by John Patrick
Mary and Elvis were thrown into the dock. They were shackled together in irons. An audience of the religious and the curious wandered in and took their seats in the courthouse. Plague or not, they weren't going to miss a trial for witchcraft. Elvis noticed Brock amongst them.
'Mary, it's him, what's his name!' he whispered.
'Who?' she hissed.
'That man, at the back, right side.'
Mary looked through the faces. She met Brock's gaze. He smiled and nodded.
'He must planning something!' whispered Elvis. 'Maybe he'll get us out!'
'Silence!' roared the guard and smashed his baton on the wooden bar before them.
In a room behind the bench, the Reverend Singer was helping the Bishop try on the judge's robes and wig. Jarvis was less keen.
'Not a bad fit Jarvis. What do you think? Come on, you try some.'
'This is not a circus, Bishop.' growled Judge Collins. 'And I still don't understand what was so important that you had to drag me back all the way from the country. It had better be worth it.'
'Oh this is worth it Judge. You'll see.'
'This is most irregular, you know that.' he went on. 'Everyone has the right to trial by jury, even street urchins. And especially for the death sentence.'
'These are not normal times Judge. All the good folk have headed for the country. We tried but we just couldn't find enough sound men for the job.'
'Hmm, is that a fact?' mused the judge.
'The record will show that you selected a Bishop and a respected businessman to sit with you.'
'I selected? I don't recall selecting anyone.'
'A panel of three good men, Judge. That'll be more than enough to satisfy anyone. You shouldn't worry so much!'
'Let's get this over with so I can get back out of this filthy city.' grumbled Judge Collins.
The Bishop gave him an unwelcome pat on the back and then turned to Jarvis.
'Come on man, put these on. Look the part.' The Bishop pushed the bright red robes into Jarvis's hands.
Jarvis quietly placed them back on the table. 'This might have to be done Bishop, but I'll take no pleasure in it. These plain clothes will suffice.'
'Please yourself. Now where's that evidence. Singer, make sure these don't leave your sight.' He picked up the key and stone and thrust them into Singer's hands. 'Bring these out when you're told. And make sure you keep them safe, do you hear me?'
Singer nodded.
The judge opened the door to the court and swept inside.
The Bishop hesitated. He turned and spoke with Singer in hushed voice. 'When the moment's right, I'll call you to give evidence. Make sure it's good.'
'Me? Evidence? To be honest, I don't really know anything about these two.'
'Honest? Who said anything about honest? Make something up, man! Tell us how you saw them sacrificing goats or eating bibles or something. Use your imagination! Just make it sound good. You know the sort of thing.' He adjusted his wig in the mirror. 'Right Mister Jarvis, lets send those children to meet their maker!'
The Bishop and Jarvis marched into the court room and took their places alongside Judge Collins at the bench. Wooldridge was back standing behind his master, the judge, wearing an immaculate crisp dark suit. He kept his icy cold gaze focussed firmly ahead and ignored Mary and Elvis. The other court officials filed in after them.
The Judge waved them all to sit and then smashed his hammer on the desk. 'Order! This is the extraordinary case of the King versus Mary Young and Thomas Cruise. I understand from the good Bishop that due to the disaster that befalls this city, no jury could be found. Today therefore, we three will sit in judgement The two individuals before us stand accused of witchcraft, a crime that carries the penalty of death. How do you both plead?'
'Not guilty!' shouted Elvis.
Mary said nothing.
'How do you plead girl?'
'Say not guilty!' hissed Elvis 'Say it!'
Mary felt paralysed. Her mouth was dry, her vision hazy.
The Bishop jumped to his feet. 'She won't plead! That means she's guilty. Enter 'guilty' in the record!'
'Thank you good Bishop,' Judge Collins growled, 'please remember that this is my court of law. Please take your seat again.' He turned back to Mary 'Now girl, your plea.'
'Not guilty.' shouted Elvis. 'She said not guilty.'
'I must hear it from her mouth. Your plea girl, else I will convict you!'
'Not guilty.' whispered Mary.
'I can't hear you. What is your plea?' bellowed the judge.
