The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [131]
This tower had once had a staircase around its inner wall, just as the other one still did, but most of this staircase had been destroyed in the collapse. However, where the wooden treads had been set into the wall with mortar, there were stumps of wood sticking out, sometimes just an inch or two long, sometimes more. Jack wondered whether he could climb down the stumps. It would be a precarious descent. He noticed a smell of scorching: his cloak was getting hot. In a moment it would catch fire. He had no choice.
He sat down, reached out for the nearest stump, held on with both hands, then eased one leg down until he found a foothold. Then he put the other foot down. Feeling his way with his feet, he eased himself down one step. The stumps held. He reached down once again, testing the strength of the next stump before putting his weight on it. This one felt a little loose. He trod gingerly, holding on tightly in case he should find himself swinging by his hands. Each perilous step down brought him nearer to the top of the rubble pile. As he descended, the stumps seemed to get smaller, as if the lower ones had suffered more severe damage. He put one foot, in its felt boot, on a stump no wider than his toe; and when he rested his weight on it his foot slipped. His other foot was on a larger stump, but when suddenly he put his full weight on it the other stump broke. He tried to hold on with his hands, but the stumps were so small that he could not grip hard, and he slipped, terrified, from his precarious perch and fell through the air.
He landed hard on his hands and knees on the top of the pile of rubble. For an instant he was so shocked and frightened he thought he must be dead; then he realized that he had been lucky enough to fall well. His hands stung and his knees would be massively bruised, but he was all right.
After a moment he climbed down the pile of rubble and jumped the last few feet to the ground.
He was safe. He felt weak with relief. He wanted to cry again. He had escaped. He felt proud: what an adventure he had had!
But it was not yet over. Out here there was only a whiff of smoke, and the noise of the fire, so deafening inside the roof space, now sounded like a distant wind. Only the reddish glow behind the windows proved that the church was on fire. Nevertheless, those last tremors must have disturbed someone’s sleep, and any moment now a bleary-eyed monk would come stumbling out of the dormitory, wondering whether the earthquake he had felt had been real or only a dream. Jack had set fire to the church—a heinous crime in the eyes of a monk. He had to get away quickly.
He ran across the grass to the guesthouse. All was quiet and still. He stopped outside, panting. If he went in breathing like this he would wake them all. He tried to control his breathing but that seemed to make it worse. He would just have to stay here until it became normal again.
A bell rang, piercing the quiet, and went on, pealing urgently, an unmistakable alarm. Jack froze. If he went inside now they would know. But if he did not—
The door of the guesthouse opened, and Martha came out. Jack just stared at her, terrified.
“Where have you been?” she said softly. “You smell of smoke.”
A plausible lie came into Jack’s head. “I’ve only just stepped out,” he said desperately. “I heard that bell.”
“Liar,” Martha said. “You’ve been gone for ages. I know, I was awake.”
He realized there was no fooling her. “Was anyone else awake?” he said fearfully.
“No, only me.”
“Don’t tell them I was gone. Please?”
She heard the fear in his voice and spoke soothingly. “All right, I’ll keep it a secret. Don’t worry.”
“Thank you!”
At that moment Tom stepped out, scratching his head.
Jack was frightened. What would Tom think?
“What’s going on?” Tom said sleepily. He sniffed. “I smell smoke.”
Jack pointed at the cathedral with a trembling arm. “I think ...” he said, and then swallowed. It was going to be all right, he realized, with a grateful sense of relief. Tom would