Chapter 9
Once more they were waiting. They waited all through the night until sunrise lit the view of their enemy on the hill. Very pretty they looked too, in their bright coloured tabards and shields, shiny armour and weapons. All expect the Spirus, that is, who were dark and grim.
Dagarth and friends were plainly in no hurry, no hurry whatsoever. The waiting lengthened and the shadows shortened as the defenders watched keenly for the inevitable attack. The scuttler was nowhere to be seen but its menacing presence was felt in the minds and hearts of Roland and his friends.
The afternoon came and the troops on the hill started to move down, as they had on the day of the first attack. This time there were no carts bringing trebuchets or rafts, just men who gathered into phalanxes ready to move forwards when the time came.
It was sometime after two o clock that an unearthly sound in the far distance, like a roaring rumbling sound combined with the faint chimes of a deep bell, could be heard. It seemed to rumble both through the earth and across the sky, all at once, shaking the castle and its defenders.
Roland and Firebrace stood together, watching from the battlements. Slowly the beast emerged from around the hill, painfully slow but impressive and powerful looking. Soon Roland could see its legs, all working together and rippling as they moved the beast towards the castle. An army of Spirusses followed it.
“Curse Dagarth for bringing such a monstrous thing to our home, “Roland said.
“Yes,” said Firebrace, “this alone proves that your grandfather was right about him.” The thing got closer. It took up a position in front of the castle, about a quarter of a mile from the moat.
Roland took a deep breath. “it must be nearly time,” he said.
“Yes,” Firebrace agreed, “nearly time.”
At that moment they could see three riders with escorts start out from the brow of the hill and make their way down to the fields beside the castle. It was Dagarth, Bril-a-Brag and Gloatenglorp. Gloatenglorp now had a bandage around his head and Dagarth was still tender in the saddle area. At least we have affected two of them, Roland thought.
It was now time. He left the battlements and saddled up. In front of him the Sun Warriors, their armour gleaming in the bright afternoon sunlight, were still without mounts. As Roland yet again wondered about this a shout came from the battlements
“Enemy advancing!”
It was time to meet them in the field.
At the gatehouse two groups of men stood above a doorway. They were manning two wheels that when turned would raise a large door. Behind the door was the terrible weapon that the defenders had – most reluctantly - decided to unleash on the countryside they wished to defend. Using it meant sweeping away all the landmarks they knew. They just had to hope that something as good, maybe better, would take its place.
Roland hoped so. He raised him arm and gave the much feared order, “Release the land surveyor!”
A gasp went around the castle from those who had not been made aware of the plan. Could such a terrible thing really be about to happen? The unleashing of a land surveyor? A land surveyor!!!!!!! Free to do his awful work!!!!
The door was hauled upward, creaking and groaning, and the land surveyor and his two assistants stepped forward, blinking in the bright light of the day after the darkness of captivity.
Roland rode up to him, “You know what you must do?”
“Yes sire! And thank you sire for authorising me to do my work. It is a rare occasion when we are allowed to go about it – not just allowed, but positively authorised and encouraged by the lord of the manor himself! It is a rare treat indeed and we will not disappoint you sir!”
Those in ear shot trembled at his words. He cautioned Roland, “You must make sure that you stay close by me at all times during my task, otherwise you will not know where you are, or anyone is, or anything is, ever again!”
He and his assistants picked up their clipboards, notebooks and theod-a-me-thing-a-me-jigs and waited for the drawbridge to be lowered. Meanwhile Roland turned his steed and faced the sun warriors. He did as Firebrace had told him. He raised his arm and said, “Mount up.”
The moment he had spoken flurries of fire appeared between their legs. The fires grew in intensity and formed the shapes of horses. As they did so they lifted up the warriors up so that they were now mounted on steeds of fire with fiery mains, gleaming yellow eyes and steaming, flame-streaked breath.
Roland, Oliver and Savitri looked on, amazed.
“With such power, how can we lose?” Oliver gasped.
“The power is limited, sadly,” Firebrace said, “but it is good, and on our side, and may yet be good enough.”
Roland ordered that the portcullis be raised and the drawbridge lowered. He gave the command to move forwards. The land surveyor, his assistants and the sun warriors followed him to the entrance, but at the gatehouse they paused as a young couple approached Roland. The woman spoke to him, “My lord, we are a couple wishing to marry. You are now the lord and we need, and wish for, your blessing. Please give it us before you ride out.”