'Guilty! She's guilty!' screamed the Bishop.
'Not...' stammered Mary then took a deep breath and tried again. 'Not guilty!' she shouted unconvincingly.
The judge eyed Mary and Elvis sceptically. 'Hmm, fine. In that case we go on.'
'Oh, whatever!' moaned the Bishop. 'The fact is that this boy was found in the cathedral, dressed as a wizard, carrying trinkets - stolen, evil trinkets! I have a witness who saw them both committing terrible terrible acts, evil rituals too foul for me to describe. '
The audience gasped.
In the back room Reverend Singer slipped outside into the yard. A young boy by the name of Alfred was sat on a rock waiting. Singer called him over and whispered into his ear. He handed him a small package and waved him on his way.
A head poked out of the door. 'Reverend, they'll be wanting you in a minute.'
Inside the court the Bishop continued his tirade. 'I don't know why we're even having this trial! These urchins have guilt oozing from every pore! Is there one person, just one person in this court who has a single good word to say for them?'
Mary and Elvis looked expectantly towards Brock. He didn't move.
'Just one person to vouch for them, to plead for their lives, to save them from execution?'
'Bishop!' hissed the judge. 'They've not been found guilty yet! Sit down!'
'Will nobody speak up for them?' he continued, unabashed.
Brock rose to his feet. Elvis nudged Mary and nodded towards the back of the court. Brock stood and stared directly at them both. He smiled, then left the court room.
'Where's he going?' whispered Elvis.
'Just as I thought!' roared the Bishop.
Singer entered the court.
'Ah, the good Reverend! Perfect timing! Please take the stand.' The Bishop turned to the judge. 'Wait until you hear this!'
Mary's heart sank. She remembered how he'd caught them trying to sell the trinkets on the steps of the market hall, how Samuel had dropped tarot cards onto the ground around him and how he'd scalded them before they'd fled. This would seal their fate.
Singer took his place in the witness stand.
'Ladies and gentlemen this is one of my finest clergymen,' announced the Bishop 'a man of sound reputation and honour. A man... of God! A man who's word is beyond reproach. Please Reverend, please tell us all what you saw.'
Singer cleared his throat. In a loud clear voice he announced: 'They're not guilty. I am. I am the one who committed this witchcraft.'
'What?' roared the Bishop. 'What are you saying man?'
'These children are innocent.' shouted Singer ' I'm the guilty one! Set them free!'
The audience jumped to their feet and started hurling abuse and anything else they could find at the the Reverend.
'Strike that from the record!' shouted the Bishop. 'Ignore him! He's lost his mind!'
'I am the witch! I stole the trinkets!' screamed Singer.
There was uproar. People poured from the public gallery and surged towards Singer. The guards fought to keep them back.
The Bishop ran from his seat and grabbed Singer by his throat. 'What are you doing man? Are you trying to destroy me?'
Judge Collins rose to his feet. 'Order! Order in this court!' he bellowed and smashed his mallet into the desk. 'Release those children! Guards, arrest the Reverend!'
Wooldridge slipped around the back of the bench. He crouched down behind Mary and Elvis and unlocked the shackles
. 'Get away from here, quickly.' He handed Elvis his ornate black cane. 'Go on! Go!'
The judge slammed his hammer on the table again. 'We have our witch!' He shouted. 'By the power of this extraordinary court and that of his Majesty, Charles the Second, I sentence you to death by hanging!'
'No!' screamed the Bishop. 'It's not him that's supposed to die!'
Singer held his hands out and allowed the cuffs to be fastened.
Mary and Elvis hurried from the court house. As they left they ran into Brock on the court steps.
'Mary! I was... just coming back to help you!'
Mary placed both hands into his chest and shoved him back down the steps. They rushed past him and into the street. They passed a bright red carriage, parked a few yards along from the court. Inside Annabel Collins sat silently, gazing blankly straight ahead. Elvis and Mary hurried by.
The Bishop chased after Singer as he was led away. 'Wait! Stop! Where are they Singer? Where's my stone, and the key?'
Singer didn't reply.
The Bishop grabbed him and screamed in his face. 'Where are they?' He frisked his pockets.
