They stumbled round to the far side, gauging the position of their entrance as well as they could. Simon looked at his watch, then up at the wall. The wind buffeted their hoods; snowflakes stippled their faces.
‘He should be there.’ Simon leant close to Emily. ‘We’re only three minutes late.’
‘Can he see us? I can barely see the hole.’
Simon gave a piercing whistle that was carried off by the air. He tried shouting Marcus’s name. No face appeared, no rope came down. Emily called too.
‘Having told us to synchronize watches he’s probably lost his,’ Simon grunted. ‘What do you think? Should we bang on the door?’
‘We’d just get stones thrown at us – hang on, there he is!’
A distant blotch of orange and blue appeared above. Simon and Emily gesticulated and called. The blotch considered them, then retreated. A moment later, the rope tumbled down in front of them. First Emily and then Simon scaled the wall, their feet slipping on the frosty stones.
Marcus was waiting at the top, cowled by his all-weather hood. Snow danced behind him in the empty hall. Without a word he beckoned them along the passage, out of the worst of the weather. Emily expected him to climb the stairs to their room, but instead he vanished into the chapel, leading them round the castle and back to the entrance lobby, where the window overlooked the car park and the gate.
Once there, Marcus removed his hood. ‘Have you got the water?’
He had big bags under his eyes, and his face looked pinched and cold. Emily thought his hand shook as he reached out to take the bottles from Simon’s rucksack.
‘Is that all?’ Marcus said. ‘Two bottles?’
‘Em forgot hers.’
‘Bloody typical. You ask for supplies and they don’t get through.’
‘Get stuffed,’ Emily said. ‘You’re not going to drink all that, so don’t pretend you are.’
‘Drink it? No thanks!’ Marcus leapt onto the windowsill and peered out into the raging snow. ‘I’ve got a bottle of Coke upstairs. This is for my defences. Anyway, it doesn’t matter – I’ve got my camping stove. I can melt snow. It just takes longer that way.’
‘What defences?’ Simon asked. ‘You didn’t mention these yesterday.’
‘Tricks and traps, mate, tricks and traps. I’ll show you.’
Taking up one of the bottles, he led them through the arch to the walkway that ran alongside the vanished hall. He stopped next to one of the arches that gave onto the empty space. Whirling flakes filled the air and the walkway was flecked with settling snow. Marcus bent down and unscrewed the bottle-top.
‘Right,’ he said, grinning up at them. ‘Watch this. Don’t get wet!’
So saying, he tipped the bottle up and gently poured the water out, moving his hand in a broad circle so that almost the whole width of the passage was covered in a thin puddle.
‘Great,’ Marcus said as he stood up. ‘I only used half the bottle. This’ll do for another on the next side round. Do you see?’ he went on. ‘The stone’s worn down here, so it’s collecting nicely. Give it half an hour and it’ll be an ice-trap.’
‘Yes,’ Emily said, ‘I see.’
‘I’m going to booby-trap all the walkways, especially near these arches. It might save me if the enemy break in. I’ll know where to jump, but they won’t. With any luck – ’
‘ – they’ll slip and fall,’ Emily interrupted. ‘I know.’
‘Clever,’ Simon said.
With this, they trooped back to the entrance room. Marcus was anxious not to be away from the window for too long. He sat on the sill, from where he had a good view out at the snow flurries, and gestured at the plank leaning against the wall nearby.
‘Should work perfectly,’ he said airily. ‘Fits as snug as a bug in those slots.’
Emily drew a deep breath. She would make one final attempt, then she would go. ‘Look, Marcus,’ she began, ‘we’ve all had a great time here and your defences are superb, second to none. But take it from me, there’s nowhere else to go with it. You look knackered, you look ill. You can’t stay here. We need to decide on a different plan.’
Marcus bristled. ‘What are you talking about? I feel great! Never better!’ And it was true that he seemed possessed by a dynamic energy – his movements were quick, decisive as a bird’s and his eyes had the brightness of fever. ‘I had a wonderful night here all on my own. Never felt such comfort. The room was hot, I ate a meal fit for a lord, I walked round the hall in the middle of a storm, while the torchlight spun through the driving snow. And you’re trying to tell me that isn’t how to live!’