“Gladly,” Roland said. He waved his hand over them, “You have my blessing.”
Once they were across the drawbridge the Land Surveyor and his assistants set to work and the land started changing before their eyes. Fields and hedges, tracks and roads, all flickered out of existence whilst others flickered into existence elsewhere. Landmarks disappeared from one place to reappear in another. The landscape was indeed changing at dizzying speed.
The land surveyor had been instructed that some things had to remain; the castle, the river and the hill of the Scary Oak. The river was diverted here, there and back again, but always making its way to the castle in order to supply the moat. The castle and the hill of the Scary Oak remained as landmarks, but with the distance changing between them by the second.
The enemy was now finding the terrain changing under their very feet. Even the castle was moving away from them as the space was being stretched out to the maximum so as to give an advantage to the defenders. Dagarth and his pals would no longer know where they were, and that was the point!
With all the confusion going on it was hard to keep track of it all and Roland had to rely on the land surveyor. Roland now understood the Land Surveyor’s caution that he remain by his side. They had no chance of finding their way without him now. Roland watched the man working and resolved that he wouldn’t let him beyond a rein’s-length if he could help it. He smiled at the thought that Dagarth and company were without his guidance and must be getting peeved to find themselves thwarted.
Within a few minutes it was done. The land surveyor presented Roland with new maps showing the new terrain and also showing clearly where the enemy were. The defenders were now riding down a pleasant country lane. It was twisting and narrow, and it soon became clear that although it appeared to go somewhere it never actually went where it seemed to be going.
“What is this?” Roland asked, “We don’t seem to be able to go where we want to – where the map says.”
“Ah,” said the surveyor. “A clever mapmaker’s illusion, very clever if I may say so. The lane won’t go anywhere you need to go – and certainly not where it seems to! Ever wondered why so many people get lost even if they have a map! It conceals a surveyors’ snicket – a secret passage through the landscape only a surveyor can find!”
“And we can use it? My army?” Roland asked.
“Oh yes, with me as your guide. That’s what its meant for.”
“Very good. lead on!”
“Right! down here -” and the surveyor led them straight to some bushes that parted to reveal a dark hole with a rippling affect at the entrance. The entered and came out at the rear of the enemy, who seemed quite unaware of their presence. They now had a cracking advantage.
Roland saw the chance, unsheathed his sword and whirled it around his head. He was about to order, “Attack!” when everything changed again. There was a bli
nding flash and the scene was replaced on all sides by steep grassy slopes. Up on the brows of the slopes were the enemy, all around. Now they had the advantage.
“What happened!?” Roland demanded.
“There can only be one explanation,” the land surveyor said –“ I have an opponent on the other side. Another land surveyor! Quick!” he said to his assistants, “We must work! Quickly! Quickly!”
They got out their clipboards and theo-do-mething-a-mee-jigs again and surveyed the land once more. In a flash it was transformed into a low lying area of marshland. Roland and his entourage were on a causeway that ran across it but the enemy were now dumped up to their thighs in water and mud.
“That fixed them!” The land surveyor said, “But we will have to keep on working to maintain it – even now my adversary will be trying hard to change it again…”
The landscape of mire was sustained for a few minutes as Roland and his forces continued to close on the enemy, then suddenly it all changed again. Now they were in thick impenetrable forest.
“What good is this!” cried Roland.
“We have come to a stalemate,” the land surveyor said, gasping with the exertion of it, “This is what often happens in such a head-to-head between land surveyors , it ends up when no party can make a move. Just thank goodness it isn’t an ocean!”
“Can that happen?” Savitri asked.
“That’s why all land surveyors can swim – and their assistants.” The land surveyor said, “Swimming lessons are compulsory at surveying school.”
The surveyor struggled to undo the forest. With a flash another scene appeared; it was rich pasture with cows and sheep but few landmarks – perfect attacking territory.
“We need an advantage,” Roland said.
The land surveyor worked again and as a result they were on a small hill looking down on Dagarth and his forces, but then that was undone and they found themselves in a quarry with the attackers looking down on them.
Ah ha! "Surrender!" Dagarth commanded.
But before they could speak the land surveyor had waved his theod-a-ma-thingy-ma-jig and the armies were hundreds of yards apart again, with nothing but fields between them
“That was close,” Roland said. Then he noticed that the land surveyor was totally exhausted. The man was almost falling out of his saddle. It was all too much for him.
