‘Less than he thinks,’ Jarvis said. ‘You can get someone back, in a way, but they’re often . . . changed. Unsealing the boundaries of life and death lets . . . other things . . . in.’ He closed his eyes. ‘Things that once in our world are most difficult to cast out.’ Coe let out a long sigh, as he contemplated what that meant.
Jimmy felt the hair on the back of his neck and arms rise up, and wished more than ever he had just lain low in Krondor and not tried to be so heroic.
SIXTEEN - Developments
Rip tried to peer through the hole.
‘Chain him well,’ the old man’s voice said. ‘And keep that bag on his head, I told you!’
Rip slid back down with a muffled gasp. The problem with the peepholes in the secret passages was that they were made for grown-ups.
Another voice sounded—the weasel voice.
‘As you wish, my lord. Ah, my lord—’
‘You’ll get the rest of your money, oaf. I don’t keep that much cash here: my man of business in Land’s End will bring it up next week. I have need of you anyway, until then. Be silent, and go—’
Chains clanked. ‘Your son is waking, my lord,’ said the oily man’s voice. ‘Perhaps we should leave. I have examined him, and apart from a few scrapes and bruises, he is healthy enough. More than healthy enough to last three days.’
‘Do not call him my son, ever again,’ the old man’s voice said, softly menacing. ‘He murdered my lady Elaine.’
Steps faded away, and the lantern-light through the peephole went out as the outer door of the room thudded shut; they could hear the key turn in the lock.
‘They caught someone else?’ Mandy said. ‘And chained him up?’
Rip nodded, and made an affirmative sound in his throat.
‘That’s cruel,’ Neesa said. ‘I mean, even more cruel.’
‘But the old man said he was his son,’ Rip said, frowning.
‘You mean he chained up his own son?’ Kay asked, sounding horrified and delighted at once. ‘Like the Wicked King and the Good Prince?’
‘Let’s go and look,’ Rip said.
He felt for the catches of the secret door, and they stepped into the room. It was bare and empty, with a stone floor and stone walls, and was lit dimly by one barred window high up on the far side. It was not large, as rooms went in the big manor. Rip thought it might have been used to store things once: it was on the ground level near the kitchens, which made it chilly and damp.
‘That’s a grown-up!’ Neesa said, her whisper carrying too clearly.
The figure chained to the opposite wall raised his head. He was a tall young man with a burlap sack over his head; for the rest he wore only breeches and shirt. There were manacles on his wrists, running down to an iron ring that also held the ones that joined his ankles: if he’d been standing he’d have had to stoop, and take small steps. Another chain ran from one ankle to an iron bolt driven deep into the stone of one wall. There was a basin of water and a slop bucket within reach, but otherwise he couldn’t go beyond a semicircle six feet in circumference.
‘Who’s there?’ he asked groggily.
Hope blazed up in Rip, and he felt giddy with excitement. He dashed across the stone, making shushing sounds, and fumbled at the drawstring that held the bag over the young man’s head. Hands closed on him, strong but not hurtful.
‘Bram!’ Rip squealed, remembering to be quiet at the last minute.
‘Rip! Rip, lad!’ Bram said, and hugged him.
Rip hugged him back; it felt so good to see a familiar face.
‘I came to rescue you!’ Bram said, laughing, as he held the boy at arms’ length.
‘And now I can rescue you!’ Rip said, delighted. ‘I’ve got keys.’
Bram laughed ruefully and held up his manacled wrists, turning them so that Rip could see them in the dim, fading light. There were no keyholes, just an overlapping joint with a thin rod of soft wrought iron pushed through it and peened over with a hammer.
‘Did that on an anvil, and the feet are the same,’ Bram said ruefully. ‘I remember that much, and the two who caught me—folk’d pay to see that fight, and laugh themselves silly, I’ve no doubt.’
‘A big strong one and a skinny one who talks like a weasel?’ Rip said.
‘The same,’ Bram replied. ‘And so unless you’ve a cold chisel and a hammer, Rip lad, you’re not setting me free.’
He looked beyond the boy at the children, who stood looking back big-eyed; Neesa hugged her doll to her side, and stuck her thumb in her mouth. Bram’s expression softened.
‘Well, but you’re not kept close here, then?’ he said.
‘We were,’ Rip said. ‘We got out.’
‘It was Rip’s idea,’ Mandy said. ‘We tripped the man who came with our food.’
‘And tied him up!’ Kay said, grinning.
‘And then we pulled a sheet over him and tied that up,’ Mandy put in, shyly touching her white-blonde hair.
‘And I hit him with a candlestick,’ Neesa put in with a grin.
‘Well done, the lot of you,’ Bram said. ‘Though I should have known Rip was up to it, after he put that itchweed powder in my breeches while I was swimming, last year.’
Rip blushed and others looked at him with awed respect.