‘It’s fine – for a night. But you can’t stay here for ever.’
He glanced out; the blizzard was lessening a little. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Only while I’m threatened.’
‘The threat’s not going to go away, Marcus! Sooner or later – ’
‘Oh shut up, Em. You’re repeating yourself.’
Emily boiled with frustration. ‘Am I? Right, I’ll shut up. And if you get caught in here, as you undoubtedly will, then we’ll all suffer, all three of us. But you’re fine with that, aren’t you? Your problem, Marcus, is that you’re totally selfish!’
She hadn’t meant to lose her temper, but having done so she found she didn’t care. She relished Marcus’s outrage, the fury in his voice. ‘Oh that’s it, is it?’ he cried. ‘You claim to be anxious about me, but really you’re just worried about getting in trouble yourself! Don’t worry, I won’t snitch on you, Em. You just go away and keep your head down.’
‘Don’t twist my words!’
‘Um, guys . . .’
‘The fact is I’m untwisting them, that’s what you don’t like!’
‘Guys . . .’
‘What, Simon?’
‘We have company . . .’
As one, their heads turned. Out beyond the field a car was driving slowly along the lane. They could not hear its engine; all sounds were deadened in the new white world. The snow still descended, but more gently than before. Now and again small flurries were whipped up, billowed and discarded by the wind. In silence, the car rolled into the car park, ploughing through the powder, and drew to a halt in the furthest corner. It was a small model, coloured brown, although its roof and bonnet still had a thick white coating. The tail-lights remained on. No one got out.
‘Come on then,’ Marcus breathed finally. ‘Do something.’
‘Like drive off,’ Simon said.
‘Why don’t they get out?’ Emily asked.
‘It’s some sightseer, maybe. Some tourist.’
‘In this weather?’
‘Looks like he’s got his engine running. He’ll be off soon.’
‘Either that or he’s just keeping himself warm.’
‘But why is he waiting?’
‘One thing,’ Simon said suddenly. ‘He’s local.’
‘Why?’
‘He wouldn’t have all the snow on the car roof else. Would he? It’d have fallen off.’
They digested this in silence, watching the distant car through the falling snow. Nothing happened. Emily felt her toes growing numb through her boots and double layers of sock; she began to grow restless. Simon started fidgeting too, and at last even Marcus rubbed his neck with a gloved hand and pulled his eyes away.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘they don’t seem to be doing anything, whoever they— Ah, shit.’
Another car was moving along the lane. This one had no covering of snow. It was blue and very familiar – they had seen it the day before.
‘Your dad’s persistent, isn’t he?’ Simon said.
The new car entered the car park with agonizing deliberation and pulled over alongside the brown one. Its lights went off, the door opened and a figure in a green fleece emerged. Emily sensed Marcus shudder slightly. As his father approached the other car, its driver’s door opened and a man got out. All three watchers in the castle caught their breath.
‘Oh God,’ Marcus said. ‘That’s Harris,
isn’t it?’
‘They’re coming to look round,’ Emily said. ‘We’ve got to get out right now.’
Marcus and Simon said nothing.
‘Don’t you understand, you fools? If we go now, they won’t find us.’
But they were mesmerized, their mouths open. Emily looked out again. The two figures in the car park were staring back down the lane at—
Emily gave a small whimper. A third vehicle was negotiating the entrance to the car park with rather more speed and panache than the previous two. It skidded to a halt at a dramatic diagonal. Even from a distance, Emily could make out the colourful markings, the little light on the roof. After a brief pause, doors opened and two policemen got out. Marcus’s father and Harris trudged over to greet them.
‘That’s all we need,’ Simon said through his teeth. ‘The bloody police.’
Marcus got abruptly to his feet. ‘The bar! The drawbar – I’ve got to put the bar in position!’ His eyes were wide and he did not quite seem to be addressing them. Seizing the plank, he struggled with it to the main door and disappeared down the steps, his voice echoing back: ‘Keep watch! Don’t take your eyes off them!’