“I am sorry,” he said, “I can only think that they have more than one land surveyor on their side – possibly an army of them. I cannot stand against it much longer.”
Yet again he worked his magic to create a landscape on which the defenders had the advantage, positioned right above the attackers with a slope down towards them. Roland took his chance and cried, “Attack!”
The sun warriors fell upon Dagarth’s forces and there was the clash of steel on steel. Meanwhile the land surveyor fought to maintain the landscape he had created, but, finally, it changed again to the attackers favour. At this point the surveyor gave a cry of despair, the like of which Roland had never heard before. He fell from his horse and lay on his back, , his assistants leaning over him and looking bereft. Roland dismounted and also went to his side.
“I am sorry,” He said to Roland, “I have let you down.”
“No! I am sorry – very sorry,” Roland said, “I had no idea this would be so costly for you. You deserved better than to be caught up in this. You have done well.”
The surveyor grabbed Roland’s hand and pressed a new map into it, “Here,” he said, pointing to a mark on it, “This is the land as it is now. I cannot change it any more, but I have managed to put a snicket into it to enable you to escape to the Scary Oak and safety – here, see!”
“Thank you,” said Roland, “Thank you very much for all you have done,”
The man nodded an acknowledgment, and with that he died.
The landscape now belonged to the attackers and their own surveyors. Roland watched as the scuttler made its way to the castle, forded the moat and began to gnaw greedily on the stone walls. Meanwhile the sun warriors fought on, but were no match for the Spirus, who’s dark armour seemed to deflect every blow like a mirror deflects the rays of the sun. One after another the warriors of the sun crumbled beneath the blows of the Spirus, their armour simply folding as their fiery steeds stumbled and gave way. Now dull and decayed, each of the warriors fell to the ground and faded into the dust.
At the castle the villagers rained arrows down on the scuttler, but it was no good. It burst through the wall and into the courtyard. The attackers had been so confident they had not even bothered to drain the moat. The Spirus simply waded it with the water over their heads and followed the beast into the castle and Dagarth’s men waited for the drawbridge to be lowered and then marched in triumphantly.
There was no question that the battle was lost. Even Savitri knew it. She rode towards Roland. “We must get you to safety,” she said.
“No! I must fight on!” he shouted, feeling the anger in every bone and muscle, smelling the rage of ballet in his nostrils. He brandished his sword and reined in his horse to prepare for another charge at the enemy. Despite the defeat of his forces he was heady with the fumes of battle and was determined to seek victory at any cost.
“No!” Savitri yelled, grabbing the reins of Roland’s horse. “Victory belongs to us tomorrow! For now we must retreat!”
Roland started to see reason. If even Savitri was against fighting, then it was time to turn. he looked down again at the land surveyor, “He was a good man. I wish we had time to bury him.”
“We will in due course,” Savitri said, but now, I must take you to safety, my liege!
Soon they were on top of the hill of the Scary Oak and looking across at the castle. Once more it was a ruin, with fire and smoke rising up from it. Roland was choked with frustration at not being able to do anything about it.
“I wish I knew what was going on in there,” he said.
“Its nothing good,” Savitri said, “But we will have our revenge for this.”
“Say that again,” Roland said, “It makes me feel better!”
“We will have our revenge for this!” Savitri repeated, more loudly, as she waved her sword aggressively.
“You do have a wonderful way with swords!” Roland said.
Roland and Savitri arrived back in the Fortressers' Hall to be greeted by Brother goodwill, who was in a right old two-and-eight, “Oh my goodness! My goodness! How terrible! All the death and destruction! I wish I could see a positive side to it! I am sure I can! If only I could….”
“If he can’t see a positive side then there is a problem,” Savitri said.
“Perhaps it’s just that the most optimistic are the first to crumble,” Roland suggested, defiantly.
At that moment Oliver entered and rushed up to Roland, “thank goodness you are alright – and you too,” and he nodded to Savitri, who smiled back.
“Where is Firebrace?” Roland asked, looking around and not seeing him.
Oliver looked downwards, “He would not retreat into the tower when the scuttler came through the walls. Everyone else retreated into the tower but – he insisted on staying and fighting. He was angry – I have never seen anyone so angry. It was like he was possessed.”
“We must find out if he is alive or dead,” Roland said, “That must be our first priority.”
