‘Did he hurt you?’
‘No. In fact, he was remarkably courteous.’
‘He killed Benedict Feasby and the two women.’
‘Yes, at that point I realized that he had. That’s why I didn’t argue when he told me to step into this cage.’
Thomas looked through the cage bars at Bertie. The little boy shivered with cold and, no doubt, sheer fright. His eyes were large and his face bore the marks of tears. ‘Bertie? Are you all right? He didn’t hurt you?’
‘I’m hungry.’
Jo said, ‘Bertie told me that he hadn’t been harmed.’
‘I’m very hungry.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Thomas said, ‘I don’t have anything to eat. You’re cold, though, so take this.’ He slipped off his coat and fed it between the thick iron bars of the cage. ‘Put it on.’
Bertie did as he was told. The huge overcoat seemed to engulf the lad. Its sleeves dangled down almost to the floor.
Thomas said, ‘Jo, have you seen Tristan recently?’
‘The last time was when he locked me in the cage. That’s when he took my scarf.’
‘He used it to lure me to the mill. I found it tied to a window frame.’ He tugged at the gate, hoping that the hinges might give way. No such luck. They were strongly made. ‘Did Tristan say anything to you?’
‘Nothing, other than pretending he needed my help. That and telling me to go into this thing.’ She slapped an iron bar with frustration. ‘I can’t believe I was so gullible.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll get you out.’ He turned to Bertie. ‘Did Tristan put you in the cage, too?’
‘No!’ Bertie pulled back the long sleeve so he could point. ‘She did!’
‘I did not,’ Jo protested. ‘Why on earth did you say that, Bertie?’
‘You poked away at my head, you said I’d been born bad, and I was going to grow up to do nasty things to people. I heard you say that people like me should be locked up in jail before we did anything wrong. That’s why I’ve been put in a cage. You’re a nasty lady.’
‘Bertie,’ she began, trying to soothe the boy. ‘Bertie –’
‘Have you had that thing done to you?’ Tears filled the boy’s eyes. ‘Have you had your head looked at to reckon if you were born bad, like me?’
Jo couldn’t speak. She looked stunned.
Thomas said, ‘I’m sure the lady would never do anything to hurt you, Bertie.’
‘You can hurt people with words, can’t you?’ Bertie trembled with anger as much as distress. ‘Things can be said that go into your heart and make you sad. That’s what she did to me.’
Jo’s own eyes glinted with tears. ‘I’m so sorry, Bertie.’
The boy turned his back to her.
Thomas asked gently, ‘Who brought you here?’
Bertie said nothing.
‘Bertie, it wasn’t Jo, was it?’
The boy shook his head.
‘Who was it?’
‘The king’s lad.’
‘Tristan?’
Bertie nodded.
‘What’s important now,’ Thomas said, ‘is to get both of you out of those cages.’
Jo pointed out an obvious fact. ‘Even if you do that, how do we get out of the basement?’
‘The search parties will find us before long.’
The woman shuddered. ‘There’s a very real danger that Tristan will come back here before anyone else. We can identify him as the man that abducted Bertie and myself. Tristan will want to make sure that we never speak to anyone.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ve still got this.’ Thomas held up the shotgun. ‘I can deal with him before he can deal with us.’ He chose the words carefully to avoid scaring Bertie.
There was silence. Bertie stared into the corner of the basement. He seemed deep in thought.
At last, he turned to Thomas and said in a clear voice, ‘Mr Lloyd. There’s water. It’s coming into the cellar.’
One look at what was happening in the corner of the vault was a revelation. Not a pleasant revelation at that. In fact, Thomas Lloyd experienced a sickening jolt of pure shock. But he realized now why the pieces of furniture lay all higgledy-piggledy on the floor. He knew only too clearly what had left the layer of wet mud under his feet. The mill stood on the beach, and the basement was a good twelve feet below ground level.
‘The tide’s coming in,’ he said. ‘The river will flood the basement. That’s why the furniture is strewn about. Every time the water comes in it washes all this junk about and leaves mud on the floor.’
