read only two or three of the sentences transcribed from the back of the small book when there was a sudden pounding on the door. It was definitely not the priest's secret knock.

“Abra! Abra a porta!”

Darrell jumped up with the ledgers in her hands. After what she had just read she could not bear to throw them in the fire, and the leather covers would not burn in any case. She looked around desperately for a hiding place.

“In the name of the king, we demand entrance!” Another resounding crash on the door. Darrell wrapped the ledgers hurriedly in the cloth bag and jammed them behind a large clay jar of pickled fish. A third crash splintered one of the boards in the door, and Darrell could see a face looking through the crack.

“
Marranos
!” roared a voice and a hand punched through the splintered board of the doorway. “Swine!”

Darrell realized too late that all the exits to the small cottage were at the front. She stood beside the table, waiting for the final blow to fall. Instead a quiet voice crept through the cracked and broken door.

“
Tem calma meu, amigo
. Calm down, my friend.”

The priest!

The rasping voice that had shouted though the door took on a sudden obsequious tone. “
Mil perdões
, Father. We were told this place was a secret sty for
marranos
.”

“A forgivable error, my friend, considering the part of the city,” said the priest. “But there are no Jewish people here. This is the humble abode of my dear departed aunt, with only her daughter,
minha prima,
inside.”

“Rosita!” Darrell could see the Franciscan's face as he called out through the cracked door. “Rosita
minha querida
, there is no need to be afraid. Open the door and I will show this good fellow that those whom he seeks are not to be found here.”

Darrell hurried to the door and lifted the heavy board. Without the support of the bar the rest of the door collapsed under its own weight in a shower of splinters.

The Franciscan friar stepped in over the splinters and motioned inside. “You see? Only
minha prima
, my young cousin.”

The soldier stepped into the room. His armour was tarnished and soot-stained, and Darrell was surprised at his tiny stature. His voice had sounded much bigger through the door. However, her eyes were torn from the soldier by the two figures standing behind him. She flew through the door and into Kate's arms. Brodie squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, and Delaney wagged happily at her side.

“I can't believe you are safe,” said Darrell, blinking back tears of relief.

“Don't say a word,” whispered Kate. “We've got to get out of here
now
.”

The friar slapped the soldier on the back and smiled serenely. “Go ahead, look around. You will see all is well.”

Darrell widened her eyes at the Franciscan and he moved gently to her side. “The bag is behind the jar of fish on the wall,” she hissed. “I didn't have time to hide it anywhere else.”

He nodded and said in a loud voice. “You must run to the market for me, my dear. I remember now that I am quite out of wine, and my good friend here may
need to pause in his labours and share a glass with me.” In a low voice he added, “Pay close heed to your sister and her good husband. They know the way.”

Darrell nodded and then watched in horror as the soldier picked up the menorah from where it sat, with its single stub of a candle, right in the middle of the table.

“Off you go, my dears,” the priest said, and he gave Darrell's arm a quick squeeze before he pushed her away. He turned back to the soldier.

“I see you have found that old candlestick. It was a gift from my ...”

Brodie grabbed Darrell's arm, and she found herself being hustled up the street with Kate on her other side and Delaney at their heels. The roads were full of men and soldiers running. A few children skipped alongside the soldiers but most clung to their mothers' skirts in the shadows of darkened doorways. It was hard to read the atmosphere — part celebration, part mob action. There was no time to stop and find out more.

“It's only a short way from here,” gasped Brodie. He held Darrell firmly under her right arm. Her feet were practically skimming the rocky surface of the road as she ran along between her two friends. “Unfortunately, it's straight uphill.”

“Everywhere is straight uphill in Lisbon,” panted Kate. “There are seven of them right here in the centre of the city.”

The miasma of burning was all about them, and Darrell could see the flames in a nearby square. There was no time or breath left for speech as they climbed the steep slope towards an enormous castle that overlooked the city.

Kate's face was ashen in spite of the run. “Whatever you do,” she said, “don't look at the fires.”

Darrell nodded and concentrated on following Delaney. His once-golden fur was smudged and sooty, but there was no mistaking his energy. He wore a rough knotted rope around his neck and dashed around them to lead the way up the hill with Darrell and her friends in close pursuit. The castle gate was a scene of further chaos. People ran in all directions, uncertainty and even panic written across many faces. Delaney veered around the side of the castle wall and stopped, panting, near a guardhouse. Kate dropped her skirts and put her hands on her knees, gasping for breath.

Brodie stuck his head into the guardhouse. “Looks like they've all gone to the burning,” he said grimly. He rested his hand on Darrell's shoulder. “Are you really okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Darrell nodded. “I have so much to tell you. Is there somewhere safe we can go and talk?”

