Timeline - Michael Crichton [117]
There were no guards.
The hallway was empty.
Using both hands now, Kate pulled up, flopped onto the ledge, and slid over onto the floor. She was now standing in the hallway outside the locked door. Softly, she said, “I made it.”
Marek said, “Guards?”
“No. But no key, either.”
She inspected the door. It was thick, solid.
Marek said, “Hinges?”
“Yes. Outside.” They were made of heavy wrought iron. She knew what he was asking her. “I can see the pins.” If she could knock the pins out of the hinges, the door would be easy to break open. “But I need a hammer or something. There’s nothing here I can use.”
“Find something,” Marek said softly.
She ran down the corridor.
:
“De Kere,” Lord Oliver said as the knight with the scar came into the room. “The Magister counsels to remove to La Roque.”
De Kere gave a judicious nod. “The risk would be grave, sire.”
“And the risk to stay here?” Oliver said.
“If the Magister’s advice is true and good, and without other intent, why did his assistants conceal their identity when first they came to your court? Such concealment is not the mark of honesty, my Lord. I would you be satisfied of their answer for this conduct, before I put faith in this new Magister and his advisements.”
“Let us all be satisfied,” Oliver said. “Bring the assistants to me now, and we shall ask them what you wish to know.”
“My Lord.” De Kere bowed, and left the room.
:
Kate came out of the stairwell and slipped into the crowd in the courtyard. She was thinking that she could use a carpenter’s tool kit, or a blacksmith’s hammer, or maybe some of the tools the farrier used to shoe horses. Over to the left, she saw the grooms and the horses, and she started to drift in that direction. In the excited throng, nobody paid her any attention. She slipped easily toward the east wall, and was beginning to consider how to distract the grooms, when directly ahead she saw a knight standing very still and staring at her.
Robert de Kere.
Their eyes met for a moment, and then she turned and ran. From behind her she heard de Kere shout for help, and the answering cries from soldiers all around. She pushed forward through the crowd, which was suddenly an impediment, hands clutching at her, plucking at her clothes. It was like a nightmare. To escape the crowd, she went through the nearest door, slamming it behind her.
She found herself in the kitchen.
The room was dreadfully hot, and more crowded than the courtyard. Huge iron cauldrons boiled on fires in the enormous fireplace. A dozen capons turned on a row of spits, the crank turned by a child. She paused, uncertain what to do, and then de Kere came through the door after her, snarled, “You!” and swung his sword.
She ducked, scrambled among the tables of food being prepared. The sword crashed down, sending platters flying. She scrambled, crouched low, beneath the tables. The cooks began to yell. She saw a giant model of the castle, made in some kind of pastry, and headed there. De Kere was right after her.
The cooks were shouting “Non, Sir Robert, non!” in a kind of chorus from all around the room, and some of the men were so distressed that they came forward to stop him.
De Kere swung again. She ducked, and the sword decapitated the castle battlements, raising a cloud of white powder. At this, the chefs gave a collective shriek of agony and fell on de Kere from all sides, shouting that this was Lord Oliver’s favorite, that he had approved it, that Sir Robert must not do further damage. Robert rolled on the floor, swearing and trying to shake them off.
In the confusion, she ran back out the door again, into the afternoon light.
:
Off to the right she saw the curved wall of the chapel. The chapel was undergoing some restoration; there was a ladder going up the wall, and some perfunctory scaffolding on the roof, where tilers were making repairs.
She wanted to get away from the crowds, and the soldiers. She knew that on the far side of the chapel, a narrow passage ran between