Singer remained silent.
'You didn't...?'
Singer smiled and then turned to be led away. He was taken around the back of the court and led up a dark stone staircase. Halfway to the top was a window crossed with iron bars. Singer paused to look out. He saw Alfred racing away from the court, a package under one arm. Singer smiled, for the last time.
Mary led Elvis along back streets weaving this way and that until she was confident that nobody was following them. Eventually they came out by the Thames. A thick, eye-watering smog sat on the river. In the centre, the boats were still. The usually busy wharf was deserted. Mary led Elvis down a steep ramp and onto a wooden jetty. They sat at the edge of the glassy water and Elvis caught his breath.
'I've failed.' said Elvis, still panting. 'I promised I'd take the stone back. Mum's gonna be locked up, everyone's going to get sick. It's my fault.'
'It's not your fault. I asked you to do it. An' any'ow, you did save my father.'
'And lost my mother, and half of London.' pointed out Elvis.
'You can come live with us. Mister Jarvis would... Oh no. Mister Jarvis wouldn't, would he? Well, we could run away, to the country, just the two of us. Once all this plague stuff is over and the roads is open again. We'll just 'ave to 'ide 'til then.'
On the top of the wharf, Alfred arrived puffing and sweating. He rested with hands on hips for a moment then began running along the waterfront, searching behind walls and between buildings.
'That Bishop, he'd hunt us down.' said Elvis. 'He'd find us.'
'No, we could find places he'd never look.'
Elvis sat back and leant against a thick oak timber. Mary shuffled along and leant against him.
'Did you see his face, the Bishop, when Singer said he was a witch?' chuckled Mary. 'I thought he was gonna throw a fit!'
'Yeh, but why did he do that?' asked Elvis. 'He didn't have to.'
'Don't know.' Mary shrugged. Then she looked down at the river. A small dinghy was moored alongside the jetty. 'A boat! We could escape on a boat! You an' me, we could row upstream, away from London.'
'D'you know how hard it is to row one of those things. It'd take us weeks to get anywhere!'
'It can't be that 'ard! I've seen 'em do it. You just shove them planks in the water and pull back an' forth. That's easy!'
A head poked over the side of the wharf. 'That's where you're 'idin'!'
'Shit they've found us!' shouted Mary. 'Quick , we'll have to jump in that boat!' She dashed to the edge of the jetty and started unravelling the rope. 'Come on Elvis!'
Elvis dragged himself back to his feet. He was exhausted. A small boy came charging down the ramp clutching a package. Elvis stood before Mary and raised the cane above his head in readiness. Alfred skidded to a halt.
'What's the matta? I aint done noffin'!' Alfred shielded his face with an arm.
Mary looked behind him. 'Is you on yer own?'
'Yeh, I just gotta give yer this!' He cowered as he held out the parcel.
Elvis took it from his hands then carefully unwrapped it. Inside, the red stone glistened alongside the rusty iron key.
'What? How did you get this?' Elvis's face beamed.
'It was the Rev'rend. 'E said I 'ad to give it ya.' replied Alfred, edging back up the ramp.
'Look Mary! He's brought them both! We've got what we need!'
Alfred took his chance and sprinted away.
'Good.' Mary said quietly.
'I just need to get back up to the top of the cathedral.' replied Elvis, his voice softening.
'You could... still stay here you know.' Mary suggested, looking ruefully towards the key and stone.
Elvis stroked the jewel in his palm. Eventually he spoke. 'I can't Mary. I wish I could, but I can't leave things how they are. I don't want to be responsible.'
'We should go then, now. Before the Bishop comes lookin'.'
Elvis dropped back against the wooden beam. 'Soon. I need to rest Mary. I'm not used to this.'
'No Elvis, we can't rest 'ere! The Bishop's gonna be lookin' everywhere for us. He'll arrest us again an' this time 'e'll 'ang us for sure.' Mary grabbed Elvis by the wrist and tried to pull him to his feet.
'Five minutes. Just give me five minutes Mary.' Elvis stayed put.