‘Remember what I said when we first met on the beach?’ Jo spoke in a tense way. ‘When the tide comes in, it rises fast.’
Thomas did remember, and here he was, facing the incoming tide again. This time the water streamed through the vault’s brickwork. He wondered if he could block its entrance somehow. However, he quickly realized that the river didn’t flow into this subterranean room at any single point. It came through hundreds of little gaps in the brickwork. The water even oozed up through the floor beneath his feet. When he walked back to the cages his feet now splashed through two inches of water. And still it kept on coming.
‘I don’t want to drown,’ Bertie said. ‘My cousin drowned last year. He fell into the dock. They didn’t find him for a week and his face had gone all green.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Jo told him. ‘The water won’t come in very much. All we’ll get is wet feet.’ She tried to make a joke of it. ‘Once we’ve dried your shoes out by a fire they’ll be right as rain.’
Thomas agreed, ‘You’re safe. The water won’t get very deep.’
Even as he said the words his eyes were drawn to white speckles clinging to the iron bars at the top of the cage. Barnacles. He touched them. Yes, definitely barnacles. The presence of the tiny shellfish sent him to check the walls. Soon he found what he was looking for.
Jo watched him anxiously from her cage. ‘What have you seen?’
He returned to her and put his face close to the bars.
‘There’s a high watermark,’ he whispered so Bertie wouldn’t hear. He didn’t want to scare the boy if he could help it. ‘It’s six feet above the floor.’
Her eyes snapped open wide as she heard his words. Then she looked up at the iron bars that formed the top of the cage. They were barely five feet above the floor. The tall woman had to stoop in the space that confined her.
‘We have to get out of here,’ she whispered back at Thomas. ‘The water will rise higher than the top of the cages.’
Bertie sensed there was something wrong, even though he couldn’t possibly hear what they were whispering. ‘What’s going to happen?’
Thomas made sure he was smiling when he said, ‘Don’t worry. I’m going to open the cages and get you out.’
‘How?’ Bertie looked down at the water. It had reached his knees. ‘You aren’t strong enough to break the padlocks. We’re going to drown, aren’t we?’
By now, water poured through the cracks in the walls with a rushing sound. Chairs began to float out of the shadows. Thomas picked up a burning candle and quickly searched the entire basement. There was a second entrance. This was a wooden trapdoor set in the ceiling. Like the door to the basement, it was made of massively thick timbers, reinforced with strips of iron. He couldn’t lift it at all – not even by a fraction of an inch, and by the time he returned to the cages the water was waist deep.
That’s when he stopped and stared at the glistening cascade that gushed through the wall. Because it didn’t seem so much as if water entered the vault – it was as if Death itself had stepped into this place. It had grown colder. Much, much colder. When Jo and Bertie breathed out, their breath came in big white clouds. It looked as if every time they exhaled, part of their spirit escaped from their bodies.
Thomas knew that he had no more than twenty minutes to free the woman and child from the cages. Twenty minutes from now the river water, which flowed down through the earth and into the basement, would reach
the top of the cages. That’s when the pair would drown.
Thomas surged through the water. He tugged at both of the cages’ gates in turn. They were fixed lethally tight by huge padlocks. Quickly, he checked the height of the padlocks. They were now a couple of inches above the water’s surface.
‘It’s now or never.’ He took a firm grip on the shotgun. ‘Bertie, go to that corner of the cage. Turn away from me. Cover your ears. You too, Jo.’
The boy did so immediately. Thomas aimed the gun at the padlock in such a way that the blast would be directed away from Jo and Bertie.
He fired. In the confined space the noise of the gunshot slammed back so fiercely that Thomas grimaced in pain. The pellets struck the padlock, causing lots of little dents in its metal casing. He tried to tug the padlock hasp open. No, it wouldn’t budge.
‘I’m going to try again.’
The flood now reached the padlock. If he didn’t blast it free soon, the water would cover it and no amount of shooting would smash it apart. The water would effectively shield the device. He aimed.