“You must rest first,” said Brother Stalwart. “It has been a long day, a terrible day.”
“I will not rest until I know Firebrace is safe,” Roland said. “And if he is hurt, I will have Dagarth’s blood on my sword by sunset – and the rest of them.”
He took a few steps towards the exit but tiredness bettered him. He staggered and almost fell.
“Perhaps you are right. I can do nothing like this,” and he cursed in frustration.
Roland dreamt deeply. At first he dreamt of the battle, reliving it as a nightmare in which he tried continually to fight his way back to the castle but was unable to d
o so due to an army of Spirusses that were in his way. There was a forest of them, like the forest that the enemy land surveyor had conjured. They stood firm, too strong to push aside, impervious to the blows of his sword.
With the impossibility of it his mind turned to other things. He dreamt of his mother. He could not remember anything of the time when she had been alive, he had been too young then, but he always felt that he knew what she had been like. It was if a part of her somehow remained for him, as if she was always here somewhere, with him, around him. He could not explain it. Now he dreamt of her hands reaching down from above, as if reaching into his cot to sweep him up.
At that moment he was awoken.
Savitri was saying, “If you want to see Firebrace now is the best time, we think. Dagarth’s soldiers have been celebrating but it is late, and they are asleep or off their guard.”
Back in the Fortressers’ Great Hall Roland and friends considered how he might find Firebrace.
“I can’t just go wandering about asking for him,” Roland said.
“If I might suggest, a disguise of some sort…” said Brother Goodwill.
“Been there, done that,” said Oliver
“They might not expect it again,” Savitri said.
“Why not?” asked Roland, “A case of try, try and try again. This time we do it better! We just need to decide which disguise.”
Brother Goodwill said, “In my experience someone bound not to stand out, who doesn’t attract attention or even get noticed.”
“Sounds like me,” Oliver said.
“I always notice you,” Roland said.
“Yes, but the rest of your lot don’t – the nobs, I mean. No one ever notices a humble servant.”
“Then I must be humble and serve!” Roland said.
“Great!” said Savitri.
“You will need to be dirty!”
“I have just been in battle,” Roland protested.
“No,” said Oliver, “Really dirty – like you have done a proper days work. Smuts and dirt streaks on your face, a torn jerkin and some holey hose, a whiff of the kitchen about you. You will make a great kitchen boy!” He went to the fire and brought back some soot, “Here, try some of this l on your face,” He rubbed it on. “Fantastic! You are beginning to look the part of a downtrodden serf – just like Dagarth’s people look!”
“Ever so humble to serve you,” Roland said, in a serflike voice, and tugged his forelock.
“Great!” Said Oliver, “Just remember not to look the guards in the eye – they won’t expect you to and they might recognise you if you do. The more cowed and subservient you are, the better your disguise will work.”
“I still don’t know how I am going to find Firebrace. They could be holding him anywhere.”
“There is no alternative to searching, I suppose,” Oliver said: “If you are asked what you are doing, just say you are lost, you arrived with the attackers and don’t know your way around yet. Lots of people will be in the same position so no one will think it odd.”
“Here’s an even better idea,” Savitri said “– say you are taking some food to the prisoner – the old prisoner – and ask for directions.”
“I will need some food to take,” said Roland.
“One meal fit only for a detested enemy prisoner coming up!” said Brother Goodwill, “I shall even spit in it myself!” and he bustled off to cook it.
“Just don’t ask anyone who might recognise you – or even go near them!” Oliver warned.
“I think I got that,” Roland said.
The meal was cooked – and spat in. Meanwhile Roland had been garbed as an ever-so-humble kitchen boy. With his face blackened and his clothes torn and dirtied, he made his way to the bottom of the unfinished tower. He took care that no one noticed him coming out of the tower and even circled around a bit to make it look like he had come from the kitchens.
In the courtyard the ghastly scuttler was now at rest in the centre. Groups of soldiers were standing around, shouting and joking and being boisterous. Roland took a deep breath and approached the nearest group, but before he could reach them they saw him, “Hey! You lad! You brought our supper?” one called out.
Roland averted his eyes as advised, “No sir, this is for the prisoner – the old prisoner – fire something or other….”
“Old Firebricks!” laughed another of the soldiers.
“Looks like he eats better than we do,” said another of them, peering into the plate and then spitting into it, “There lad – give it ‘im with my compliments!” and he bowed mockingly. They all roared with laughter.
