“Slower, my lady,” came a soft command from behind. She had a hard time complying; the walls were starting to close in around her. All the imaginary beasts from her youth came rushing back, winging about her head with ghostly growls.
Good heavens, how had she ever played down here, sneaking about with Jerv and the others? Were they crazed? Papa never wanted her down here, and now she knew why. ’Twas haunted.
They were approaching a sort of subterranean crossroads, where several passageways met up. From up ahead came some faint illumination; just ahead lay the regular storage rooms beneath the castle.
She turned and hushed them. The men stopped where they were. She could see the ghostly grey burden thrown over Adam of Gloucester’s shoulder. Glimmering eyes peered back at her, almost the only light in this dark, fathomless place.
The tunnel they had travelled through ended abruptly and met up with another one, running straight to her left. The sound of the river running was louder here; an underground river ran below the cellars here, then dipped away beside it to flow towards some unknown end.
Ahead lay a low archway which came out into a corridor with the storage chambers. Staples such as grain, wines, and armour were usually collected in the rooms here. But now most were empty. She’d not sent a servant down here for many weeks. Whyfore? To guard the empty armoury? Perhaps to fetch an unfilled barrel of wine?
But even so, not one of these empty, unused chambers was safe for the prince. They had no doors, no protection. If a dog came by, it would all be over.
Only one other option remained.
Gwyn grabbed a lantern off a shelf in the corridor to the storage rooms and turned to her right.
Down a short hallway, so short it looked more like a small recess in the stone, with a cutout stone bench nearby, stood a door. A huge door. Almost invisible at the end of this dark, go-nowhere cubby, it looked like it was meant to be hidden. And it was guarded by a padlock the size of her fist, the shape of a dragon’s head.
Usually Gwyn shivered and hurried by. But now she went directly towards it. With chilled, trembling fingers, her lantern held high, she ripped off the pocket stitched to the inside of her skirts and pulled out little golden key.
Heart beating fast, she thrust it in into the dragon’s mouth. Dust rose up as if steam were pouring from its steely nostrils. She twisted and something clicked. The key turned smoothly, the padlock sprang free. The dragon’s jaw dropped open.
So. It did open something.
“Come,” she called softly to Adam.
Inside, it was just a simple storage chamber, like all the rest. Rock walls, slightly mouldy, echoing and cold. Why had she been so reticent to enter?
Why was it guarded by such a ferocious lock?
They quickly set up a place for the prince in the shadowed recesses of the chamber, Gwyn fussing over straw piles and how his feet were arranged.
Suddenly, his long, mailed arm came swinging up. She almost screamed. His hand closed weakly around her wrist.
“Who are you?” the prince croaked. His eyes were barely slitted open.
“My lord prince,” she answered, her voice shaking. “I am the lady of Everoot. You’ve been brought here for safekeep—”
“Save me,” he groaned. The parched inside of his mouth crackled. His hand fell away. His eyes closed.
A swift chill started by her ears and raced downwards. Adam met her gaze and said nothing. She began fussing helplessly at the pile of dirty rushes laid beneath the prince, then sat back on her heels. She would have to bring clean linens and medicines and someone to administer them.
She had to bring everything or he would die.
“My lady?”
She looked up to find Adam’s level gaze trained on her. Inhaling deeply to steady herself, she said, “You’ve come a long way for your king, with a perilous package, Adam of Gloucester. He will be grateful.”
He dropped an inscrutable glance to the felled prince. His eyes were troubled. “’Tis nothing compared to what you are being asked to do.” He extended his hand.
She took it. When she rose, though, he did not release her, but clasped her fingers tighter. “I say you do not know what you are being asked to do, but ’tis said you are a loyal lady, and you will do it anyhow, with a service beyond reproach and deserving of great honour.”
She was startled. “What do you mean? I know what I am being asked to do: save my lord prince, and thereby the kingdom.”
He released her hand and bowed his head briefly. “My lady. The best way out?”
She gestured her head back to the storage cellars. Barely visible through twenty yards of darkness was a stairwell, leading up into the shadows above. “That way.”