Into the Dim (29 page)

She gazed up into his face, wet eyes sparkling in the low light, like nuggets of gold under a moonlit stream. He pulled her to him. When they swayed together, I could feel the misery streaming off them.

My horse whinnied, blowing steam. Startled, the two broke apart.

“Oy.” William sent a final pleading look at Rachel before he stepped away. “There you are. Let's get this done.”

After we dismounted, I hurried to Rachel and whispered, “I'm sorry. We didn't mean to interrupt.”

Rachel swiped at her cheeks and tried to smile, but it wobbled and faded. “It matters not.”

A single tear plopped into the snow as she bent to pick up the handle of a small iron pot. William opened the gate, obviously uncomfortable. He thought we were just going for a last visit. If he had known what we really planned, there was no way he'd have allowed it.

Once we made it through the thick wall and into the snow-packed yard, William spoke. “I'll wait outside and make sure no one comes. But I like this not. Pray you let me come with you.”

He glanced at the pot dangling at Rachel's side. “Food for the prisoner,” she lied. “He must be hungry, and even a thief deserves a meal.”

William's eyes narrowed, though his shoulders slumped in acquiescence. “Hurry. Dawn approaches, and the guards make their round on the half hour. We must away by then.” He pointed across a snowy expanse to where several ground-level, arched openings stood black against the paler stone. “Last one, near the back corner.”

Once he was safely outside the wall, the three of us plowed across the yard. Our skirts grew heavy, as snow caked us to the knees.

“Is it strong enough?” I whispered to Rachel. “How is it not melting the pot?”

“'Tis lined with gold, which isn't affected by the oil. It's a fresh batch, though, and should attain our purpose.”

It had to work.
Had
to. In a little over twenty-four hours, the Dim would come to take us home. And we were going to be there if it killed me. All of us.

“Collum?” I dropped to my knees before the low, barred window. “Collum, can you hear me?”

I pressed my face between the bars. Cold iron burned my cheeks. I ignored it, though I struggled to keep from gagging at the fetid stench. Rancid straw. Stale urine. Old blood. And worse.

“Coll!” Phoebe pushed in beside me. “It's us. Please, Coll. Answer me.”

Nothing but black silence. What would it be like to be trapped there? Entombed there? What if Collum was still unconscious? What if they'd hurt him so badly, he couldn't walk? What if . . .

“Phee?” My shoulders sagged in relief.

Alive. He's alive.

“Phee? Hope? Is it really you? Or . . . no . . . I'm dreaming again.”

I tried to keep calm, but the resignation in his cracked voice made me want to scream at the sky. “You're not dreaming, Collum.” I said. “Listen. We're going to get you out. Can you walk?”

“Aye.” A shuffling sound came to us as Collum moved closer to the window. I listened for a telltale clink but heard nothing but boots on reeking straw.

No chains. Thank God.

A pained inhale came from a few feet below us. “You shouldn't have come. If they catch you, I—I don't know what I'd do. Please, just leave me.” Desperation infused the plea. It twisted up from that horrible, dark hole and wrapped around me.

Phoebe's nails bit into my forearms. She leaned forward and pressed her face hard against the bars. “Not likely, Collum Michael MacPherson.” Her thin shoulders spasmed as she choked back a sob. “You know Gran would tan my backside with that wooden spoon of hers if I came back without you.”

She hiccupped and rubbed a shaking hand under her nose. “Just be quiet and stand back. Hope has a plan.”

“No!” His voice was fierce with alarm. “I won't risk you two getting caught. You have to go. I'm getting what I deserve, and that's the truth of it. I was stupid and—”

“You listen to me now,” I hissed through clenched teeth. “We're not leaving without you. There's no time to explain. Just back away from the window and be ready.”

“Don't,” Collum begged. “It's not worth it.”

“No man left behind,” I said. “That's your motto, right? So listen to your own advice and back the hell up.”

After a long pause, I heard the swish of hay as he moved aside. I knuckled away an angry tear. “Bring me the bucket, please.”

Rachel removed a set of thick lead-lined gloves from a pocket and handed them to me. “Careful,” she said as she unlatched the lid. “Do not spill any on you or 'twill eat clear through to the bone.”

