Doctor Who_ Bunker Soldiers - Martin Day [45]
‘I overheard someone talking,’ I said. ‘It might have been Vasil. He said he’d allowed Yevhen to go ahead with his plan, but that it had failed.’ I paused. ‘He said also that he had a plan of his own. He mentioned a threat from the south.’
‘The south?’ Olexander paused. ‘He must mean Islam.’
‘I don’t understand.’ I shook my head, wondering if there might be some link to the cloaked man I had seen.
Olexander shrugged. ‘Neither do I. But we have information that must be passed on to the governor. And I have a job to do.
Do you trust me?’ He sighed. ‘Will you help me?’
I watched the old man closely as he spoke, and saw innate dignity behind his fear. I did trust him, I decided: the worst I could accuse him of was honest naivety. And, if he had looked small and crushed within the awful prison cell, he looked utterly lost here, a ragbag of skin and bones held together only by the desire to clear his name, to have a role in the salvation of his people.
‘Do you have a map?’ I asked.
‘I have one that shows the way to the casket of the angel, but little else. And it shows but one way into the catacombs.’
I nodded in the direction of the dead woman. ‘The fact that she’s here means there may be another entrance. And there is a breeze coming from somewhere.’ I sighed. ‘I wouldn’t trust Yevhen’s map if my life depended on it!’
‘It may, Steven. It may.’ Olexander turned towards me. ‘Do not think that I am suddenly enamoured of the man. I hate him, and all he stands for!’ His pale features broke into a broad smile.
‘But I have to tell you, Steven, it is nice to have even this measure of freedom.’
‘We’ve got to find this other way out,’ I said. ‘Or this freedom we both enjoy might be short-lived.’ I glanced away from the dead woman’s staring eyes. ‘Do you know her?’
Olexander bent closer, squinting furiously. ‘Yes. Yes, I believe I do. How interesting! Her name is Elisabet, and she is a cook at the governor’s residence.’
‘That’s interesting?’
Olexander nodded. ‘She is... was... married to Taras the builder.’
‘That’s more than a coincidence,’ I agreed. ‘And, if she was killed elsewhere, why bring her body back here?’
Olexander nodded. ‘Why indeed, my friend?’ He walked away. ‘Come. There is another torch some way ahead. I assume that is how you followed me?’
‘Did you think I would?’
‘I hoped that you might.’
I noticed for the first time that he was carrying a bag of some sort over his shoulders.
‘Here, let me take that,’ I said.
‘Thank you,’ said the old man. ‘Am I forgiven for choosing to believe that adviser Yevhen might for once in his life be telling the truth?’
I laughed. ‘I still don’t understand why you chose to stay in the prison in the first place,’ I said.
‘There are ways of doing things,’ muttered the old man. ‘And there are two types of freedom. Freedom of the body, which any strong man can take from you, and freedom of the spirit, which is no one’s to remove, or impart. Even so, I must clear my name.
Physical freedom would mean nothing without it.’
I nodded. I can’t pretend I truly understood, still less identified with, the man’s reasoning. But I did respect it, and I felt a little ashamed of my overhasty dismissal of him as a traitor.
‘We are not far from the casket,’ Olexander said as we walked towards the next torch.
‘And you’re curious?’
‘We have come very far,’ he said gently, ducking my question somewhat.
‘Why did you double back to find me?’
‘I heard something,’ said Olexander. ‘I hoped it was you!’
‘I thought I heard something as well. Perhaps we were both listening to the other!’ It certainly seemed possible – or, perhaps, my optimism was simply the result of no longer being on my own, in the dark. I suddenly felt far better equipped to face the creature, or Yevhen, or whatever other dangers might exist within the tunnels.
We soon reached the last torch Olexander had lit. ‘Not far now,’ he said.
We found our way to an unlit torch and the old man ignited it with his lantern.
‘We should be grateful,’ he observed. ‘I