Isabella's Heiress

by N. P. Griffiths

  He looked at the expectant eyes that were now surrounding him, all the hesitancy and doubt having now been cast out.

  “This will not be easy. If Emma escapes and they realise how close they have come to getting their prize, they will release everything they have to get her back. I have an idea how we can do this but it will require timing and no small amount of courage from those in this room.” Father Eamon spent the next twenty minutes explaining his plan before they left the room and went their separate ways into the twilight.

  Emma was nursing a swelling on her forehead from where she had run into a wall as she had rushed to leave the final chamber. The monk’s screams were still ringing in her ears as she raced up another set of stairs. It may have been cooler since she had reached the series of anti-chambers that she was now ascending, but her legs felt like they were on fire. Her thighs felt like they were going to explode as she tried to cope with the combined pressures of the constant inclines and the dead weight of Taryn on her shoulders.

  At the top of the stairs, Emma was met by a large iron door that opened out on to an exercise yard with high brick walls. A rusty mesh roof ran over the top of it, filtering in the night sky above through a grid of iron latticework and rivets. Behind her the voice was now exhorting the monks to catch her, its voice high with indignation as the screams reached a pitch which Emma was sure only dogs should be able to hear.

  “Oh, thank God! We’re nearly there, Taryn.”

  Taryn wasn’t responding and Emma was silently grateful for that. She was still having difficulty coming to terms with the fact that the wizened form on her back was the woman she had grown up with.

  The courtyard was a perfect square and the cold flagstones laid on the ground provided a welcome relief for their feet. Emma forced the door open just far enough to drag Taryn through as a moan carried on the wind behind them.

  It started off as a low monotone but grew from there to a collective wail. As it filled the air Emma fell to her knees, dropping Taryn’s ragged form to the floor, and forced her hands against her ears but it did nothing to block out the sound. She got up and shoved against the door she had just come through until it slowly started to close but it wasn’t easy. The passage of time had caused the hinges to rust and the doors weight had started to pull it away from the wall. It wasn’t by much but it was enough that its leading edge was now embedding itself in the stone floor and making Emma’s job next to impossible. Eventually she gave up, her efforts exhausting her. Instead she looked around for an exit and saw another door in the far wall.

  Resisting the temptation to just stand with her eyes closed and lap up the cool air, Emma ran as quickly as her tired legs would allow towards the far wall and pulled at the door, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “Oh, come on! Not now, not after we’ve got this far!”

  Emma raged at the door as she forced it first one way then the other but it was clearly locked and no amount of persuasion on her part was going to change that. She sank to her knees, crying in exasperation, and beat her fists against the iron barrier.

  “This is bullshit! I’ve not come this far to fail now!”

  As she turned towards Taryn a low tremble ran through the floor. It was coming from way below them and was barely noticeable at first but it was there. Emma tried to run to Taryn but the heat and the effort of carrying her up the stairs had taken their toll and she could barely manage a slow hobble. When she reached her, she was met by a hollow look.

  “Taryn, I promise I’ll get you out, babe.”

  Her words were more for her than Taryn but she tried not to show her desperation as she said them.

  “Who are you?”

  The woman’s eyes were clouded and vacant and Emma tried not cry as she knelt down. She gently brushed the strands of fine white hair from her eyes and looked for any recognition coming back but there was nothing there.

  “I’m your friend, Taryn. Don’t you remember? Don’t you remember us growing up together?”

  The old woman looked away for a second and drew her hand to her mouth as her eyes stared off into space.

  “I used to have a friend but she left me. It was so long ago now.”

  Emma choked down the tears as she cradled Taryn’s hands in her own. It was like holding a baby’s after they had gotten out of a hot bath as the loose folds of Taryn’s skin rubbed against the youth of Emma’s.