Emily turned to Simon, who was gazing out of the window. ‘We’ve got to convince him!’ she cried. ‘He’s going to do something stupid.’
‘Mmm?’ Simon had a far-off look in his eye. ‘Sorry, missed that.’
‘You’ve got to help me convince him to go!’
‘Yes, but Em, where is he going to go?’
‘I don’t know, but it’s madness – ’
Marcus tumbled back into the room, panting with exertion. ‘I don’t think it’ll be enough!’ he exclaimed. ‘I should have done another plank, doubled the thickness. They might be able to break through that one.’
‘Quit worrying,’ Simon said. ‘It’ll hold.’
‘I hope so. Oh God, look, they’re coming.’
Far off, at the boundary of the castle grounds, Harris was unlocking the gate. As they watched, he pushed it open and stood aside to allow the others to pass through.
Emily took hold of Marcus’s shoulder and swung him bodily round. ‘Right,’ she said, speaking as calmly as she could, ‘this is your last chance. We’ve got maybe five minutes before they get here. If we slip out the back now, they won’t have a hope of catching us. If we stay, we’re cooped up for good. Do you understand?’
Marcus frowned. ‘Ow, you’re hurting me.’
‘That’s nothing to what your dad’s going to do when he gets here. Let’s go!’ The urgency in her voice seemed to affect Marcus. He was wavering; she saw doubt in his face. ‘Come on!’ she insisted. She was almost dragging him bodily towards the passage.
‘Wait,’ he said. ‘What about my stuff?’
‘We haven’t time for that! Leave it!’ She pulled again, but something in Marcus had snapped back into position. He wrenched her hand free. ‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘That’s my stuff you’re talking about. I’ve worked hard to bring it here. I’m not just going to leave it to the enemy.’ He stepped back from her. ‘This is my castle. I’m not running away. They won’t be able to get in.’
‘Ah!’ Emily cried out with frustration. ‘Simon – help me!’
He didn’t meet her eyes, but looked down at the floor. The action reminded her of their first meeting. ‘I don’t know, Em, I think Marcus is right. They won’t be able to get in.’
‘What about the police?’
‘They won’t be able to get in either. That’ll be worth seeing.’ Simon smiled a little.
‘But then – ’
‘They’re on the bridge,’ Marcus said.
‘ – we’ll be trapped.’ She felt helpless, carried along between the stubbornness of one and the defiance of the other. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘You two stay. I’m going.’
‘What?’ Marcus spun round, his eyes round with shock. ‘Em – you can’t! You can’t leave me now, not when the enemy’s actually attacking! That would be terrible, that would be betrayal!’
‘It would be common sense!’
‘They’re through the gatehouse and heading for the front door,’ Simon said.
‘We’ve got to get to our positions!’ Marcus left the window. ‘Em, you do what you like. Go if you want. No one will see. It’s up to you.’
He vanished into the passage that led to the pillared room. With only the briefest pause, Simon followed him. Emily was left standing, miserable and alone. She imagined shinning down the rope and running off to safety, hiding in the trees, walking back to her parents’ house. They would probably be watching television or making lunch. She looked at her watch. Only 11.20 – early yet, earlier than she’d thought. A mumble of voices rose from beyond the window: the enemy was here.
She imagined sliding down the rope, running with seven-league strides that ate up the ground. Running for safety while the enemy was at the door.
Her room waited for her, with its bed, bookshelf, plywood desk, its old array of teds, its radiator. Here in the castle the wind whistled through the gaping arches and flecks of snow landed on the flagstones. Her fingers were numb inside her gloves. She thought of warmth, comfort and betrayal.
She should leave at once, but she could not bring herself to do so. The images of her room were weak and unfulfilling; they faded and the castle’s solid strength remained. She could not hide while the others stayed – like it or not, she had been instrumental in bringing them there and she could not desert them now.
Emily was awash with fear and with a loyalty that was almost inseparable from guilt. She felt very sick.
When the wave of nausea had ebbed, she adjusted her hat so that her ears were properly covered. Then, with a deep breath, she set off down the passage to the pillared room.