I’ll get him for that later, Roland thought, but meanwhile he had to find out where Firebrace was. “Can you tell me where he is?” he asked, trying to disguise his voice and sound serflike.
“Oh sure lad, why, he’s up there perched on top of the unfinished tower!” said one soldier, pointing. They all clearly thought that this was hilarious as they laughed as before. “You climb up there lad – we’ll give you a hand!”
Hilarious, Roland thought sarcastically.
“No he ain't, said another, “He’s on top of the battlements telling the whole countryside what to do like the lord and master that he is! He’s still defending the castle like he owns the place!”
“Now then! What's all this?” came a shout, and the form of Serjeant Jankers emerged from the darkness. Roland looked down at the ground. For all his bellowing Serjeant Jankers actually had a brain and he knew Roland by sight. If anyone was likely to recognise him, it would be the Serjeant…
“What you up to lad? The Serjeant barked sharply, coming right up close to Roland.
“food for the old prisoner, sir,” said Roland, looking at the ground as hard as he could.
Jankers shouted, in staccato sergeant-major fashion, “Left hand side of the gatehouse! Turn right. Ask the guard to open the cell door, for you!
Roland didn’t need telling once to hurry away. In the background he could hear Jankers shouting, “And you lot are a disgrace! You are a sight! What are you! Now get yourselves tided up before you all end up on a FIZZER!”
Roland did as he was bid and made his way to the gatehouse double quick smart. He went too fast, though, because he rushed into the entrance of the gatehouse to find himself faced with Dagarth, Bril-a-Brag and Gloatenglorp having a lively argument.
Bril-a-Brag said, “We need to set the boy a deadline – he gives himself up in two hours or the old fool dies…”
Dagarth replied, “Oh that’s no good! What if he doesn’t? Then he’s called our bluff! I wouldn’t give myself up for the old fool, and that boy is far too clever to. The old man isn’t worth a groat and he knows it. Anyway, I want him to suffer before we kill him – for a long time, if possible. A week will do. Then we’ll kill him.”
“Alright,” said Bril-a-Brag “– a week, and if we have not found another way to flush the boy out we will threaten to kill the old man - after he’s suffered. Perhaps knowing he’s suffering will make the boy give himself up, anyway.”
“I wouldn’t hold your breath,” Dagarth said.
At that moment they noticed Roland standing, transfixed with fear that he might be recognised. Dagarth obviously didn’t recognise him. He simply came up to Roland, peered in the dish and asked, “Is that for the prisoner?”
Roland tried to nod, as best as he could with his eyes locked onto the ground before him. Dagarth clearly took the nod as a yes as he spat into the food., “Give it to the old fool with my compliments.” And he shouted over to the man-at arms standing by the door, “open up,”
The door to the cell was opened and Roland hurried in.
The cell was in fact an old storage room with only a small, high window overlooking the moat. It was dingy, dark and rat infested, Just the way Dagarth liked them Roland thought.
Firebrace was not in a good way. He was lying down, injured and in pain.
“Who is that?” he asked, blinded by the sudden light as he ha
d been in darkness.
"Sshh! it's Roland."
“Roland! I was sure you would come!”
Roland put down the meal, “Don't eat that. Everyone’s spat in it – even Brother Goodwill!”
“And even Dagarth?” Firebrace asked.
“Even Dagarth,” Roland confirmed.
“Fair enough. I always used to spit in his when I had the chance!”
Roland then went back to the corridor to see if he could buy them more time to talk.
When he looked out of the door Dagarth, Bril-a-Brag and Gloatenglorp were gone and only the guard stood on duty. Roland took a risk and told a lie, “I have orders to tend to the prisoner’s wounds.”
The guard merely nodded and grunted. Roland hurried back to Firebrace. He did what he could with his wounds whilst the old man talked, “There isn’t much time so I must tell you what you need to know. To do what you must do next you must understand why the tower is here. This place was not chosen merely for its hills or its farmland – it was chosen for the cause of these things. This is a special place, a place where the powers of the earth and the powers of the sky converge to enable nature to make her wonders. There is a bond here, a cord between the earth and the sky. The tower was built to channel those powers and to protect the cord from its enemies.
‘Like all good things, it has enemies, creatures that seek to destroy it. They sought to prevent it being built from the day the first stone was laid, and they still seek to destroy it.”