  “I didn’t leave you, Taryn, honest. I came as soon as I could, it’s just that there’s a time difference between here and there and I…I”

  But it was no good; Taryn had stopped listening, instead choosing to drift off into a world of her own. Emma felt the heat returning to her face as the frustration inside of her started to build. There was a dampness returning to the air after the dry heat of the chambers below. She was determined not to fail now she had got this far but there was no way out except the way they had come in and that was a non-starter.

  The tremble was now a rumble and Emma knew that they would not be alone for long. She looked around and concentrated on the locked door again. There was no way out except through that but it was closed to them.

  The rumbling was joined by a clamour of voices and Emma knew they were on the stairs. It had taken Emma, with Taryn on her back, nearly half an hour to climb them but she knew it would take the oncoming mob a fraction of that. The air around her was heating up as she started to pace up and down working out what to do next. The door was stuck solid against the stone floor but would be no match for what was about to hit it and Emma knew she wouldn’t be able to fight them.

  She looked at Taryn, who rippled behind a heat haze that was starting to build in the yard. The old anger and frustration that Emma had felt when she had first arrived in the plane was returning and as she looked down, she could see the crescent-shaped indents in her palms from where she had dug her nails in.

  Anger at her own stupidity started to mix with resentment towards Taryn for placing her in this position and Father Eamon for not stopping her from rushing into this action.

  “This is bollocks. Where is everybody?”

  The noise on the stairs was now loud enough that Emma could make out individual voices and the dark interior of the stairwell was starting to give way to the light given off as the torch flames rose upwards. They were nearly on them and Emma knew her time was almost up.

  Adrenaline flooded her legs and she rushed over to the far wall in a final effort to open the locked door. She pulled at it but it was defiant in its obstinate refusal to budge. She placed both hands on the handle and hung off it, tugging with every remnant of her strength. The voices were only a few flights below them now and would be in the yard within seconds but the door wouldn’t move and Emma found herself punching it and screaming in frustration. The door buckled. In her rage, Emma hit it again and again, her screams filling the superheated yard. By the time her energy was spent, the door was hanging off of its hinges and a corridor, leading off to the right was open in front of her.

  The doors capitulation gave Emma renewed hope and she raced back to where Taryn was now slumped on the floor. She lifted her over her shoulders as if she weighed no more than the air around her and rushed for the open doorway. As she flew into the corridor, she heard the grinding of the stairwell door as it grated open under the pressure of the horde that was now in pursuit.

  The corridor was long and narrow and also had a grate above it. At the far end was a door in the left hand wall and Emma focused on that as she forced her legs on. As she reached it, the door she had just come through flew open and Emma caught the look of an enraged monk as the momentum of the mob behind it forced it to crash in to the opposite wall. The door in front of Emma was just locked with a latch and she lifted it and barged through in one movement to find she was standing on a wooden platform in the open air.

  In front of her stood five men, each hooded with a noose around their necks. The smell of pitch hung in the air and Emma had to watch her step, as the floor beneath her feet wa
s sticky.

  The scene in front of her caused Emma to pause. At the end of the scaffold was the tip of a ladder that led down to the crowd below.

  She picked Taryn up but something caught her eye. By her feet Emma saw a large wooden bucket full of what was unmistakably tar. Her heart sunk as she made the connection between that and the men in front of her.

  Dropping Taryn, Emma forced one of the buckets back against the door just in time for it to stop the monk she had seen seconds earlier forcing the door open.

  The yells and screams in the corridor behind her increased as Emma raced up to the first man and unhooded him before removing his noose and binds.

  “Quickly, before they get through the door!”

  The man looked at the door and then at Emma. If he recognised the woman standing in front of him, he gave no hint.

  “Thank you, miss.”

  “Don’t thank me, just help me.” By now Emma was on to the second man. All the time she had an eye on the door and the bucket of tar was stubbornly holding fast.

  Within a minute all five men were free and heading towards the ladder. At that moment the door behind them burst open but this caused the bucket of tar to spill out over the scaffold and the monks who came through found themselves stuck fast. Emma took the opportunity to pick Taryn back up and raced to the ladder. The last man was heading down and Emma did not wait around. She turned and stepped on to the first rung. By now the monks had managed to get past the tar and were rapidly gaining on them.