From above came the sound of horses hooves accompanied by shouts. Mary ran half way up the ramp and peeked over the edge of the wharf. Two men on horseback were directing footsoldiers to search. She ran back down to Elvis.
'They're right 'ere! They're gonna find us!' She looked back to the small dinghy. 'Elvis, in the boat. It's the only way. Please Elvis. For me!'
Elvis reluctantly got back to his feet and they climbed together into the small dinghy.
'Lie down Elvis, hide. They're gonna be lookin' fer two of us. I'll row.'
Elvis crouched into the floor of the boat as Mary threw a grubby tarpaulin over him. She pushed the boat out from its mooring and began to wrestle with the oars. They were long and awkward. She drifted out into the river, floating out into view of the searching soldiers. She finally got the first oar into its housing and began to wrestle with the second.
'What you doin'?' whispered Elvis 'We're not moving!'
'I...can't ...get...the oar in!' growled Mary.
Elvis peeped his head out. He grabbed the second oar and helped drop it into its support. On the shore, he could see Alfred being held against a wall, a hand around his throat. He was pointing towards where they'd been hidden. More soldiers were arriving onto the wharf.
'Row Mary! Row!'
Mary finally had both oars in place. She'd never done this before but it looked so simple. She leant back and rowed with all of her might. One oar dug deep into the water, the other skimmed the surface and slipped from her grip. She lunged after it and saved it from landing in the Thames. The boat span a gentle circle. She glanced up at the wharf. Several soldiers were now running towards their hiding place.
'What's happening?' hissed Elvis.
'Nothin'. It's just ...a bit...'arder than I thought.'
Mary tried again. She dug the oars deep into the water and pulled with all of her might. This time both oars got good purchase and the boat moved swiftly, but in the wrong direction, back towards the jetty.
The soldiers were running down the ramp to the waterfront.
Elvis peeped his head out again. 'What the...? Why are we going back?'
'I can't do it Elvis!'
Elvis rose from his hiding spot and sat alongside her. 'Here, you grab that one. Just copy me. And when I say so, row like hell.'
Brock's finger pointed them out across the river. A soldier raised his musket and took aim. There was a loud crack and then a shot whistled over their heads.
'What are you doin'?' shouted Brock, knocking the gun down. 'The Bishop said he wanted them alive!'
An officer on horseback look
ed over the top of the wharf. 'You lot! Get in that other boat, now!' he shouted pointing at a small sailing vessel moored further along the jetty. 'Get after them!'
The sound of lead hissing by gave extra power to Mary and Elvis's rowing. They managed to coordinate their oars and and began to row down river. Behind them, they could see the soldiers climbing into the small sail boat and casting off in chase. They hauled up the sail, but there was no air to be had and the boat sat still on the water.
'Row you idiots!' shouted the officer from the shore.
They pulled out the oars and gave chase. The troops on the bank surged along the wharf but their path was blocked by the rows of warehouses. They forced away from the river and back into the streets.
Elvis and Mary were tiring quickly. Their faces ran with sweat, their muscles were burning and their rowing becoming erratic.
'There!' shouted Mary pointing to a jetty by a warehouse. 'Let's land there!'
They collided with the jetty and jumped off. The soldiers had gained momentum and were gaining on them quickly.
Elvis was struggling. His legs ached, he was gasping for air.
'Elvis, hurry!' Mary turned and grabbed his arm and pulled him along the wooden boards and into the back of the deserted warehouse. Inside the building was a maze of paths between towers of crates, sacks and barrels. They weaved their way through towards the front of the building.
Elvis stopped again. 'Wait Mary. I can't go on.' he puffed then sat on a sack of grain. 'Give me a minute.'
Mary pulled open a small door at the front of the building and peeped out. Directly in front was a junction in the road with a narrow lane running straight ahead. In the distance loomed the large angular bulk of St. Paul's Cathedral.
'Elvis, we're nearly there! I can see it. Please try!' She wrapped her arms around him and hauled him to his feet. 'We can do it Elvis, me and you together.'
Elvis knew she was right. He had to go on. He took a deep breath and followed her to the door. But as Mary pulled on the iron handle, a clatter of hooves echoed along the street. She slammed it shut.
