Rod swallowed and tried to remember that the man was on his side now. "Very neat." He slapped Tom on the back. "Spoken like a good little Bolshevik. How much does that way of doing things mean to you, Tom?"
Big Tom gave him a long, calculating look. "What price were you minded of, master?"
Rod grinned. "Shall we throw your four colleagues in the cell they'd reserved for you?"
" 'Twould be pleasant," said Tom slowly. "What comes after, master?"
"Why,then," saidRod, "the House of Clovis fights on the Queen's side, against the nobles. That gives you a better chance of beating the councillors and nobles; afterward, you can follow through with your own plan."
Tom nodded, slowly. "But will the beggars fight for the Queen?"
"That, we leave to Tuan Loguire."
Tom's face stretched into a huge grin. He threw back his head and roared, slapping Rod on the back.
Rod picked himself up off the floor, hearing Big Tom gasp between spasms of laughter, "Eh, I should ha' thought of it, master! Aye, that boy will charm them! You know not the powers of that silver tongue, master. The lad could make a leopard believe it had no spots!"
Rod held his peace, trying to remember if he'd seen a leopard on Gramarye, while he tried to rub the sore spot between his shoulders.
"Thou'll twist thine arm loose that way." Tom grinned. He turned Rod around and began to massage his back. "Thou knowest, master, if together we bring down the councillors, 'twill be thy head, alongside Brom's and the Queen's, that I'll next be a-chas-ing."
Rod closed his eyes, savoring the massage. "It oughta be a great fight. A little further to the left, Big Tom."
So now they stood in the shadows of the fountain with Tuan between them, planning assault on the mol-dering heap of stone that stood across a moon-filled expanse of courtyard.
Rod counted his pulse beats, wondering if his heart had really slowed that much, until Tom whispered, "No alarm. They ha' not seen us, good masters. Ready thy selves, now."
Tom gathered himself, looking like a diesel semi that had decided to turn cat-burglar.
"Now!" he growled, and ran.
They charged lightly, quietly, through the seeming glare of the moonlight to the welcoming shadow of the walls, then flattened themselves against the stone, hearts thudding, breath held as they strained their ears for some sound of alarm.
After a small eternity of three minutes, Big Tom loosed his breath in a great, gusty sigh.
"Eh, then, lads!" he hissed. "Come along, now."
They crept around the corner of the great dank stone pile. Big Tom splayed his fingers out wide, set his elbow at the corner of the wall, and marked the spot where his second finger ended. He put his other elbow against the mark.
"Big Tom!" Rod called in an agonized whisper, "we don't have time for—"
"Hsst!" Tuan's fingers clamped on Rod's shoulder. "Silence, I pray thee! He measures in cubits!"
Rod shut up, feeling rather foolish.
Tom made a few more measurements, which apparently resulted in his finding what he was looking for. He pulled a pry from the pouch at his belt and began to lever at the base of a three-foot block.
Rod stared, uncomprehending. It would take all night and most of the next day to dig the block out. What was Tom trying to do?
Tom gave a last pry, and caught the sheet of stone as it fell outward. It was perhaps an inch thick.
He laid the slab on the ground and looked up at his companions. His grin flashed chill in the moonlight. "I had thought I might have need of a bolthole one day," he whispered. "Gently now, lads."
He ducked head and arms through the hole, kicked off with his feet, and slithered through.
Rod swallowed hard and followed Tom. Tuan came through at his heels.
"All in?" Tom whispered as Tuan's feet stood hard to the floor, and the moonlight was cut off as Tom fitted the stone plug back into place.
"Light," he whispered. Rod cupped his hand over the hilt of his dagger and turned it on, letting a ray of light escape between two fingers. It was enough to see Big Tom grope up a worm-eaten panel from the floor and fit it back into place in the bolthole.
Tom straightened, grinning. "Now let them wonder at our coming. To work, masters."
He turned away. Rod followed, looking quickly about him.
They were in a large stone room that had once been paneled. The panels were crumbled and fallen away for the most part. The room held only cobwebs, rusty iron utensils, and long trestle tables, spongy now with rot.
" 'Twas a kitchen, once," Tom murmured. "They cook at the hearth in the common room, now. None ha' used this place for threescore years or more."
Rod shuddered. "What's a good kid like you doing in a place like this, Tom?"
Big Tom snorted.
"No, I mean it," said Rod urgently. "You can judge a god, an ideal, by the people who worship it, Tom."
"Be still!" Tom snapped.
"It's true, though, isn't it? The councillors are all rotten, we know that. And the Mocker and his buddies are lice. You're the only good man in the bunch. Why don't you—"
"Be still!" Tom snarled, swinging about so suddenly that Rod blundered into him. Rod felt the huge, hamlike hand grabbing a fistful of his doublet, right at the throat, and smelled the beery, garlic reek of Tom's breath as the man thrust his face close to Rod's.
"And what of the Queen?" Tom hissed.' "What says she for her gods, eh?"
He let Rod go, with a shove that threw him back against the wall, and turned away.
Rod collected himself and followed, but not before he had caught a glimpse of Tuan's eyes, narrowed and chill with hate, in the beam of the torch.
"We approach a corner," Tom muttered. "Dampen the light."
The torch winked out; a few moments later, Rod felt the stone wall fall away under his left hand. He turned, and saw a faint glow at the end of the blackened, short hallway ahead.
Big Tom stopped, " 'Tis a corner again, and a sentry beyond. Walk wary, lads."
He moved away again, stepping very carefully. Rod followed, feeling Tuan's breath hot on the back of his neck.
As they neared the corner, they heard a rhythm of faint snores to their right, from the new hallway.
Big Tom flattened himself against the wall with a wolfish grin. Rod followed suit… and drew away with a gasp and a convulsive shudder.
Tom scowled at him, motioning for silence.
Rod looked at the wall and saw a thick blob of grayish-white stuff fastened to the wall. It had brushed the back of his neck, and he could say with authority that the texture was flaccid, the touch cold and moist.
He looked at the obscene glop and shuddered gain.
" Tis but witch-moss, Rod Gallowglass," Tuan whispered in his ear.
Rod frowned. "Witch-moss?"
Tuan stared, incredulous. "Thou'rt a warlock, and knowest not witch-moss?"
Rod was saved from an answer by the cessation of the snores from around the corner.
The trio caught their collective breath and flattened themselves against the wall, Rod carefully avoiding the witch-moss. Tom glared at his sidekicks.
The moment of silence stretched out as thin as the content of a congressman's speech.
"Hold!" shouted a voice from around the corner.
Their muscles snapped tight in a spasm.
"Where do you go at this hour?" the sentry's voice snarled.
Dread clambered its way up Rod's spine.
A quaking, nasal voice answered the sentry. "Nay, I do but seek the jakes!"
The three men let their breath out in a long, silent sigh.
"Sir, when yer speak to a soldier!
"Sir," the whining voice echoed, surly.
"What was your reason for walking past curfew?" the sentry threatened in ominous tones.
"I do but seek the jakes, sir," the nasal voice whined.
The sentry chuckled, mollified. "And the jakes are near to the women's hall? Nay, I think not! Back to your pallet, scum! Your doxie's not for you this night!"