  The crowd was now looking up and arms were being raised with outstretched fingers as voices were alerting those that hadn’t yet become aware of her presence on the scaffold. For a second Emma froze but there was no time to stop, she headed down the ladder trying to balance Taryn as she went.

  The sounds of hooves on the cobbles made her look down. Horsemen were trying to work their way through the crowd but now the sheer weight of numbers worked against them. There was nowhere for the people to go and all that the horsemen succeeded in doing was forcing the crowd to become more and more compact until it became impossible for them to make any progress. The riders dismounted and swung their maces as they made a path towards Emma. People fell to one side as panic set in and they tried to escape the spiked balls.

  By the time Emma reached the ground, any interest the crowd had had in her was lost in their haste to escape the horsemen. Above her the first monk was starting its descent of the ladder. Emma grabbed the lower rungs and pulled the ladder backwards and sideways. The ladder was only precariously balanced against the scaffolding and came away immediately. As it came crashing down, a screaming monk closely followed it. It landed with a sickening crack and Emma winced as its head opened up on the cobbles.

  She turned and headed away from the scaffolding but confusion reigned and she had no idea where to run. A horseman was less than ten feet away and his stare was fixed on Emma. With each swing of his mace, half a dozen people were swept aside in a mist of red. Those that couldn’t get out of the way desperately tried to duck as the spiked ball and chain swept through its deadly arc.

  Emma stood transfixed. She looked around for somewhere to set Taryn down. She was becoming progressively heavier as time went by and Emma knew she had no hope of carrying her much further. She backed away from the rider until a small gap in the crowd revealed itself and she darted through it. A roar behind her indicated the anger of the rider at having lost his prey but it was only a temporary respite as another appeared in the periphery of her vision. Emma felt herself buffeted around like a ship in a force ten gale but eventually she managed to make it to the other side of the Old Bailey and slipped into a narrow alley.

  Emma placed Taryn down on the cobbled road and looked up. She had no idea what to do next. All her thoughts and efforts had been concentrated on getting Taryn out. Now that she was out, Emma was completely lost as to what to do. She stuck her head out into the crowd and found herself looking up at two heavily booted feet. Her right hand tightened round a loose cobble but as she prepared to strike, she felt a wave of relief as she found herself looking into the sharp blue eyes of Father Eamon. He had a staff in one hand and wore a heavy three quarter length jacket along with a stovepipe hat to merge with the crowd. His eyes flicked left and right and as Emma was about to say something he pushed her back into the alley.

  “We can only rely on this crowd for so long. We must move now if we are to make good our escape.”

  Emma went to reply but Father Eamon raised a finger to his lips and moved past her to where Taryn was lying. He knelt down and lifted her head back. Emma’s breathe caught in the back of her throat as she saw the face that was hidden under the cascading hair. It was no longer ancient but youthful and the lank white hair had been replaced by a dirty blonde mass.

  “What’s happening?” Emma’s eyes were fixed on Taryn’s rejuvenated form.

  Sobs wracked her chest as she looked at her old friend. The years had fallen away and she was her old self. Emma went to embrace her but Father Eamon raised a hand to stop her. A light appeared at the far end of the alley and rapidly got brighter until it swallowed up every shop and dwelling. Emma covered her eyes and squinted until she could just make out the faint, shimmering outlines of Father Eamon and Taryn. He was lifting her off the ground and they were turning towards the light. Emma wanted to reach out to Taryn to say how much she loved her but it was impossible to move. Slowly they headed away from her until they were barely visible but at that moment, Taryn turned and smiled at Emma.

  The light disappeared but a warm wind stroked her face and for a second Emma thought she heard Taryn’s voice. She couldn’t be sure but she thought she could make out two words.

  Thank you.

  As the warmth disappeared with the light, Emma broke down in tears as the loss of Taryn hit her for a third time but now they were tears to relief and joy. She didn’t care what might happen to her now. All that mattered was that she had found her. Father Eamon embraced Emma and she fell forward into his chest, his jacket soaking up her tears.

