Only a Monster(Monsters #1)(73)

‘This is not even a proper tube,’ Ruth said. ‘We just rolled it up.’ But she was already facing the wintry moat. Frowning with concentration, she pushed the rolled rug against the barrier. Joan held her breath.

For a long moment, it looked like it wouldn’t cross. ‘I don’t think I can—’ Ruth started, but as she said it, the rug abruptly breached the barrier, scooping into the thick snow. Falling snowflakes sprinkled the wool. Tom pushed out a sharp breath, as if he’d been holding his too.

It was clearly an effort for Ruth. Her jaw clenched tight as she fed the rolled rug over the snow.

‘Hope that tiger wandered far away,’ Aaron murmured.

Joan hoped so too. She was pretty sure that cats were the same everywhere—even cats with giant sabre teeth.

And then the rug hit the end of the snowy landscape and Ruth couldn’t get it any farther.

‘Keep going,’ Tom said.

‘I can’t.’ Ruth sounded strained. ‘I think it’s stuck at the barrier on the other side.’

‘It’s okay,’ Joan said. She tried not to make her voice sound as desperate as she felt. ‘Just try.’

Ruth pushed harder—her arms shaking with the effort. She ducked her head and grunted.

‘A little over ten minutes left,’ Tom said. ‘If we want enough buffer to get out of here.’

‘Ruth,’ Joan said. ‘You can do it. You can.’

Ruth took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. She pushed again, and this time they all gasped as the rug cleared the snow. Part of the tube was here in the corridor; part of it was inside the barrier. And when Joan knelt to look, she could see the door of the archive through the eye of it. She pulled a bobby pin from her hair and tossed it through the tunnel. It hit the door on the other side with a plink.

‘Ruth,’ she said wonderingly. ‘You did it! It’s a bridge!’

‘Now, that’s impressive,’ Aaron conceded to Ruth. ‘Didn’t imagine that the Hunt power could do that.’ The considering way he said it made Joan look at him properly. Aaron had the kind of mind that was constantly sorting people, reorganising them like a pack of cards—kings and queens and twos and threes. Joan suspected that all Hunts had been low-number cards to Aaron. Now they’d exposed a new aspect of the Hunt power to an Oliver. Joan felt wary. Gran would not have liked that.

‘Olivers. Always underestimating us,’ Ruth said, but with a shadow of her usual bravado. ‘Hey, I don’t know how long I can hold this, actually.’ Her hands were trembling.

‘Go,’ Joan said to Tom. ‘Quick.’

Tom nodded. He scooted through the makeshift tunnel fearlessly, Frankie following.

‘Now you,’ Joan said to Aaron.

Aaron looked grey with terror, and Joan didn’t blame him. If the bridge collapsed while they were in it, they might get stuck in the Palaeolithic period.

‘Joan.’ Ruth’s hands were shaking hard enough to make ripples in the cloth.

‘Go!’ Joan said to Aaron.

‘Joan, you too!’ Ruth said. ‘Bloody well go!’

Aaron hurled himself in, and Joan dived after, close enough that he was nearly kicking her face. Cold hit her suddenly—such cold that her lungs stuck on the in breath. Wind howled. I’m going to be stranded here, she thought. The tiger is going to attack. It’s going to break the bridge!

But then Aaron was dragging her out. Joan scrabbled with her heels to help him. She knelt at the edge of the snow, panting. She peered through the bridge to Ruth. ‘Are you all right?’

Ruth was breathing hard, and unevenly too. ‘Peachy,’ she managed. ‘Hurry?’

Joan scrambled to her feet. She could tell that Ruth wasn’t going to be able to hold the bridge open long. Tom showed her the watch again. Ten minutes before the new guards arrived.

Before them, the door to the archive was surprisingly plain: thick polished wood with no apparent joinery—as if it had been cut from a single massive tree. But, plain as it was, there was a craftsmanship about it. The arch of the door fit perfectly into the stone wall. And the wood was so polished it seemed to glow. The only decoration was the winged-lion insignia on the middle of the door.

Joan reached for the heavy iron handle. She tried to turn it. It wouldn’t budge. She tried the handle again. Then again. She felt a bubble of hysterical laughter leap into her throat. ‘The door’s locked.’

‘Stop messing about,’ Aaron said. He snatched at the handle, bobbling it up and down. ‘It’s bloody well locked.’

‘Who locks a door behind a Palaeolithic barrier?’ Joan said.

‘Keeping us out, isn’t it?’ Tom said.

That was undeniable. Joan knelt again and called to Ruth. ‘You need to come through!’

‘I can’t.’ Ruth was still breathing unevenly. ‘And I really need you to hurry up.’

Joan thought. ‘I need your picks, then. It’s one of those big iron-key type locks.’

Ruth’s pause said a lot. ‘When did you last pick a lock?’

Joan swallowed. ‘A while ago.’ They both knew that Joan had never actually done it beyond the games Gran had had them play as kids. Padlocks at the dinner table.

Ruth’s pick set hit Joan’s knee. ‘You can’t take long, Joan.’ There was careful effort in Ruth’s voice. ‘I can’t hold this open much longer.’