Belaset's Daughter - By Feona J Hamilton Page 0,84

be clean again.

Outside the building, they wheeled sharply to the left. One of the guards shouted across to a young lad, and a torch was brought to them. Then he was bundled into a smaller side door. It took them inside the base of one of the four smaller towers at each corner of the main structure. Stone steps spiralled up into the gloom, lit only fitfully by the flames from the torch which the guard held above his head. They were so narrow that the three were forced to go in single file.

Gregory climbed in silence, gritting his teeth as he scraped his shin painfully against an unexpectedly steep step. The guard in front also went up in silence, but the man behind, unable to see so clearly, stumbled and cursed.

"Slow down, damn you!" he said, finally, to the other. "How can I see where to put my feet, with you running ahead with the only light?"

The man in the lead stopped suddenly, so that the other two cannoned into each other.

"Do you want to lead, then?" he said, knowing that there was no chance of anyone changing places on this stairway. He turned and waved the torch back over the other two, who instinctively ducked.

"Get on with it!" grumbled the other guard. "But just take a bit more time I’d rather get back down on my own two feet, then fall down on my back."

The first one turned back to his task, and they began to climb again, though at a slower speed. It seemed to Gregory that they climbed for another ten minutes at least, and all three were breathing heavily by the time they finally came to the top of the staircase. A door barred the way, but the guard flung it open without hesitation.

They were not, as Gregory had expected to be, actually at battlement level. The room, which was indeed small, was right up at the top of the Tower itself. There was nothing above his head but the struts and covering of the roof. The light of the torch showed a bare floor of flagstones, just large enough for a man to take two good steps in either direction. The window, which was at chest level, was uncovered, and the chill of the night penetrated. His two guards shivered, then turned without a word and left, taking the torch with them. He was left alone. Cautiously, he stretched out a hand, and leant forward until he touched the wall. Then, taking the step which brought him up to it, he turned and slid down until he was sitting on the floor, with his legs drawn up beneath him for warmth.

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Belaset’s Daughter

The darkness, which had seemed absolute, was not. The moon was shining through the window, at an angle, lighting this place with its peculiar, silvery glow. He was grateful that he would not be condemned to wait in the pitch dark. Nevertheless, it would be a long night.

* * *

Hubert hauled himself out of the river, and lay, panting, on the bank. He could feel the mud seeping into his hair, and the dank smell of it filled his nostrils, but he was too exhausted to care. He listened with all his might, trying to hear if anyone was about, but the silence was absolute.

As he regained his breath, he sat up cautiously. The moon that shone into Gregory s prison showed Hubert the bulk of the Abbey, looming up on his left. He rose to his feet, and shook himself, feeling the water stream off him, and wiped his face with his hands, to clean off some of the mud. Walking as softly as he could, he went towards the Abbey. If he could just get back to the Yechiels, he felt, somehow, that they would know what to do.

The streets were deserted, but still Hubert went cautiously. An apparently empty street could still have many eyes watching it. By now, the news of the massacre must have reached Westminster, and anyone looking or acting oddly would be noted. Walking along in the moonlight, soaking wet, he was an obvious candidate for close scrutiny. It only needed one person to report having seen him to some officious busybody in the Abbey, for trouble to start.

He had reached the door of the house where the Yechiels had been given shelter. First, he walked on past, without pausing, straining every nerve to take note of any possible followers. There was no-one he could