“The Spirus?” Roland asked.
“No, not the Spirus. They are of a kin to the enemy of the tower, but they are not the main enemy. I am speaking of our oldest, most powerful, enemy; the Sh’Mordra, – the Storm Lords.
“Your great great grandfather fought a great battle against them and they did not return for many generations. But when they did – when you were just a small baby –there were more of them than ever before. They had grown vastly in number, and had also grown more devious, more ruthless and more powerful. So another great battle was fought to defend the tower – a battle we all but lost.
“And this was how my mother died?”
“No Roland. It is not how your mother died, because your mother did not die.”
Roland gasped, “But where is she then? What happened to her?”
We would have lost completely –lost everything - but for your mother. The Storm Lords were on the point of victory. They had pushed us back on all fronts and were attacking the tower itself. The tower began to fracture, the cord itself to break under their assault.
It was then that your mother made a great sacrifice – for you Roland, as much an anyone else - whilst you slept below. She stood by the edge of the fracture and cast herself into it, allowing her own life energies to blend with it, to feed and heal it. Now she is bound to it, trapped within it. Your mother is here, Roland, always, she is part of the vital bond between the earth and the sky, part of the cord that channels the life force between them.”
“My poor mother!” Roland said, “Is there no hope that she can be released?”
The secret of your mother’s release – and I am sure there is one - is what your father has gone to find. It is a dangerous task and one wrong step will kill her, and sever the link binding the earth and the sky. It must be done with full knowledge. It was a very difficult decision for him, whether to remain here with you, or whether to seek a way to free your mother. He has gone to seek men and women of wisdom who know the answers…”
“Roland was angry: “I should have been told this before!”
“To what end?” Firebrace asked, “I have said before, your father and I protected you for too long. But how would we have explained to a small child that his mother was gone, yet at the same time still here - not really living but not really dead either?”
“But you could have told me later.”
“When was the right time? We didn’t know! We didn’t know when the crisis would come. We put it off too long, as I say, but we didn’t know when, and we wanted you to be a child for as long as possible.”
Roland saw the truth of it and began to calm down. Firebrace continued, “The Warriors of the Sun were not strong enough because they had dwelt too far, for too long, from the source of their power. You must seek younger, stronger warriors, newly born in the crucible of the sun - you must go to the sun itself.”
“What!” Roland boggled “Isn’t that a long way? And upwards! I ‘m not a bird – if even birds can get there!”
“It is a journey I have never made – I don’t know if any human has made it, but you must, to refresh our forces, if we are to win. To get there you must first go up to the very top of the tower, to the place that is known as the First Plain of the Sky. Beware the Nollynocks and the Grimbles! On the plain search for the creatures known as the Whales of the Sky – they will take you to the moon. The Moon-Dwellers will know of a way to get you to the very heart of the sun, safely. There you must seek the help of
the Great Council of Grand Flames – the rulers of the sun.”
‘The Storm Lords will do what they can to stop you getting there but you will not be on your own. Through your mother great powers can be summoned to assist you. It will tax her enormously to fight them as well as to keep the cord together, so you must do as much of the work as you can.”
“You are coming with us,” Roland said, “We are going to get you out of here. I can’t leave you to be tortured.”
“Roland, listen to me,” Firebrace said and stretched out his hand and to hold Roland’s, “I have a wound in my side and my leg is cut in three places. I am in no condition to go anywhere. If you want to save me, and your mother and father and this castle and all those who depend on it – the world - you must do what I say. Leave me here. I will be alright. Dagarth cannot do anything that will really hurt me. Now go, get away, and get help!”
Reluctantly Roland stepped back and turned to the door. He looked back at his old mentor, who nodded, and then he left.
The guard had gone to sleep on his feet. On many another occasion Roland would have thought it good fun to shout “Boo!” at him, or even try to impersonate Serjeant Jankers, “What’s all this then! Asleep on duty! It’s a fizzer for you!” – but now was most definitely not the time. He carefully and quietly took the keys off of the man’s belt, locked the cell and hung the keys back on the sleeping guard. As silently as possible he made his way to the outer door and slipped across the courtyard. Serjeant Jankers had sorted out the rabble so he was able to slip back into the tower without further trouble – until he had to wake up Botherworth, of course. Luckily he was getting used to dealing with the cantankerous janitor!