‘No!’ Jo yelled. ‘Lift the stock of the gun up so you’re firing down onto the top of the padlock. That way it’ll be like a hammer blow.’
Thomas glanced at Bertie. The child stood facing away from the gate, his hands over his ears. The water now reached his chest.
Thomas fired in the way that Jo had suggested. The pellets hit the lock, others splashed the water. Quickly, he tugged at the padlock. A terrific yell of relief burst from his lips as the padlock hasp slipped out of the lock. He worked the hasp free of the iron loops, swung the gate open and pulled Bertie clear. The water now threatened to float the little child away. Not wanting to delay for another moment, he lifted the boy onto the top of the cage. At least there he would be safely clear of the flood.
He turned round to attack the padlock on Jo’s cage. To his dismay he saw it was submerged.
‘Jo. Turn round and cover your ears.’ He reloaded the gun.
‘It’s too late,’ she said. ‘The water will slow the shot down. It won’t hit the lock hard enough.’
‘I’m still going to try.’ He fired at the lock as it became blurry under water. He fired again. He checked the bolt. ‘It’s still holding tight.’
‘It’s no good!’ she cried. ‘We’ll have to think of something else.’
Even so, he reloaded and fired again. By this time the padlock was a foot deep. The water was up to his chest. He knew it was hopeless. He laid the shotgun across the top of the cage along with the satchel of ammunition, and he cursed himself for not shooting both locks off earlier. In truth, however, he had been afraid to try in case he’d hurt Jo and Bertie.
Thomas searched the basement, looking for a heavy iron bar that he could use to jemmy the gate. Some of the candles that were lower down on the walls were going out as the water drowned the flames. The higher ones should be all right for now. For the first time it occurred to him that Tristan must have left the candles there. Had he planned to capture more people and bring them here? Perhaps he intended to hold islanders to ransom? By now, Thomas could no longer stand up. The flow of the water carried him along with the swirling furniture and empty jars. He had to swim. That was the moment he heard screams. As quickly as he could, he swam back to the cages.
Bertie was safe. He stood on top of the cage that had once held him. However, he yelled as he pointed at the cage which imprisoned Jo. The water was just inches from its topmost bars. She had to stand with her face pressed upward against the iron slats in order to breathe. Two minutes from now the water would cover her little prison and she’d drown.
Thomas scrambled up onto Jo’s cage. She looked up at him with such an expression of desperation he could have wept. She held her hand up through the bars. He seized hold, gripping tight.
‘Keep holding my hand, Thomas dear,’ she said in a soft voice. ‘Don’t let go until it’s over.’
‘I won’t let you die,’ he said.
‘I know,’ she said in those gentle tones. ‘I know.’
But he could tell she had accepted her fate now, because she could not escape. Death waited just a few heartbeats away. She gazed up at him. Here in the gloom, her eyes seemed enormous. Her expression had become serene. She was at peace now. The water covered her entire body as far as her upturned face. Her nose and mouth were no more than a single inch above the water. Her short hair floated around her head. The woman was just on the other side of those bars. He could hold her warm, living hand yet there was nothing he could do to save her.
Jo continued to gaze up at him as the water crept higher.
That’s when a volcano of rage erupted inside Thomas.
‘I’m not letting you die!’ he shouted.
‘It’s all right, Thomas. This is how it’s supposed to be.’
‘No.’
‘Will you put your hand through the bars so I can kiss it?’
He rose to his feet.
‘No … No!’
‘Please, Thomas.’
‘No! Hold your breath and put your head underwater. Keep well down below the bars.’
She did as he asked. Thomas immediately stood up. He stamped down on one of the top bars with all his strength. A tremendous crash rang out through the flooded basement. He stamped again, and again, and again … and then … yes, he felt it move. He bent down and grabbed the iron bar as bubbles escaped from Jo’s mouth. The iron had become weakened – the salt water that flooded the cellar twice a day had rotted the metal.