“Gah.” Phoebe reared back as a putrid miasma of rotten eggs enveloped us.

With a quick prayer, I picked up the heavy pot and poured it carefully down one bar after another. Smoke blasted up as the liquid bubbled and foamed against the iron. I kept my face averted, but the fumes scorched my face and stung my eyes.

A miniscule droplet splashed onto the unprotected skin of my inner arm. I whimpered at the pain.

“Hope?” Collum's voice rose up from the pit. “What's wrong, lass? Are you all right?”

My hands shook as the acid burrowed through flesh into the muscle beneath, but I never faltered.

“Hush.” Rachel moved up beside me, leather flask in hand. “She's burned herself.” Cold water sluiced over my skin, making me moan as I poured the remnants of the vitriol onto the final bar.

The pot empty, I handed it back to Rachel and shook off the gloves. All we could do now was wait. And hope.

Metal sputtered and foamed as the minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness. Above us, the sky lightened in increments of gray. We'd run out of time. I picked up the leather gloves, but Phoebe stilled my hand.

“Let me,” she said. “I'm stronger than you.”

I stepped back without protest. Despite her tiny stature, Phoebe was nearly all muscle, while I had the upper-body strength of a toddler. Bracing her feet against the stone lip of the window, she heaved at two of the bars. They groaned, and one bowed but didn't break.

Panting, she tried again. “Aiii.”

I glanced around. “Shhh,” I said. “You'll bring every guard in the place down on us.”

She crashed back on her butt as one of the bars snapped from its moorings. She held it up triumphantly. “One down.”

A pinkish glow peeked above the wall behind us.
No time.

Collum's voice sounded close as he spoke. “Phee, tell Mac and Gran I love them. And tell Lu—”

“Tell them yourself.” Phoebe's voice squeaked with terror. “Now stand back. We're all going home—together. You hear me?”

“Maybe if we all try?” Desperation pulsed through me.
The guards will be here any moment. Hurry. Hurry. Hurry.
“I'll grab Phoebe. Rachel, pull on my waist. We'll—”

“Won't work,” said a voice from behind us.

I whirled, groping for the knife in my boot. When his features came into focus, my throat closed up, but I didn't relinquish my grip on the blade.

Voice flat, I brandished the knife at him. “What are you doing here, Bran?”

Bran Cameron lifted one shoulder. “Out for a stroll.” He squinted casually up at the pinkening sky. “Lovely morning, isn't it?”

“Look,” I said through my teeth. “Just get out of here. Leave us alone.”

He lifted one shoulder. “Could do that,” he said. “Or I could lend you a horse and a rope. As it happens, I have both.”

Suspicion twined with a cautious exultation as I remembered him charging his horse at Celia. “Why?” I said. “Why would you help us?”

“After you got away, my mother was . . . well . . . a tad miffed.” In the quickly strengthening light, I saw him press a hand to his side. “I thought it best to lie low, as it were, and spent a lovely night outside in a snowstorm, waiting for you to come out of Baynard's. Once I figured out what you were up to, it took me the devil of a time getting inside the Tower after curfew. Had to give the guards most of my gold and my best flask of Tuscan wine, but it won't hold them forever.”

He didn't look at me as he brushed past and clicked his tongue. A gray horse stepped out from behind the corner. With quick, economical movements, Bran uncoiled a rope from the saddle and latched the attached iron hook around the bars.

He turned, his eyes intense on mine. “Shall we?”

I exchanged a look with Phoebe. Rage burned in her eyes as she gave a sharp shrug. Rachel just looked confused.

I nodded to Bran. “Yeah. Let's do it.”

With an impertinent wink, he turned and spoke quietly into the gelding's ear. “All right, boy. Pull hard now.”

We stood back as Bran Cameron hauled at the horse's reins. The animal's muscles bunched. My body strained with it, urging it on.
Go. Go. Go.

The creak of leather. The squeal of bending iron echoed against the walls.

We're going to get caught. All of us thrown into cells to rot. Or hang.

Already I could feel the dank walls closing in, the scratch of rope around my neck as the gallows dropped.

Hurry!

