The Mammoth Book of Historical Crime Fic - By Mike Ashley Page 0,121

in the affair was far from over. With the tenacious Noyce now on the plotter’s trail, it could only be a matter of time before those not killed or captured at Holbeach were taken, and any incriminating materials in their possession recovered. Paramount among these concerns were those blasted priests and the plotter’s treasury. If Noyce and his men reached them before he did, then all his efforts thus far would be in vain. He had no option but to ignore his own advice and ride towards where the sound of their guns might soon be heard.

*

“All of this is your handiwork?” asked Quick of their new surroundings. The move had been as sudden as it had been unexpected. Once satisfied that the way was clear, Owen had led them in an early dawn dash from their hiding place to the nearby kitchen, where the removal of the stone slab beneath the cooking hearth revealed the entrance to a tunnel.

Owen’s shake of the head was barely perceptible in the lamplight. “I cannot claim credit. This is an old drain, built to carry water from the moat which once surrounded the house. They filled in the ditch long ago but this was left behind.”

Out of sight, out of mind, thought Quick; if only the same rule applied to them. The moat may have long gone but the tunnel was still damp, and in places water trickled through the green slime covering the walls.

Owen knew full well that if they were to stand any chance of escaping the house, then the tunnel was their only hope. With Noyce on the job it would be only a matter of time before their hiding place was discovered and, with or without him on their scent, Quick was only too happy to leave the confines of those dreadful walls. They continued their passage for what seemed an age, before the closely bonded bricks gave way to timber walls. “I dug this part,” said Owen. “Surfacing at the end of the original drain would place you in open ground, so I extended it.”

They had not been in the wooden portion of the tunnel long when progress came to a halt. Owen climbed a short distance up a ladder and opened a trapdoor just wide enough to let in a chink of light and to allow him to check the way out was clear.

The trapdoor was concealed within the earth floor of a smithy. The blacksmith was absent, but the coals in his forge were content enough to give off a gentle glow without him. Owen closed the hatch while Quick took in his surroundings. Dozens of horseshoes, great and small, were hanging from nails in the beams above their heads; the middle of the floor was occupied by an anvil resting its heavy weight on a block of wood, and the many tools of the blacksmith’s trade were scattered about.

Placing the bag of coins on the anvil Quick crossed to a window and, peering out, was relieved to see nothing more than an empty yard, overlooked by a few ramshackle sheds. The tunnel had put a good musket shot between them and the house, but he would have been even happier to see a pair of horses tethered close by. The best hope seemed to rest with the long building on the other side of the yard, which from the halved doors looked to be a stable.

“There are still two men in the house,” said Owen.

“I think there will be a good few more than two in there now.”

“I mean the priests, Mr Quick. The men who accompanied me in the flight from Holbeach House.”

Quick let the sacking drop back across the window. “Do they have coin, or any other materials of importance with them?”

“They have nothing but food and drink with them, and precious little of that. All of the money was left in my charge. Its presence seemed to make them uncomfortable.”

“They would learn to feel more at home with it as bishops,” said Quick, trying not to let his relief at the answer show. “But there will be no chance of promotion now. You know as well as I that they will be taken before long. We must look to our own salvation, which I fear is far from assured.”

Owen was standing beside the anvil and casually brushing his fingers across the crescentic ridges created by the coins in the bag. “Could we not buy their liberty? This was intended to finance a