Thomas forced the bar aside, reached down into the water, grabbed hold of Jo and drew her up through the gap he’d created. The air that greeted her as she emerged was icily cold and smelt of brine. But it was good, clean air. She could breathe. The woman inhaled deeply. Her eyes were open but she seemed dazed for a moment. Thomas sat her down on top of the cage.
Bertie clapped his hands together. ‘You did it, sir. You did it! You saved the lady!’
Jo’s eyes cleared. Sucking in the air, she smiled and put her arms around Thomas’s neck.
‘Thank you,’ she panted. ‘You kept your word.’
‘Now it’s time to get out of here. Stay where you are – both of you. The water won’t rise much higher.’
He grabbed the shotgun and bag of ammunition. After that, he lowered himself into the shockingly cold water. He managed to swim, holding the gun and bag above his head in one hand. He reached the steps that led up to the door. As silently as he could, he climbed the staircase. But not all the way to the top. He had a hunch now. What if Tristan intended to return to see the results of his handiwork? The man would surely believe that Jo and Bertie had drowned, but he’d know that Thomas must have survived. After all, the tide wouldn’t fill the basement as far as its roof. No doubt the king’s son had another means of execution planned for Thomas.
Thomas lay forward against the steps, his eyes level with the floor that led to the doorway. He saw a gap of perhaps half an inch between the bottom of the door and the floor. Something moved beyond it.
Yes … he’d been right. Tristan lurked out there. He was sure of it. Thomas examined the bottom of the door. At the side nearest the hinge was a gap of perhaps three inches wide and two high. No doubt a persistent rat had gnawed an opening at the bottom of the door so it could pass to and fro. Thomas positioned himself so he could see through the rat’s entranceway. Now he could hear the scrape of feet as they moved slowly back and forth. That had to be Tristan, surely. After all, if it had been a member of a search party they wouldn’t be so furtive. Either the searcher would open the door to check the cellar, or they’d have moved away by now, believing that nobody was in the mill. Thomas didn’t make a noise. He didn’t want Tristan to know he was there, on the other side of the door. Carefully, silently, he eased the shotgun out onto the floor in front of him until the muzzle almost reached the hole made by the rat.
Thomas knew what he must do. The notion that this would be violent and cruel did cross his mind. But then
he recalled Mr Benedict Feasby’s death. That man loved animals and birds so much he devoted his life to protecting them. Of course, the Feasby twins had made those quirky creatures from the body parts of other animals, but those animals had died of natural causes. Then there were the gruesome deaths of Mrs Giddings and her sister. One poisoned, the other gassed.
Tristan had killed without even considering the pain he would cause his victims or the grief of their loved ones. Callously, he’d left a woman and a boy to drown in cages. Did the man deserve to be spared pain?When the brown shoe appeared directly beyond the hole at the bottom of the door, Thomas did not hesitate. He fired the shotgun through the opening and into the man’s foot, which was no more than ten inches from the weapon’s muzzle.
As the explosive bang of the gun died away, Thomas realized he could hear screaming. Blood seeped under the door. A different kind of tide this time – warm and red.
Thomas couldn’t see much through that small hole. However, he saw legs, flat against the floor. A torn shoe. A bloody foot. Prince Tristan of Faxfleet wouldn’t feel much like hurting anyone else for a while.
Thomas had an idea. He reloaded the double-barrelled shotgun and went back down the steps to their halfway point. From there, he leant forward with the gun aimed at the wooden hatch-door set in the ceiling. He fired into the wood at almost point-blank range. Splinters of wood cascaded down. The shot had scooped out an inch of wood. He fired again. This time the smoke from the shotgun was immediately sucked upwards and out of the basement. He reached up and pushed his hand through the opening he’d made. The hole was only a small one. There’d be no way of using that route to escape. It did, however, present an opportunity. He retrieved a couple of burning candles from the shelves. He placed them in glass jars so they wouldn’t be blown out by the breeze then he pushed them up through the hole and left them standing outside on the trapdoor.
Thomas could see it was dark by this time. In such a remote place as this, the light of even just two candles burning in the blackness would be like a beacon.