He hesitated for more than a minute. When no one came, he dragged the body across the street, the scraping echoing in the silence. He saw blood left behind on the cobbles, but it was faint amongst the dirt, straw and ordure. No one would notice.
He reached the shadowy alley on the far side. Then the corpse snagged. He tugged, but the body was stuck – the legs and abdomen in the alley, the rest still lying out in the road.
He pulled again. The body wouldn’t move.
Christ.
He dropped the legs and bent down to investigate. He felt underneath the body and along the side, but couldn’t find anything.
He heard footsteps up the road. A lantern bobbed in the distance, coming closer.
He searched frantically for the snag. What was it? Sweat erupted on his forehead.
The footsteps grew louder.
Then he found a pair of thick nails sticking out from a wooden door frame just beside the alley’s entrance. They’d caught on Harold’s tunic and dug into his skin.
He yanked the body away from the nails, then pulled it into the darkness of the alley. He slipped, lurched up again, pulled some more.
The footsteps quickened and he heard a man call out, ‘Hey there.’
To his left he spotted an alcove, shallow but hidden in darkness. He rolled the body into this and it just fitted. But there was nowhere for him to hide himself.
‘What’s going on there?’ The man appeared at the end of the alley and held up the lantern.
Jack saw a flash of red and white – the uniform of the city guard. He thought quickly. He knew his tunic was covered in blood and would give him away, so he ripped it off and threw it on top of the body. Naked to the waist, he slumped against the wall a few feet away from the alcove.
‘What?’ He slurred, trying to sound drunk.
The watchman stepped into the alley and raised the lantern higher. The light now illuminated Jack.
‘What the Devil . . . ?’ the watchman said.
Jack looked up. The watchman was in his fifties, with silver whiskers and a face marbled with red lines.
‘Evening, good sir,’ Jack lolled his head to one side. ‘Sit down. Have a drink with me.’ He watched the guard closely – he had no idea how well his acting was working.
The watchman frowned and narrowed his eyes. ‘You’re a mess. Is that blood on your hands?’
‘It’s nothing. I fell over.’
The watchman pursed his lips. He looked up the alley in the direction of the alcove. If he walked on a few feet he would be able to see the body.
‘Come on, sir,’ Jack said. ‘A drink.’
The watchman returned his gaze to Jack. ‘You’re a disgrace. You’re lucky I’m not going to lock you up. Get yourself home, and get some clothes on.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Jack scrambled to his feet, pretending to be unsteady. The watchman looked him up and down, shook his head and went back to the road. Jack listened as the footsteps receded.
He went to the end of the alley and peered around. The lantern was already a speck disappearing into the darkness. He slipped back to the alcove, retrieved his tunic and started dragging the corpse down the alley. He went slowly and quietly, and it took him at least ten minutes to reach the end.
He looked out at the courtyard, washed with moonlight but otherwise unlit. The well stood like a large mushroom in the centre.
He left the body in the alley and sneaked across the yard. Boards had been placed across the top of the well, but only a few stones held them in place. He removed the boards and went back to the corpse. He listened, heard nothing.
He dragged the body across the courtyard, put his hands under the arms and lifted. He got the corpse over the lip of the well so that it hung there, as if Harold were peering down into the black depths. Then he tensed his arms and heaved. The corpse slipped over the edge and sailed down into the darkness. A crunch echoed up the shaft a few seconds later.
He looked around. No one had heard. No one had seen him.
He put the boards and stones back in place before returning to the alley. Then he ran quietly to the street, looked both ways, and slipped back to the empty house.
Inside, he bolted the door and lay down in one of the rooms. He was exhausted. He decided he could afford a few minutes’ rest – he was through the worst of it now. He closed his eyes. He tried to stop himself falling asleep, but he was already gone.
He woke and sat up quickly. What time was it? Outside, it was still pitch black, with no sign yet of dawn.
He went back to the foyer and lit the lantern. The blood looked even worse than before – he couldn’t believe so much could come from one body. He would have to clean it up before he returned to his billet.
He knew where there was a working well nearby – he’d seen it during the previous days. He stole through the night again, going down the main street and across to a market square, where the well stood to one side.
He lowered the bucket and the pulley squealed. Muttering to himself, he lowered more slowly to avoid making a sound. Once he’d raised the bucket, he cut it free from the rope, went back with the water and scrubbed at the walls and floor of the foyer with an old rag. The result wasn’t perfect, but the worst had been removed.
He went back for more water and then cleaned his tunic, his hands and his face. The St George’s cross in particular was stained red and it took him a long time to get the blood out of it.
Tunic still damp, he crept back through the streets. Along the way he saw two nightwatchmen, but he avoided both by hiding down side streets.
A trace of light was softening the sky as he came to his billet. He paused. Up the road he could see the soldier guarding the gate to the house. He felt moisture trickle down his cheek. His heart quivered. It was blood. His hair was covered in gore and it was dripping down. He would be seen. Everyone would know that he’d killed an Englishman.
But when he touched his cheek and looked at his finger, it was only sweat.
‘Where were you last night?’ Charles asked.
