Between the two towers, the bridge consisted of two different-size buildings, connected by ramps. Four water wheels churned below, powered by the flowing stream, which was accelerated by a series of dams and watercourses.
"What do you think?" Marek said to Chris. This structure was, after all, Chris's particular interest. He'd been studying it for two years. "Can we get in?"
Chris shook his head. "Not a chance. Soldiers everywhere. There's no way in."
"What is the building nearest us?" Marek said, indicating a two-story structure of wood.
"That's got to be a flour mill," Chris said. "Probably with the grinding wheels on the upper floor. The flour goes down a chute to bins on the bottom floor, where it's easier to sack the flour and carry it out."
"How many people work there?"
"Probably two or three. But right now" - he pointed to the troops-"maybe none at all."
"Okay. The other building?"
Marek pointed to the second building, connected by a short ramp to the first. This building was longer and lower. "Not sure," Chris said. "It might be for metalwork, a pulper for paper, or a pounder for beer mash, or even a woodworking mill."
"You mean with saws?"
Yes. They have water-powered saws at this time. If that's what it is."
"But you can't be sure?"
"Not just by looking, no."
Kate said, "I'm sorry, why are we even bothering to talk about this? Just look at it: there's no way we can ever get in."
"We have to get in," Marek said. "To look at Brother Marcel's cell, to get the key that is there."
"But how, Andr? How do we get in?"
Marek stared silently at the bridge for a long time. Finally, he said, "We swim."
Chris shook his head. "No way." The bridge pylons in the water were sheer, the stones green and slippery with algae. "We'd never climb there."
"Who said anything about climbing?" Marek said.
09:27:33
Chris gasped as he felt the chill of the river. Marek was already pushing away from the shore, drifting downstream with the current. Kate was right behind him, moving to the right, trying to align herself in the center of the stream. Chris plunged after them, glancing nervously toward the shore.
So far, the soldiers hadn't seen them. The gurgle of the river was loud in his ears, the only sound he heard. He turned away, looking forward, toward the approaching bridge. He felt his body tense. He knew he had only one chance - if he missed, the current would sweep him downstream, and it was unlikely that he would ever make his way back up again without being captured So this was it.
One chance.
A series of small stone walls had been built out from the sides of the river to accelerate the water, and he moved forward more rapidly now. Directly ahead was a watercourse slide, just before the wheels. They were in the shadow of the bridge. Everything was happening fast. The river was white water, a rushing roar. He could hear the creak of the wooden wheels as he came closer.
Marek reached the first wheel; he grabbed hold of the spokes, swung around, stepped onto a paddle and rose upward, carried by the wheel, then was lost from view.
He made it look easy.
Now Kate had reached the second wheel, near the center of the bridge. Agile, she easily caught the rising spoke, but in the next moment she almost lost her grip, struggling to hold on. She finally swung up onto a paddle, crouching low.
Chris slid down the angled watercourse, grunting as his body bounced over the rocks. The water around him boiled like rapids, the current carrying him swiftly toward the spinning water wheel.
Now it was his turn.
The wheel was close.
Chris reached out for the nearest spoke as it broke water, and grabbed - cold and slippery - hand slid on algae - splinters cut his fingers - losing his grip - he grabbed with his other hand - desperate - the spoke was rising into the air - he couldn't hold it - let go, fell back in the water - grabbed for the next spoke as it came up - missed it - missed it - and then was swept relentlessly onward, back into the sunlight, going downstream.
He'd missed!
Damn.
The current pushed him onward. Away from the bridge, away from the others.
He was on his own.
09:25:12
Kate got one knee on the paddle of the water wheel and felt herself lifted clear of the water. Then her other knee, and she crouched down, feeling her body rise into the air. She looked back over her shoulder in time to see Chris heading downstream, his head bobbing in the sunlight. And then she was carried up and over, and into the mill.
She dropped to the ground, crouching in darkness. The wooden boards beneath her feet sagged, and she smelled an odor of rotting damp. She was in a small chamber, with the wheel behind her and a rotating set of wooden-tooth gears creaking noisily to her right. Those gears meshed with a vertical spindle, making the vertical shaft turn. The shaft disappeared up into the ceiling. She felt water splatter on her as she paused, listening. But she could hear nothing but the sound of water and the creaking of the wood.
A low door stood directly ahead. She gripped her dagger and slowly pushed the door open.
Grain hissed down a wooden chute from the ceiling above and emptied into a square wooden bin beside her on the floor. Sacks of grain were piled high in the corner. The air was hazy with yellow dust. Dust covered all the walls, the surfaces and the ladder in the corner of the room that led up to the second floor. She remembered that Chris had once said that this dust was explosive, that a flame would blow the building apart. And indeed, she saw no candles in the room, no candleholders on the walls. No sort of fire.
Cautiously, she crept toward the ladder. Only when she reached it did she see two men lying among the sacks, snoring loudly, empty wine bottles at their feet. But neither gave any sign of awakening.
She began to climb the ladder.
She passed a rotating granite wheel turning noisily against another below. The grain came down a sort of funnel and entered a hole in the center of the upper wheel. Then ground grain came out the sides, spilling through a hole to the floor below.
In the corner of the room, she saw Marek, crouched over the body of a soldier lying on the ground. He held his finger to his lips and pointed to a door on the right. Kate heard voices: the soldiers in the gatehouse. Quietly, Marek raised the ladder and slid it over to block the door shut.
Together, they removed the soldier's broadsword, his bow, and his quiver of arrows. The dead body was heavy; it was surprisingly difficult to strip the weapons. It seemed to take a long time. She looked at the man's face - he had a two-day growth of beard, and a canker sore on his lip. His eyes were brown, staring.
She jumped back with fright when the man suddenly raised his hand toward her. Then she realized she'd caught her damp sleeve on his bracelet. She pulled it free. The hand dropped back with a thunk.
Marek took the man's broadsword. He gave the bow and arrows to her.
Several white monk's habits hung in a row on pegs on the wall. Marek slipped one on, gave a second one to her.
Now he pointed to the left, toward the ramp leading to the second building. Two soldiers in maroon and gray stood on the ramp, blocking their way.
Marek looked around, found a heavy stick used for stirring grain, and handed it to her. He saw more bottles of wine in the corner. He took two, opened the door, and said something in Occitan, waving the bottles at the soldiers. They hurried over. Marek pushed Kate to the side of the door and said one word: "Hard."
The first soldier came in, followed immediately by the second. She swung the stick at his head and hit him so hard she was sure she had broken his skull. But she hadn't; the man fell, but immediately started to get up again. She hit him two more times, and then he fell flat on his face and didn't move. Meanwhile, Marek had broken the wine bottle over the other soldier's head, and he was now kicking him repeatedly in the stomach. The man struggled, raising his arms to protect himself, until she brought the stick down on his head. Then he stopped moving.