Marcus and Simon were squatting in the middle of the floor, each crouched over a murder-hole, each with his own pile of rocks and stones. They did not look up as she entered. Through a window came the sound of crunching snow, coughs, muttered voices. A rattling noise followed, and with it the barely audible rasp of Harris’s voice.
‘Be patient. The lock’s stiff.’ More rattling. ‘It freezes up in these conditions.’
Emily went to crouch beside Marcus. The rattling ended with the protesting shriek of ancient hinges moving. There was a slight creaking as the door swung open, the sound carrying more strongly through the murder-hole than through the window.
Marcus was staring intently down the hole, blocking it so that Emily could not see clearly into the passage below. He picked up a large lump of rock. Out of the corner of her eye, Emily saw Simon do the same.
Footsteps sounded in the passage below, drawing nearer.
A voice came drifting up; Harris’s again. ‘This is a fool’s errand.’
Another voice, peaceable, relaxed. ‘Just routine checking, sir.’
Harris grunted. ‘You’ve seen yourself the door was locked.’
Marcus tensed; he lifted the rock over the centre of the hole, holding it loosely between finger and thumb. Emily cupped her mouth in both hands and leant close to Marcus’s ear. ‘If you do that,’ she breathed, ‘they’ll never believe you about your dad. Then he’ll have won.’
Marcus gave no sign that he had heard. His hand hovered over the hole, shaking a little. The footsteps came closer. Marcus’s hand quivered. Now the steps were right underneath. They passed on up the flight of stairs and Marcus was still holding the rock. He let his hand fall to the floor and sank his head down against his knee.
Simon looked over from his murder-hole and, shrugging, put his rock down.
A muttered exclamation of surprise came from below, followed by repeated heavy thuds. Marcus raised his head and smiled thinly.
Voices from up the passage: ‘What’s wrong?’ ‘Haven’t you a key?’
Harris (perplexed, off-guard): ‘I don’t need one. This door’s always open.’
Another voice (irritable): ‘Well, it isn’t now. Let me try.’ (More thudding, expressions of e
ffort and annoyance.)
The peaceable voice again: ‘Something’s blocking it. Can anything have fallen against the door on the other side?’
Harris (whining, aggrieved): ‘No, there’s nothing . . . it’s just stairs, just empty.’
Peaceable voice: ‘Then someone’s done it deliberately. Try again, Jones.’ (A particularly loud thud, a volley of swearing.) ‘No need for that sort of language, Jones. All right, we can’t get in here. Any other way?’
Harris (indignant): ‘No.’
Peaceable voice: ‘Interesting. Mind if we have a scout round outside, Mr Harris?’
No answer came, but Harris had presumably given his assent, because the footsteps resumed, returning in the direction they had come from. Simon looked across at Marcus expectantly and Marcus lifted his hand again. Emily leant closer to him.
‘Don’t, Marcus!’ she hissed.
The footsteps stopped abruptly.
‘I heard someone!’ a new voice said from below. ‘Look! Those holes! Someone’s up there!’
Emily, Marcus and Simon froze.
‘Yes,’ the peaceable voice said. ‘I heard it too.’ A single set of footsteps sounded on the stone floor below. Emily imagined the man peering up.
‘That means there’s more than one,’ the irritable voice said.
The footsteps were directly underneath them now. Simon shrank back from the lip of his hole. It’s all right, Emily thought. You can’t be seen.
A sudden beam of light speared up through Simon’s murder-hole, cutting through the grey gloom and jabbing into the ceiling. Startled, Simon jerked backwards and knocked into his pile of pebbles, which collapsed with a small but sustained clattering.
The beam of light vanished. Simon’s face was chalky in the shadows.
Then the peaceable voice called up from below. ‘Hello? Hello?’ It waited for a moment. ‘We know you’re up there, son. Why don’t you come down and let us in?’
Not a sound issued from any of the three; they didn’t look at each other.
‘Have you got a friend with you?’ The voice paused, then went on slowly, weighing each word carefully, judiciously. ‘Well, Marcus, I hope you can hear me. This is the police. There’s no problem. We’ve got your dad here, son. He’s anxious to see you. Why don’t you come down and open the door? No one’s angry, just anxious. Can you come and talk to us?’