Jack opened an eye. His vision was blurry, but he could make out Charles’s sandy hair and oval face. He was puzzled for a moment, then remembered where he was – lying on his sleeping mat in the courtyard. He could hear the men around him rising and dressing.
The memory of the night before seeped into him, like poison.
He sat up, blinking and rubbing his face. ‘Met up with my friend.’
‘The one from army days?’
‘Yes.’
‘You must’ve been back late. I fell asleep.’
‘Drank a bit too much.’ He actually did feel as though he were hung-over. His throat was painfully dry and there was a metal ache behind his forehead.
Around him, soldiers were splashing water on their faces and shaving as best they could – they had no soap now that they’d left the service of the Rajthanans.
‘Men, look sharp,’ Kendrick shouted as he marched across the courtyard. ‘We’ve got a visitor this morning – the Ghost.’
Jack’s skin rippled. Had someone seen him with Harold?
Did William know?
‘The Ghost? Coming here?’ Charles was asking Kendrick.
‘That’s right.’ Kendrick said. ‘Come on, now. You can’t go on parade like that.’
Charles had on only his undershirt and trousers. He turned to Jack, grinning for the first time since the news of his regiment’s fate. ‘Can you believe it? We’ll get to meet him.’
Jack nodded and looked around quickly. The courtyard was busy with men. He couldn’t slip out unnoticed.
The portly sergeant major, flanked by six corporals, marched in from the street and bellowed, ‘He’s here. On parade men. Now.’
The soldiers scurried into lines along one side of the yard, some hopping along with only one boot on or trying to get their tunics over their heads.
Jack tensed. The only way out was through the archway, but this was blocked by the sergeant major. T
he door to the main building was also across the courtyard and there was no chance of him getting there without being spotted.
He slunk back beneath the temporary awning. Men pushed past him. He reached the wall of the wooden building behind him and tried a door. It was locked.
Damn.
Then he noticed the door to the privy standing slightly ajar. He looked around to see if anyone had noticed him, then slipped inside.
The smell of excrement hit him immediately. He was in a tiny room with a wooden seat over a hole in the ground. Flies boiled over the seat. The only windows were thin slits high up in one wall.
He pulled the door until it was almost closed, leaving just a chink through which he could peer out at the yard.
William, with three henchmen behind him, marched through the archway, spoke briefly to the sergeant major, then paced along the line of men.
Jack swallowed and his heartbeat quickened. William was searching for him.
He glanced around the privy again, as if an escape route would appear. But there was no way out.
William eyed the troops, his hands behind his back. When he got to the end of the line, he turned and surveyed the courtyard. Jack edged back slightly from the door and felt for the knife. This was it – the end. They would search the buildings and soon they would find him. He’d always known there was no hope. Once William had killed Sengar, he’d known there was no chance of saving Elizabeth.
‘At ease, men,’ William said.
Jack moved back to the door and looked out. William was standing in the middle of the yard, his back to the privy.
‘It makes me proud to see you all here,’ William said. ‘Proud to see knights from across our country here to fight the heathens.’
Jack felt a rush of relief. Perhaps William wasn’t looking for him after all.
‘The battle may come at any time,’ William continued. ‘You need to be ready to defend the city. Make no mistake, we are facing a fierce enemy. If the Rajthanans are victorious they will spare none of us. We must fight them, or die. But I have faith in you all. It is we who will be victorious.’
‘We won’t let you down,’ Charles shouted. Jack could see the lad standing next to Saleem in the second row from the front.
Suddenly all the other soldiers were shouting as well, proclaiming their loyalty, cheering, chanting, ‘God’s will in England!’
For Jack, the rest of that day was torture. He went back to the empty room and saw William return to his billet after doing a tour of the city. There were four days left now, meaning Jack had to get out of the city with William by the end of tomorrow. Otherwise, he would never get back to Poole in time.
He stood by the window and looked across at William’s building, flexing his fingers around the knife. He was going to have to make one last, desperate attempt. He would charge into the building, fight off anyone who tried to stop him, and stab his friend. Then he would get the body out of the city somehow. He would try to slip through the Rajthanan blockade. And if he were caught, he would explain it all to the Rajthanan commanders, who would hopefully believe the story and help him . . .
Of course, it would never work.
Even if he could kill William, he would be killed soon after by William’s men. Even if he could get William’s body out of the city, he was unlikely to get past the Rajthanans. And even if the Rajthanans believed his story, would they really let him ride off to Poole with the corpse of the Ghost?
There was no hope. Elizabeth would die. All he could do was try something, even if it meant he would die as well. Better that than living with the knowledge that he’d failed his daughter.
But he procrastinated. All day he waited, thinking through various scenarios without acting.
In the end, in turmoil, he walked back through the evening to his billet. Tomorrow he would do it. He would wait until nightfall, then he would get into the building somehow and kill William. He would get the body out and try to escape from the city.
He would die trying.
At least he would have that.
17
Aboom punctured the night. Jack sat up straight on his sleeping mat and grasped the musket beside him. Another boom rolled across the city, the ground beneath him trembling.
Artillery fire.
