Into the Dim (Into the Dim, #1)(81)

“Rachel?” I begged as, out in the hallway, something slammed against the thick door. “What do we do?”

Chewing her lip, she rifled through her supplies. “There’s no time to stitch. Only one thing will stop the bleeding.”

Our eyes met. Hers flicked to the brazier. My stomach lurched, but I nodded. “What do you need?”

“Take the poker and bury it in the coals. Make certain it is red hot.”

Rachel became a whirlwind. Using clumps of something that resembled moss and spider webs, the girl applied pressure to the gaping wound until I returned with the glowing poker.

“Hold him down,” she commanded. Eleanor held a lamp aloft as the rest of us arranged ourselves around Collum, each restraining an uninjured limb.

Collum’s eyes looked glassy. Sweat poured off him, but he didn’t utter a sound. When he nodded at Rachel, she took a deep breath and, holding the ragged edges of the wound together, pressed the poker to his skin and seared the wound closed. Collum reared up, shoulders and heels the only thing touching the floor as his flesh sizzled. The sickening stench of cooked meat filled my nose.

He was gasping and horribly pale as Rachel bound the wound. I stood, my stinging eyes scanning the chamber. From the door came a loud thud. It shuddered, and the tip of an ax appeared through the wood.

Can’t go through the door. What do we do? Think, Walton. Think.

The others’ worried voices blended together, but I closed my eyes, blotting them out. Summoning the last ounces of concentration I possessed, I opened my mind and let everything I’d ever seen or read about the history of the Palace of Westminster flood in. My head pounded as the words of each article, rare book, drawing, sketch, scrap of paper, innuendo, or passing gossip began to scroll through my mind in glowing green columns. Books flipped open and pages flapped away like a colony of disturbed bats.

I could feel my fingers twitch as I cast off one after the other. Come on. Come on.

There.

My eyes flew open. Got it.

I turned to William Lucie. “Behind one of those tapestries on the north wall there should be an entrance to a hidden passage.”

He started to shake his head, but I urged. “Just try. Please.”

The door to the hallway was shaking under the weight of blows. “All is well here!” The queen was trying to buy us time, but the axe blows kept coming. A crack had appeared in the thick wood. It wouldn’t hold much longer.

“Hope,” Bran called, “Sister Hectare wants you. I—I don’t understand what she’s saying.”

I hurried to the nun’s side and dropped to my knees. Behind me, I heard the grinding of stone on stone and William’s shout of surprise. I didn’t turn. Sister Hectare’s bleary eyes were burning into mine.

Mesmerized, I leaned close as she whispered in a voice weak as wet paper. “We were wrong. It is not . . .” Her eyelids drifted closed. Her mouth twisted. Her head pitched from side to side on the pillow as she struggled for breath. Alarmed, I rested my hand on her forehead, trying to soothe her. The tissue-thin skin burned my palm.

“It’s all right, Sister Hectare,” I whispered, my words thick with tears. “You rest now.”

Sorrow etched Bran’s brow as he met my eyes. When he took the nun’s gnarled hands in his own, she grasped him hard, pulling him closer.

When she began to whisper, I leaned in but still could barely make out the crackly words. “The lady lies beneath their knees in robes of purest white.” A wheeze. “She guards her dark treasure in the deep. Only its children see the light.”

Puzzled, I glanced at Bran, but he seemed just as befuddled as I was.

The loud crack of wood beginning to splinter sounded from the door. The muffled shouts grew louder. Hectare blinked rapidly. Her eyes cleared as she looked up. “It is time for you to go now, my children.”

“Thank you,” I managed as I swiped my wet eyes with a sleeve. “I will never forget you.”

“Nor I you, sweet girl.” She closed her eyes, a beatific smile lighting her face. “Nor I you.”

When we turned, my shoulders slumped in relief. I’d been right. A dark rectangle now mawed open in the stone wall.

Bran helped my mother into the passage. Rachel had secured Collum’s arm in a sling. With a last look in my direction, he leaned on his sister and limped to the entrance.

Phoebe called over her shoulder. “Ready, Hope?”

I held up a finger and turned to William and Rachel. Next to the tunnel entrance, William cupped Rachel’s face between his palms. “Come with me,” he was saying. “We shall flee to the continent and start over. Now that Becket knows, this did naught but decide things for us. ’Tis our chance, my love. As long as you are by my side, we will conquer any trials that come our way.”

I grinned as Rachel whispered her answer and melted into his arms. Her eyes shone like gilt when she drew back and returned my smile.

I suddenly realized I’d never see these two remarkable people again. “Rachel,” I said. “William. I can never thank the two of you enough for helping us.”

“Mistr—” Rachel corrected herself. “Hope. It is I who give thanks. If not for you and your friends, I would never have gained the courage to follow where my heart led.” She reached up and, placing gentle hands on my head, murmured a Hebrew blessing. “I wish you long life,” she said quietly. “And happiness. And that your journey home is a safe one.”