'You three, search up there. The rest of you come with me!' The hooves clattered on by.
Mary waited a moment then sneaked another look. Soldiers were walking up the street towards Saint Paul's, but now their officer was out of sight, their urgency had gone. They removed helmets and strolled casually in the heat. Mary cursed. She looked in either direction along the side of the warehouse. There were half a dozen militia in either direction. A horse and cart was rumbling along the cobbles towards the warehouse.
'We can't get out this way Elvis, there's lots of 'em. We'll 'ave to go back 'ow we came in.'
But shouts were coming from the rear of the warehouse as the troops struggled to land their boat at the jetty.
Elvis pulled Mary back. 'We can't go that way! They're out there! We'll have to go through that door!'
''Ave you looked? There's soldiers bloody everywhere! We can't get that way! We're trapped!'
The rattle of hooves and wheels on cobbles grew louder.
Footsteps thumped up the wooden jetty behind.
'We gotta get out of here!' shouted Elvis. He pushed past Mary and threw open the door. The horse and cart was pulled up directly in front. The driver looked down on him. He was an elderly man, his face scratched and scarred. Elvis recognised him from the cathedral and turned to run back into the warehouse.
'Stop! Don't go back there boy! You'll be caught!' the old man barked as he hurried down from the cart 'Get into the back of this! Quick, it's your only hope.'
'Why would I?' started Elvis.
'Don't ask!' he snapped 'There's no time. In the back, now!'
He ushered them around the side of the cart. It bore a large, roughly painted red cross on the side. The old man kept a close watch on the troops as Mary and Elvis climbed aboard. There were piles of filth-ridden brown blankets in the back.
'Roll yourselves up in one of those. Quick!'
Mary and Elvis each lay on a blanket and the old man helped to wrap them like mummies. The blankets reeked of bad meat.
'And don't move. No matter what happens, don't move.' He climbed onto the front of the cart once more and cracked the whip. The horse trundled on towards Saint Paul's. The old man pulled a blanket around his shoulders and over his head. He kept his eyes down as they rumbled past a pair of soldiers. The troops stood well back.
Inside the blankets it was hot and airless. Elvis was gasping. It was claustrophobic. His heart pounded. He had to stay still but his urge was to scream and fight to escape from the tightly wrapped, foul cloth.
'You, old man!' shouted one of the soldiers. The driver ignored him.
'You! Stop!' He ran before the horse and brought it to a halt. 'Don't ignore me y'old fool! Not if you know what's good for you.'
'What's that? My hearing isn't what is was, sir.' grumbled the old man. He pulled down the blanket exposing his scratched and bloodied face. The soldier cringed.
'What are you doing out at this time? You know you shouldn't be doing this in the day. What you got in there?'
'Two fine young men sir. Died in their home last night. Their mother couldn't bear to be parted 'til this morning.'
The soldier walked around the back of the cart, careful to stay at arms length and with a hand across his face to block out the smell. Flies crawled over the cart and the blankets. He pulled out his sword and poked at Mary's blanket. She remained motionless. Elvis was struggling to slow his panting breath. He could feel sweat soaking his back and face. His heart felt like it would explode in chest. He couldn't keep this up, he had to get out.
The soldier poked his sword into Elvis's back. Elvis twitched. He could feel the panic building inside him. The soldier looked closely. Did that blanket really just move? He wasn't sure but he wasn't game to touch it himself.
'Driver, get down 'ere. Unwrap 'em, now.' he snapped.
'Yes sir, if you're sure sir. But they're not a pretty sight.'
'Just do it!'
The old man climbed slowly down from the cart and shuffled reluctantly towards the back of the cart.
'Hurry up for God's sake, I ain't got all day!'
'Are you sure you...'
'Just shut up and get on with it, 'fore I lose my patience!'
The old church warden placed a hand on Elvis's blanket and began to slowly unwrap him.
'Come on, 'urry it up!'
'Oi, you lot!' A shout came from the front door of the warehouse. 'They're hidin' in 'ere, we saw 'em. Get over 'ere an' 'elp us find 'em.'