With a horrible screech of metal, the entire unit of bars ripped from its moorings. One ragged edge slammed into the side of my calf as I leapt out of the way.

Bran didn't waste a second. He unhooked the rope from the bars and tossed it down into the shattered window. “Can you climb, mate?” he called quietly down into the cell. “Do I need to come after you?”

In answer, Collum's blood-caked blond head appeared in the opening. “No,” he said as he scrambled the rest of the way out. “And just who the bloody hell are you?”

“Shh.” I cringed as Collum's hoarse accusation carried across the snow. Ignoring the question, Phoebe and I clasped him under the arms and helped him stand. “Be quiet. We have to—”

“Oy!” A shout boomed down from an arrow slit a few stories above. Silhouetted against the flickering light, the guard yelled, “You there! Halt!”

“Brilliant,” Bran quipped to Collum. “Since you've alerted the guard, I'd say this is no longer a clandestine mission.”

With a deft hand, Bran untied the rope, dropped it, and casually leaped into the saddle. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he leaned down and let his knuckles brush gently down my cheek. “I'll meet you on the next block. I've taken rooms at an inn in Cheapside. They're not the most luxurious accommodations. But they're clean enough, and no one will ask any questions. Hurry now.”

He kicked his mount into motion, heading around the side of the building as the rest of us fumbled through the snow to the small postern gate. Muffled cries of alarm rang out behind us, but William Lucie was there to open the gate and hustle us through. He frowned when he saw Collum, but at a quiet word from Rachel only locked the small gate and turned away.

W
ITH A GROAN
, C
OLLUM PULLED HIMSELF ONTO
P
HOEBE
'
S HORSE
. His voice was taut with forced control. “Who,” he said, “was that boy?”

Phoebe mounted behind me. Neither of us answered as we cantered away, leaving Collum to follow.

Dawn painted the tattered clouds in rose and lilac as Collum trotted up beside us. He hunched over his horse's back, nursing obviously-battered ribs. In the pinkish light, I got my first clear look at him. I groaned inwardly at the sight of his broad face, a ghastly bloody mask of swollen eyes, bent nose, and horrific bruises. Behind me, Phoebe stiffened against my back.

Though she hid it like a trooper, I could feel the shakes rattle her small body as she quickly explained how I'd come up with the plan for the oil of vitriol.

Collum didn't blink. “Answer the question.”

“Does it matter?” I said. “He helped us, didn't he?”

Even as I said it, I still wasn't sure of Bran's motives. We could be walking into another trap. But something in his expression when he'd looked at me . . . I
wanted
to believe him.

Collum's scraped knuckles gripped the reins too tight, making his horse nervous. “He isn't from this time. I know what I heard. And though I may be a fool,” he said, “I'm no idiot.”

“You sure about that?” Bran nudged his gray gelding from a shadowed alley. “I'd say your idiot status is debatable at the moment. After all, who steals from the king at his own coronation feast?”

Collum kicked his horse forward. “Who the bloody hell are you?”

Collum's heftier mount pressed in, causing Bran's slim gray to stumble back. Bran glanced in the direction of the looming Tower, where shouts echoed up into the dawn sky.

“While I'd love to share some serious bro time with you, mate,” Bran said, “maybe we ought to hold off until we
don't
have a cadre of the city guard running up our tails?”

Without looking back, Bran raced off. We followed until we were blocks away and the shouts of alarm had long faded. In this poorer area, the houses leaned on each other, as if for comfort. Two by two, we walked our mounts down the middle of the snow-packed street. Above our heads, shutters were thrown open and night soil splashed down onto the new snow.

Collum reined up. “Now,” he said, “explain. Where did you come from? Who do you work for? Who are you?”

Bran held up a long, slender finger. “First, your perception that I'm not from this time is accurate, though unimportant to our current situation.” Bran lifted a shoulder. In the dawn light, his jovial expression slipped, just for an instant. He kneed his mount closer to Collum until the animals jostled for position. Harnesses jingled, and leather creaked as they scraped together.

“As to your second question, based on recent events, I'd say I'm likely unemployed at the moment.”

As his third finger rose, I leaned forward in the saddle. “Bran—”