The men about him leapt from their blankets. They were bleary-eyed and confused, but realised instinctively that this was it – they were under attack.
Jack flung his tunic over his head. The assault had come too soon. How was he going to get William out of the city now?
‘Move! Move!’ Kendrick bellowed as he ran across the courtyard in his undershirt.
Charles appeared dumbstruck for a moment and stood rubbing his eyes as if it were all a dream. He glanced at Jack, who gave him an affirmative nod, as if to confirm it was real.
Saleem scurried from under his blanket and fumbled for his tunic. He crawled about on all fours, wailing, ‘Where is it?’
Jack grabbed a lantern and cast the light about Saleem’s sleeping mat. There was the tunic, neatly folded and clearly visible.
Saleem gave a nervous laugh.
‘To the wall!’ Kendrick shouted.
The courtyard became a jumble of men rushing for the exit, pushing and shoving as if the enemy were right behind them. A swell caught Jack and carried him through the arched passage beneath the house and out to the street. Charles and Saleem stumbled beside him.
Soldiers ran in every direction. Sergeants shouted contradictory orders. The blasts continued, increasing in frequency. The sky was still dark and smothered by grey continents of cloud, but distant, orange flashes lit up the roofs and gables. Patches of St Paul’s spire appeared and disappeared, gleaming like lizard skin. Hundreds of church bells sounded the alarm.
The men of the 9th Native Infantry were running in the direction of the Bishops Gate, but Jack paused. He wasn’t going to defend the wall, he was going to find William.
‘What are you waiting for?’ Charles asked.
Jack glanced at Charles and Saleem. They were both staring at him as if awaiting orders.
‘You two go with the others,’ Jack said. ‘I’m going to join my friend. I’m going to fight with him.’
Charles frowned. ‘But we’ve been assigned to the Bishops Gate.’
‘I know. But I . . . I decided this with my friend the other day.’
‘Then we’ll come with you,’ Saleem said.
Charles shot Saleem a look of surprise, but then seemed to think about it further. ‘Yes. We’ll fight with you. We’ve come this far together.’
Jack tightened his fists. The young idiots. Why couldn’t they have stayed home in their village? Why had they been so stupid as to come to London? But he felt guilty. Hadn’t he helped them get here? And more than that, he couldn’t bring himself to let them down, couldn’t break the pretence that the Rajthanans could be beaten, that London could be saved, that he was a proud patriot rather than a craven turncoat.
A strange howling split the sky. Looking up, they saw a bulb of blue flame arc above the roofs, rise into the turbulent cloud and then plummet down like a comet. The howling grew louder as the ball raced towards them.
Sattva-fire.
Saleem ducked, although there was no need. The fireball roared overhead and slammed into a building a street away. The cobbles jolted beneath their feet and Jack caught a whiff of sattva. Sparks and flames leapt into the night.
Saleem licked his lips.
Jack knew there was no time to lose. ‘All right. You can come with me.’
They ran down the street towards the Ald Gate, the only place Jack could think to go. He’d seen William there often over the past few days and he assumed this was where he would find him now.
The roads were busy but not densely packed. Figures darted here and there – soldiers carrying muskets, city guards, peasants with ageing weapons. Those who weren’t going to fight, but who’d been unwilling or unable to leave the city, watched from windows. Women
and children, infants and old people stared out at the gathering chaos.
Fireballs sailed overhead, crying eerily. Fires sprang up throughout the city. In the distance, flashes of gunfire lit the sky like copper lightning.
As they turned down a street, a fireball moaned and throbbed above them, close enough for Jack to smell the sattva. It thumped into the front wall of a terraced house and spewed flame and lumps of daub across the street. A chunk of burning wood skittered along the ground towards them. Blue sattva-fire snarled and popped as it ran between the cobbles.
Jack skidded to a halt. His wound nipped.
The remains of the smashed house lay burning and sizzling before them. There was no way through.
City guards came running from a side street. They jabbed hooked poles into the buildings near to the fire, trying to pull them down before the flames spread. Pieces of wall came free like cake and the buildings tottered and leant forward.
Jack turned to Charles and Saleem. ‘Go back.’
They retreated and followed a different route through the city. As the wall drew closer, the churning of the guns grew louder. Steel dawn spread from one corner of the sky and Jack realised that up until now he hadn’t even wondered what the time was. He heard Elizabeth’s voice, lost on the wind. He tried to run faster, but his legs burnt and his breath was short and he couldn’t will himself to go any faster.
He heard a whistle. A round shot, barely visible in the dark, plunged from the sky and smacked a hole in a wall ahead of him. Dust puffed out, but the wall stayed standing.
He charged through the dust, Charles and Saleem close behind. More whistles. A round shot lopped off a chimney. Another hissed through a thatched roof.
He turned a corner and came out suddenly into a square. The dark bulk of the Ald Gate and the wall rose before him. Guns flared along the ramparts, lighting up the battlements and tinging the clouds above orange. The forge-like pounding echoed up the streets. Figures flitted along the wall and soldiers ran about the square.
Someone shouted, ‘Look out!’
Land of Hope and Glory Page 29