  “She is in a far better place now, thanks to you.”

  “I know, I know.” It was all Emma could manage as she struggled to catch her breathe.

  Father Eamon gently lifted her to her feet and brushed her hair out of her eyes. “Whatever happens next, make sure you do not leave my side.”

  It seemed like a strange thing for him to say but as they walked out of the alley, Emma understood what he meant. The crowds had disappeared and were now replaced by two rows of people. On one side were Emma, Father Eamon and a Praetorian Guard of guides. On the other were a crowd of monks and horsemen; each holding a flaming torch that stretched the length of Newgate Gaol. They were straining at the leash and Emma wondered why they didn’t just charge the guides, who were few and wouldn’t last five seconds.

  Then she saw why they were holding back. A tall man with white hair came through the centre rank and walked towards them. His skin was sallow and stretched, malice exuding from every pore.

  “Father Eamon, it has been a long time. Tell me are the Council still as sanctimonious as ever?”

  “Grainger. Why don’t you ask them yourself? I’m sure they would love to see you.”

  “Hmm. That pleasure will come soon enough but on my terms, I think.”

  Grainger turned his attention towards Emma and his forced conviviality turned to icy contempt. “You have broken the rules of the plane and forfeited your soul. You will come with me.”

  At this Father Eamon smiled, “You think so? Show me where there was ever an agreement saying that it was forbidden for anybody to break into Newgate and release a soul. None has ever been agreed.”

  Grainger growled at Father Eamon and stepped towards Emma but a guide blocked his way. The guide’s hood dropped to expose raven black hair that fell to the shoulder.

  Grainger’s eyes narrowed and a thin, reed-like, smile split his face, “Ah, the Spanish whore. I hear they start them early in Jerez. Tell me, when yo
u moaned as your cunny was being filled, time and time again; was it through pleasure or pain?”

  Sister Ignacia’s eyes flared and she lunged forward only for Father Eamon to block her path.

  “I am Ignacia De-La-Renta De-La-Cruz! I have lived my life honourably and at nobody’s behest but my own! You know nothing of honour! How many have died at the altar of your honour? You are a tirano nothing more. For all your words and all your gestures, you are just their mouthpiece.”

  “Maybe,” goaded Grainger as his eyes looked her up and down, “but better a mouthpiece than a slut.”

  “I would rather be a whore, than a hypocrite!” Sister Ignacia struggled to free herself from Father Eamon’s grasp as her words were drowned out by Grainger’s high-pitched laughter.

  “We have a place waiting for you, Ignacia. You’ll be of great service mark my words. Your juices will be especially sweet!”

  Sister Ignacia’s eyes narrowed as she placed her arm under her cloak. Behind Grainger, two of the horsemen rode out in front of the monks.

  “Come, child, there is nothing you can do to hurt me.” Grainger shot Sister Ignacia a contemptuous look. “Now give me the bitch.”

  Sister Ignacia threw her cloak to one side and sheathed an arrow to a slender white bow. She raised it up in the air as the guide to her left lifted his torch to the arrows tip, lighting the oil that it had been dipped in, before it flew high in the air and descended in a lazy arc over Newgate Street.

  All the while it was in the air, it had the undivided attention of everybody in the road but as it descended into nothingness, a sharp cackle erupted from Grainger.

  “Well, where’s the cavalry? There are no angels to come to your aid now, Eamon. What else have you got? I will take your so-called saviour now.”

  Grainger beckoned to the monks and horsemen behind him and they shot forward, finally off the leash. The guides braced themselves for the onslaught but as they raised their staffs and swords, a roar filled the air and a trembling shook the cobbles. It was different from that which Emma had heard in the gaol. This was immediate and nearby. The monks and horsemen stopped in their tracks and looked around trying to find the source of the noise. Grainger suddenly looked uncertain as the rumbling took on an earth shaking intensity.