'Just a minute.' replied the solider. 'Hurry up old man!'
'Get 'ere right now! 'Fore they bloody run off again.'
'Fine! You wait 'ere old man! You 'ear me? Don't move an inch 'til I get back!'
The soldiers hurried to the warehouse. The warden waited until they'd disappeared from sight then climbed onto his cart and whipped his horse back into life. The cart rumbled on again. Elvis wriggled, shook and rolled himself out of the blanket. He lay on his back with his mouth gaping and drank in the cool air. The cart finally pulled up at the front of the the cathedral. The old man helped them down.
'Who are you?' asked Elvis 'Why are you helping us?'
'You've more friends than you know young man. Now hurry. They won't be fooled for long.'
Mary and Elvis raced into the cathedral.
'Wait, we need water!' said Elvis.
'Here.' The old man scooped a cup of holy water from the entrance. 'Now go!'
They climbed up the dark stone stairs trying not to spill the water. Finally daylight started to appear again. Shouts and thumping footsteps echoed up the staircase from below. They climbed out onto the cathedral roof.
'There!' Elvis pointed to the wall at the edge of the tower. 'She said it had to be the same spot where I arrived.'
They tip-toed carefully over the beams, past broken planks and then gingerly onto the edge of the tower on all fours. With wobbling knees, they carefull
y helped each other to their feet. Elvis stood against the same small stone column as before. Way below they could see more soldiers running towards the cathedral. With a shaking hand, Elvis performed the ritual to convert the water into potion. The shouts from the stairway were getting louder. Elvis held the key and stone in one hand, and the cup of potion in the other.
'The stone!' said Elvis. It has to be next to my heart. That's what she said!'
' 'Ere, give it me.' Mary took it from his hand and clasped it to Elvis's chest. As she leant forward, her foot slipped on loose stone and sent mortar tumbling down the side of the tower. 'Bloody 'ell!' she shouted and dived forward and hugged onto Elvis's shoulders.
Elvis wobbled, the water sloshed over the side of the cup. Mary checked she still had the stone. Elvis steadied himself against the stone column and swallowed hard.
'Sorry.' whispered Mary.
Elvis's hand shook more than ever. He checked the cup. There was still an inch or so left in the bottom. 'OK, this is it Mary.'
She pressed the stone firmly to his heart.
Elvis raised the cup to his lips then paused. 'I'll miss you, Mary. I'll...I'll... miss you a lot.'
Mary smiled. 'Drink it, Elvis.'A tear escaped on to her cheek. 'I'll write you. Every week I'll write you, I promise.'
'But you can't..write.'
'I'll learn. I will. I'll put it in a box. I'll hide it where only you can find it.'
Brock emerged from the stairway panting. 'Stop!' he gasped. 'Don't do it. You drink that and I'll have her tried for witchcraft and burnt at the stake. Believe me I mean it.'
Elvis hesitated.
'All I want is that stone and key. Then I promise she'll be safe. You have my word.' He crept carefully along a beam towards them.
Elvis took the cup away from his mouth.
'No Elvis drink it!' ordered Mary.
'Do you want her to burn at the stake?'asked Brock. 'Do you want to live with that forever?'
'Drink it Elvis!'
'Knowing you could have stopped it? Do you?'
'Why are you doing this?' Mary screeched at Brock.
'All I wanted was to be a part of your family, Mary, that's all. To have back what was stolen from me. You betrayed me Mary. You turned against me.'
'You lied! You tricked us!'
'It wasn't like that Mary.' Brock continued to carefully pick his way over the beams. 'I loved you, I loved all of you. I could have been different Mary. But it doesn't matter now. Just step away from the wall. Hand me the key and the stone and you both walk free.'
'Drink it!' Mary grabbed the cup and thrust it up to Elvis's lips. Water spilt down his neck and into his mouth.
'No!' Brock lunged forward and onto the decaying planks. They cracked and split beneath him, the timber tumbling away into the tower. Brock hurled himself towards the wall by Mary's feet and scrambled desperately to hold onto the crumbling masonry, half of his body now below the broken floor. His fingers clawed desperately at the stone.
