Pulling my hood over my head, I eased my way through the waiting crowds in the doorway and stepped outside. I kept to the shelter of the walls and picked my way across slippery paving and around piles of horse dung. Keeping a horse between me and the only guard I could see, I hurried away.
The first thing that happened was that I went blind. Even in Whitechapel they had streetlights. Obviously here they didn’t, but there were usually flaming torches or lanterns outside the more important houses, or light spilling from windows and open doorways. Or failing any of that, moonlight. But not tonight. Tonight, because I needed to move quickly and quietly, the universe had decreed absolute bloody darkness. If I’d been able to get my hand out from under my cloak, I wouldn’t have been able to see it in front of my face.
The second thing that happened was that I fell over. I didn’t trip – I slid. My stupid little indoor slippers had no grip whatsoever, and I went down with a crash, straight down on my left knee. Hot pain jolted through my leg as I somehow pulled myself upright, getting yards of wet velvet twisted around me and threatening to trip me up again.
So, there I was, two minutes outside the palace, and I’d travelled about six feet. At this rate, it was going to take me about two and a half years to get to Canongate.
And I was deaf. I couldn’t hear a thing over the sound of rain drumming on my hood, splashing off the rooftops and gurgling its way down the street. A whole army could come up behind me at any time and I wouldn’t know a thing about it. And if I turned my head to check behind me, the hood stayed pointing forwards and all I got was a face full of cloth. With regret, I pushed it back on my shoulders. The rain streamed down my face and stung my eyes. I could drown any minute.
More carefully now, I began to inch my way forwards. Inching was all I could do. My heavy skirts were soaking up the rainfall running down the street. My feet in their stupid, sodden, well-named slippers were frozen, and I could feel every single rough stone through their thin soles. I stretched one hand in front of me, both to avoid walking into walls and to break my fall if I went down again. I could deal with a sprained wrist but a damaged ankle would be fatal. I took half a dozen steps forward, checked over my shoulder, half a dozen more and check again. Don’t panic. Keep calm and carry on. Just keep going. Don’t stop. Don’t think about what’s going on behind you. Don’t waste time imagining the worst. Keep moving.
I used my free hand to bunch up my skirts, which were heavy and wet and wanted nothing more than to wrap themselves around my legs. Every few steps I had to let go, wipe the water from my eyes, push my hair back, pick up my skirts again, take another half dozen steps, check behind me, and just keep bloody going.
I had no idea how far I’d gone. I suspected about twenty feet. And all my attention, which should have been on finding my way forwards was behind me, waiting for the inevitable hand on my shoulder. I pictured being dragged back before a queen who would want every last ounce of revenge. Who could blame her?
And what of the others? If they left me here, they stood a fair chance of getting out of the city and away. They needed to get out before the gates, or Ports as they were known, were closed. And the pods were outside the city gates.
I was lifting my com to tell them to get away, that I’d join them later when I slipped again. Same bloody knee, obviously. I was sitting in the rain, tangled in skirts, cloak, petticoats and cursing buckets when I saw the light coming up behind me. Coming fast.
Shit, shit, shit.
I scrambled up and took two long steps to the left, bumping into something hard. A wall. I pulled my hood over my face and crouched painfully, hoping if I was below their eye-line they’d miss me.
They did. They weren’t soldiers, but three young nobles, come from God knows where, on their way to God knows where, and concerned only to get themselves there as quickly as possible. Two of them held lanterns in the shelter of their cloaks, and alternately laughing and cursing, they splashed their way down the middle of the street.
As soon as they passed me, I stood up and began to follow them. The light was dim and mostly ahead of them, but, after the pitch-blackness I’d been groping my way through, it seemed like a sound and light show to me. Best of all, I thought I knew where I was. If I carried on down here, then I would come out near Canongate and there were any number of alleys and snickets I could hide in when the alarm was raised. As it would be. I couldn’t believe I’d come this far without hearing the sounds of pursuit behind me. Maybe I would make it after all. Maybe History would nod again and get me home, safe and sound.
Fat chance! The young men, suitably attired for the prevailing weather conditions, moved much more quickly than I ever could. They reached a corner and disappeared. I was back in the dark. And still the rain came down.
A soft voice spoke in my ear. Farrell.
‘Where are you?’