“No,” said Kate, her voice tinged with panic. “The Dominicans have rounded up all the Jewish people in Lisbon. They're going to kill them all, Darrell. Your
priest is the only person we've met who listens to reason, which means he'll probably be dead before the day is over. We must leave
now
.”

“But, just a minute, you two, I think I may have found—”

“I'm sorry Darrell, but it doesn't matter what you've found,” interrupted Brodie. “Kate is right. We have to go.”

Delaney barked sharply, and the trio looked up to see a line of soldiers marching purposefully towards them. In the lead was the soldier who had broken down the cottage door. Clutched securely in the arms of two others was the Franciscan priest.

“
Marranos
!” screamed the first soldier, and the group broke ranks and ran up the slope towards the castle wall.

“
Go
!” Brodie pushed Darrell into the guardhouse. Pieces of armour were strewn about haphazardly as though they had been recently discarded. A passageway led from the guardhouse into the gate yard outside, guarded by an enormous portcullis. Darrell started for the passageway, but Kate pulled her back.

“No — this way!”

In a dark corner at the back of the guardhouse stood a small closet with a heavy wooden doorframe. Darrell could just see the outline of a flaming symbol as it began to glow a deep red on the wooden surface. Beside the glowing symbol was the charred remains of the image of
an eight-armed candlestick. The friar's menorah.

Kate was already holding hands with Brodie and she smiled tremulously at Darrell. “Try not to let go of my hand this time,” she whispered.

“I'll do my best.” Darrell wound her fingers through Delaney's rope collar and, grasping Kate's hand firmly, followed her friends through the low doorway.

Darrell handed around the last of the peppermints from her pocket as they sat on the stairs, recovering. Delaney lay on the bottom step, panting gently.

Brodie patted his head. “You're an amazing dog, you know that?” He looked up at the soot and dirtstained girls. “He always seems so unperturbed by these journeys.”

“I've never come back without my clothes ripped to shreds,” said Kate, pointing at the dirty bare knee poking through her jeans, “and he always looks like he's just been to the groomers.”

“So, what do you think happened to Paris?” asked Darrell.

“Well, he wasn't touching us when we went through the portal,” said Brodie, “so he must still be here somewhere. He couldn't have travelled with us.”

“He's probably gone back up to the school,” said Kate. “We're going to need to talk to him to find out what he knows — he had to have seen us get pulled away.”

“I thought he got dragged along for sure,” said Darrell quietly. “Especially when the friar said he had found my three friends.” Delaney flopped over on his side to let her rub his tummy. “I'm just so glad you're both okay,” she said in a low voice. “I've been sick with worry. Where were you all that time?”

“We stayed at the little villa where we found you,” said Brodie. “We looked everywhere for you when we arrived in Lisbon. Of course, it took us quite a while to figure out where we were at first. Kate was convinced we had to be in Spain because of what we had been learning in Professor Grampian's class.”

“Well, that's how it worked before with Professor Tooth,” Kate said, a trifle crankily.

“Anyway, we couldn't find you anywhere. We searched a bit through the passages near the guardhouse under the castle, but then Kate thought you must have gone out into the city, so we went out to look.”

“I hit my head this time,” said Darrell, ruefully rubbing the sore spot. “I must have been knocked out for quite a while. And I
was
in a passageway, near a little underground grotto.”

“Anyway,” continued Brodie, “we finally figured out we were in Lisbon. We asked around in the local marketplace to see if anyone had seen you.”

“I pretended you were my lost sister,” interjected Kate. “Nobody wanted to talk to us. Everyone seemed so anxious and suspicious because we were strangers.”

“After what seemed like forever I spoke to a priest all hooded up in a red cloak who told us to go find Brother Socorro at the church — that he sometimes gave lost travellers sanctuary.”

“A red robe?” said Darrell thoughtfully. “Why does that remind me of something?” She thought a moment then shook her head. “It's gone. So his name is Brother Socorro, eh?”

“Yeah. Turned out he was actually looking for us, since he must have found you by then.”

“He hid me in his room in the cathedral,” Darrell explained. “But he locked me in, and I guess that's when things started to go crazy in the city, so he left me there for what seemed like forever.”

“Nearly three days,” said Kate, patting Darrell on the arm.

“No wonder I was so hungry! So you were in the cottage all that time?” asked Darrell.

“Only about a day, 'cause we spent the first day figuring out where we were and the second looking for you,” Kate replied.

Darrell leaned over and squeezed Kate by the shoulders. “That explains why Socorro thought you were my sister,” she said and peered at Brodie through bloodshot eyes. “You know, I am so tired, at one point I thought he actually referred to you as Kate's ‘good husband.'”

Kate and Brodie both started talking at once.