‘Why isn’t there anyone here?’ Flora said, looking around the entrance hall of the manor.
The great building should have had someone on duty at the front door, even though it was just before midnight. Instead there was only the clear blue flame of an expensive lamp filled with imported scented oil.
‘Just be glad there isn’t,’ Lorrie said.
They both shed their wet cloaks—the greasy wool didn’t smell any better for being soaked through and it just made them chillier now that they were out of the rain—letting them drop to the floor.
Then: ‘Rip is here. He’s close—he’s thinking about me!’
‘Where do we—’ Flora began.
Then she jumped and squeaked. Beside the great fireplace a section of wood panelling was swinging outward on smooth, noiseless hinges.
Lorrie’s hand went to her knife. Then she caught her breath and collapsed onto one knee despite the twinge in her leg, holding out her arms.
‘Lorrie!’ Rip squealed.
He ran to her so fast he skidded and didn’t quite bowl her over. Three other children followed him out. Lorrie gasped.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Rip said, drawing back. ‘I forgot. Bram told me you hurt your leg.’
‘Bram!’ Lorrie said. ‘Where is he?’
‘He’s up there.’ That came from a blonde girl about Lorrie’s age, in a dust-stained frock. She pointed to one corner of the room, where a stone staircase curled upwards. ‘They took him away,’ she said and her great blue eyes looked haunted. ‘People don’t come back, when they take them away.’
The other two children nodded. These two were younger—a boy with a defiant yet frightened look about him, and a girl who desperately clutched a doll.
‘We watched but we couldn’t do anything,’ the little girl said, taking her thumb out of her mouth. ‘They’re big.’
‘They’ve got swords!’ the boy said, trying to sound brave, yet revealing how frightened he truly was.
The younger girl pointed at Lorrie. ‘She’s got a sword.’ The chubby finger shifted to Flora. ‘She’s got a sword too.’
‘But they’re just girls,’ the boy answered, refusing to be reassured.
‘You shut up, Kay!’ said the older girl.
Lorrie forced herself back erect. ‘We do have swords,’ she said, patting the unused weapon at her side. Even if neither of us can use them much. But I’m a dab hand with an axe-handle!
Flora spoke, leaning down a little. ‘We have something better than swords,’ she said, patting her pocket. ‘Magic!’
The children’s eyes grew round. ‘There’s magic here,’ Rip said. ‘Bad magic.’
‘Take us to Bram, then,’ Flora said decisively.
Lorrie went along; after a moment Flora gave her a shoulder, to help her hop up the stairs without putting too much strain on the wounded limb. It seemed to go on forever; she’d never been in a building this large, or imagined one until she saw Land’s End. That was intimidating enough, but there was something else that made her teeth want to chatter, and it wasn’t the lingering chill of her damp borrowed clothing. Things kept moving out of the corners of her eyes, things that she couldn’t see but that seemed to be made out of black wire, things that tittered and gibed and made little lunges toward her.
And there was a tension in the air, like before a storm—yet the very walls of the castle shook to the violence outside, so it couldn’t be that. Her head felt tight, as if something were stretching it from the inside, and it would be a relief if it exploded.
‘There,’ Rip whispered at last. ‘I . . . I can tell it’s down there.’
He pointed down a long corridor. It was dark with a stone floor, heavy carved wooden tables along the walls and tapestries that fluttered slightly in the draught. At the end was a corner, and from beyond that a faint glow of lamplight.
‘You go,’ Rip said — his head was turned to one side, as if he was listening to someone. ‘We’ll get ready. They’re going to hurt Bram really soon now.’
Lorrie nodded, a little puzzled but trying to focus on the task ahead.
They walked down the corridor, their boots making thumping sounds on the carpeted floor. The light grew stronger as they neared the corner; closer, and she could see it was T-shaped, and she was walking down the long bar. Light to their right, darkness to their left.
‘That you, Forten, Sonnart?’ a voice called. ‘You lazy swine, it’s nearly midnight! You knew you should have been back an hour ago!’
Flora made some muffled sound, trying to make her voice hoarse, and Lorrie did likewise. From the sound of the voices, it wasn’t much more than six feet or so from the corner to where the speaker stood.
Thinking inarticulate prayers to half a dozen deities, Lorrie dropped back slightly and ducked her head, taking a deep breath and working her fingers.
Bram. Think of Bram.
They turned the corner; lamps were burning in metal brackets on either side. Four men lounged in front of a tall closed door of polished wood. Two sat on benches; the other two stood together, leaning on halberds.