Crispin_ At the Edge of the World - Avi [57]
Once arrived, we pressed against the rough, stone church walls, and began to edge around. As we went, I could hear shouts, cries, and blaring horns from the castle side, but we could see nothing. I kept thinking of Bear.
We reached the base of the tower, and—as far as I knew—had still not been observed. Pushing forward, we came to the hole.
Once there, while trying to regain our breath, we squatted down and studied what to do.
The hole was some two feet wide, perhaps two in height. That is, large enough for us to pass through, as long at it became no smaller within. But when I squatted down to look inside, I found the hole blocked. With Troth looking over my shoulder, I used my sword to poke about.
To my relief, I found that the hole was stuffed with little more than leaves and silt. Working hard with my sword and hands, I was able to scoop it clear to some depth.
“I’ll go first,” I said. “I’ll tell you if it’s safe.”
“And if it isn’t?”
“You must flee,” I said, and before she could return an answer, I handed her my sword, and plunged headfirst into the hole, arms first to feel my way, my feet kicking me forward.
It was dim within the hole. The stone surrounding me was hard, rough, and cold. Such light as there was seeped in from behind. Happily, the farther in I went, the more the hole widened. As I slithered forward in snakelike fashion, I came upon more dirt, which I was able to push behind me, even as I wriggled on.
I pressed forward for what must have been some five feet—the thickness of the tower wall. Before me I saw dim light. Just when I thought I was clear, my fingers, which I had extended as far out as I could reach, touched metal.
It was too dark to see what it was, but when I worked my fingers about, it felt as if crossed bars had been set across the inside opening as a kind of net. I squeezed forward, grasped the bars with my one free hand, and shook them. The bars were somewhat loose, perhaps rusted from water flow. Encouraged, I rattled them with greater violence. The bars gave way, falling in with a clatter.
Kicking and pulling, I eased out of the hole. Once free, I stood on the stone floor and glanced about. The room was square, stone-walled, suffused by dim light, which seeped down from a stairwell in one corner. Circular steps led upward.
At the other side of the room was a large door fitted with elaborate iron fastenings, including a handle. Near the door’s base were holes, perhaps for the flow of water. There was nothing else.
On my knees I called to Troth through the hole. “Come through,” I called.
“Take the sword first,” she called.
Within moments, I had the sword, and Troth was with me. She wasted no time, but went directly to the wooden door and jerked the handle. The door would not budge.
“We can try that way,” I whispered, nodding toward the steps.
The narrow steps wound tightly upward. As we climbed—I first, with sword in hand—we pressed against the cold, inner wall. After some forty-or-so high steps, we reached a new level and another door, a small one. We paused to listen. From the stairwell above we could hear sounds, even excited voices, but we could not make out the words.
Troth went to the small door and shoved. It creaked open. Cautiously, she pushed it further, then peeked out. She made a hand gesture that I understood to mean safe, then passed on through the doorway.
I followed.
We found ourselves upon a narrow balcony enclosed by an iron railing. Thirty feet below us was the high altar, upon which stood a stone cross. To the right of that, a baptismal font. Above us, a stained glass window, rich in blues and reds. Before us, the stone-paved nave opened out. As far as we could see, all was deserted.
We could also see the principal doorway to the church—the one we were supposed to open—off to one side at the far end, quite opposite where we stood. I took note of the wooden crossbeam that kept