'Mary. Help me! Please!' he begged.
Mary looked back at him with contempt.
'I never meant you harm. I promise you! Please Mary, help me.'
Mary reached for Elvis's stick. She remembered vividly how Wooldridge had used it on her and nearly cut her throat. She clasped the head of the cane and pulled the hidden blade from within.
'Mary! What are you doing?' screamed Brock. 'There's soldiers coming. You can't escape. They'll arrest you again. This time you won't get away. They'll kill you Mary. I can save you.'
Mary crouched down alongside him. She held the point of the blade above his scrambling left hand.
'No Mary! Don't be stupid. Save yourself!' Brock swung his legs and tried to climb from the hole but he had slipped too far.
'Help him!' shouted Elvis. 'We'll give him the stone!' He tried to reach an arm past Mary towards Brock.
But Mary didn't move. She raised the blade. The stone was crumbling under Brock's fingers. Mary plunged the knife down, but before it touched flesh, Brock's grip was lost and the hand was gone. Brock disappeared through the roof and into the depths of the tower.
Mary rose to her feet and turned back to Elvis. Footsteps were nearing the top of the tower stairs.
'We have to do this Elvis, right now.'
'Mary, they're going to arrest you. I can't leave you here.'
'It's alright Elvis.' She smiled weakly. 'You need to go back.' Her eyes filled again. She reached out the stone and held it against Elvis's heart.
Two soldiers emerged onto the roof of the tower.
'No Mary. I can't...'
'Shhh.' She silenced him with a finger across his lip.
Elvis closed his eyes. He placed his hand softly on top of Mary's hand in the centre of his chest. He leant forward to press his lips against hers; but before they could touch, he was gone.
For a moment, Elvis was lost again
'Your clothes are on the table there, laddie. You might want to put them on.' said Mother Munro.
Elvis looked down. He was stood naked, clutching the key in one hand and the stone in the other, back in the church hall again. Alan was hidden under piles of old bedding beneath a table. He lifted the edge of the blanket and peeped out.
'Well done boy.' said Mother Munro. 'Ye did a fine job.'
Elvis pulled on his clothes in silence and then slumped on the chair.
'Why the sullen face boy. Ye did what was asked o' ye. Ye should be happy.'
'No. I left her there. Mary. They were going to arrest her and try her again. They'll kill her.'
'Och, girl troubles is it? I should ha' guessed. It would ne'er have worked oot laddie.'
'I should have been brave. I should have stayed.'
'An' what good would that ha' done anyone? Noo come on, stop sulkin' noo. We need t'find a wee hidin' place for that stoon an' key, before the boys oot there come lookin' fer it.'
'What would they care about it?'
'More than ye think, noo hurry up boy!'
Elvis looked around for a hiding place for the stone. He found a box filled with cheap plastic jewellery and fake jewels and pushed the stone to the bottom. He hung the key on a nail by the fire escape and then dropped back onto the chair. Why hadn't he been brave and stayed with Mary?
Beams of light danced around the porch, the crunch of boots grew louder on the path outside. Seconds later, half a dozen men charged into the hall. Torch-lights and gun barrels flashed around the room.
'On the floor, now!' The words were bellowed.
Mother Munro continued to rock in her chair. Alan pulled the blanket back over his head. Within seconds the room was filled with soldiers in gas-masks. Fluorescent tube lights flickered into life above them. Alan was dragged out from under the table. In the corner of the room a mound covered with a white sheet rocked from side to side accompanied by desperate groans. A soldier marched across and tugged the sheet away. Underneath was a figure in a white crumply bio-protective suit tied to a plastic chair, his head covered in a brown paper bag. The soldier removed the bag. Inside was Commander Stafford, his face purple with rage, his mouth stuffed with a crimson sock.
'He got terribly annoying.' explained Mother Munro.
Untied and still coughing fluff from his throat, Stafford jumped to his feet. 'You bastards!' he roared. 'I'm going to see that you're locked away in the filthiest, grimmest prison in the whole bloody country! You can't even begin to imagine how bad it's going to be!'
Chapter 20
