Part 55 (1/2)

Her torch sputtered, and began to go out. She quickly lit one of the others that Chris had carried from the chapel. He had brought four torches, and now they had three left. Would three more torches see them to the surface again? What would they do if the final torch went out and they still had farther-perhaps miles-to go? Would they crawl forward in darkness, feeling their way along, perhaps for days? Would they ever make it, or would they die here, in darkness?

”Stop it,” Chris said.

”Stop what?”

”Thinking about it.”

”Thinking about what?”

Chris smiled at her. ”We're doing okay. We'll make it.”

She didn't ask him how he knew. But she was comforted by what he said, even though it was just bl.u.s.ter.

They had been pa.s.sing through a twisting pa.s.sageway, very low, but now the cave opened out into a huge chamber, a full-blown cave, with stalact.i.tes hanging down from the roof, in some places reaching to the ground, and even into the water. Everywhere the flickering light of the torch faded into blackness. She did, however, see a footpath along one dark sh.o.r.e. Apparently there was a path running the entire length of the cave.

The river was narrower, and moved faster, threading its way among the stalact.i.tes. It reminded her of a Louisiana swamp, except it was all underground. Anyway, they were making good time; she began to feel more confident. At this rate, they would cover even ten miles in a few minutes. They might make the two-hour deadline after all. In fact, they might make it easily.

The accident happened so fast, she hardly realized what had occurred. Chris said, ”Kate!” and she turned in time to see a stalact.i.te just by her ear, and her head struck the stone hard, and her torch hit it as well-and the burning cloth tip shook free from the stick it was tied to, and in a kind of ghastly slow motion, she watched it fall from her torch onto the surface of the water, joining its reflection. It sputtered, hissed and went out.

They were in total blackness.

She gasped.

She had never been in such darkness before. There was absolutely no light at all. She heard the dripping of the water, felt the slight cold breeze, the hugeness of the s.p.a.ce around her. The boat was still moving; they were banging against stalact.i.tes, seemingly at random. She heard a grunt, the boat rocked wildly, and she heard a loud splash from the stern.

”Chris?”

She fought panic.

”Chris?” she said. ”Chris, what do we do now?” Her voice echoed.

01:33:00.

It was now early night, the sky deepening from blue to black, the stars appearing in greater numbers. Lord Oliver, his threats and boasts finished for the moment, had gone with de Kere into the great hall to dine. From the hall, they heard shouts and carousing; Oliver's knights were drinking before the battle.

Marek walked with Johnston back to the a.r.s.enal. He glanced at his counter. It said 01:32:14. The Professor didn't ask him how much time was left, and Marek didn't volunteer. That was when he heard a whoos.h.i.+ng sound. Men on the ramparts yelled as a huge fiery ma.s.s arced over the walls, tumbling in the air, and descended toward them in the inner courtyard.

”It's starting,” the Professor said calmly.

Twenty yards away from them, the fire smashed onto the ground. Marek saw that it was a dead horse, the legs protruding stiffly from the flames. He smelled burning hair and flesh. The fat popped and sputtered.

”Jesus,” Marek said.

”Dead for a long time,” Johnston said, pointing to the stiff legs. ”They like to fling old carca.s.ses over the walls. We'll see worse than that before the night is over.”

Soldiers ran with water to put the fire out. Johnston went back into the powder room. The fifty men were still there, grinding the powder. One of them was mixing a large, wide basin of resin and quicklime, producing a quant.i.ty of the brown goo.

Marek watched them work, and he heard another whoosh whoosh from outside. Something heavy thunked on the roof; all the candles in the windows shook. He heard men shouting, running onto the roof. from outside. Something heavy thunked on the roof; all the candles in the windows shook. He heard men shouting, running onto the roof.

The Professor sighed. ”They hit it on the second try,” he said. ”This is just what I was afraid of.”

”What?”

”Arnaut knows there is an armory, and he knows roughly where it is-you can see it if you climb the hill. Arnaut knows this room will be full of powder. If he can hit it with an incendiary, he knows he'll cause great damage.”

”It'll explode,” Marek said, looking around at the stacked bags of powder. Although most medieval powder wouldn't explode, they had already demonstrated that Oliver's would detonate a cannon.

”Yes, it will explode,” Johnston said. ”And many people inside the castle will die; there will be confusion, and a huge fire left burning in the center courtyard. That means men will have to come off the walls to fight the fire. And if you take men off the walls during a siege ...”

”Arnaut will scale.”

”Immediately, yes.”

Marek said, ”But can Arnaut really get an incendiary into this room? These stone walls must be two feet thick.”

”He won't go through the walls. The roof.”

”But how ...”

”He has cannon,” the Professor said. ”And iron b.a.l.l.s. He will heat his cannonb.a.l.l.s red-hot, then fire them over the walls, hoping to hit this a.r.s.enal. A fifty-pound ball will tear right through the roof and come down inside. When that happens, we don't want to be here.” He gave a wry smile. ”Where the h.e.l.l is Kate?”

01:22:12.

She was lost in infinite darkness. It was a nightmare, she thought, as she crouched in the boat, feeling it drift in the current and b.u.mp from stalact.i.te to stalact.i.te. Despite the cool air, she had begun to sweat. Her heart was pounding. Her breathing was shallow; she felt like she couldn't get a full breath.

She was terrified. She s.h.i.+fted her weight, and the boat rocked alarmingly. She put both hands out to steady it. She said, ”Chris?”

She heard a splas.h.i.+ng from far off in the darkness. Like someone swimming.

”Chris?”

From a great distance: ”Yeah.”

”Where are you?”

”I fell off.”

He sounded so far away. Wherever Chris was, she was drifting farther and farther from him every minute. She was alone. She had to get light. Somehow, she had to get light. She began to crawl back toward the stern of the boat, groping with her hands, hoping her fingers would close on a wooden pole that meant one of the remaining torches. The boat rocked again.

s.h.i.+t.

She paused, waiting for it to steady beneath her.

Where were the d.a.m.n torches? She thought they were in the center of the boat. But she didn't feel them anywhere. She felt the oars. She felt the planking. But she didn't feel torches.

Had they fallen off the boat with Chris?