Following Livewell’s advice, Makepeace pulled the cork out of the side of the barrel, and inserted a short length of match cord.
‘We need to pile things on top of it,’ she said, relaying his words. ‘Earth, rocks or anything heavy.’ They clustered other full barrels around it, then crept to the kitchen to find other pileables.
It was strange to be back in the kitchen again, and to see everything that had filled her days and worn her hands rough. The dogs flocked to Makepeace as if she had never been absent. Bear was wary, feeling that the kitchen had started to smell different in his absence, and wanted to rub his shoulder against the table until it was his again.
Not now, Bear.
James and Makepeace carried down heavy pans, sacks of grain and pailfuls of salt from the meat safe. All of these were piled on top of the little barrel, until it was almost buried, but for the jutting match cord.
Her hand shaking, Makepeace lit the end of the fuse, so that it glowed red.
Grizehayes must fall. It was Makepeace’s only way of striking at the Fellmottes’ terrible certainty. Grizehayes was their arrogance made stone. It was proof of their centuries. It told them they were eternal.
‘Now let’s get out of here!’ whispered James. The pair of them hurried up the cellar stairs, then came to a halt as they noticed half a dozen figures standing at the top.
White Crowe and Young Crowe had their swords drawn. Around them stood three of the Grizehayes manservants, now armed. At the back, Lady April’s metallic white face gleamed like a poisonous moon.
How did they find us? wondered Makepeace. Too late she remembered Bear’s unease. The kitchen, and particularly the table, had smelt different — and slightly frightened.
Of course. With Makepeace gone, Grizehayes had recruited a new kitchen boy or girl to keep an eye on the fire at night. So some child had lain terrified as intruders lumbered around the kitchen talking of gunpowder, and had taken the first chance to slip away and report . . .
Sorry, Bear. I forgot to listen to you.
James did not even hesitate. He immediately straightened, raising his chin imperiously high.
‘What is this foolery?’ he demanded, in an impressively irritable impression of his voice as an Elder.
‘If you please . . . If you might be willing to come with us . . .’ said Young Crowe, in a tone that managed to sound grovelling and aggressive at the same time.
‘What mean these swords?’ James glared. ‘How dare you wave bare blades at Lord Fellmotte!’ He gestured towards Makepeace.
‘That is not Lord Fellmotte,’ said Lady April coldly.
Do you trust me to speak? asked Morgan.
Yes, answered Makepeace quickly.
It was not the first time she had felt Morgan take control of her throat and use her voice, but this time at least it was done with permission, and did not feel as if it might choke her.
‘Galamial Crowe,’ said Morgan’s hard-edged voice through Makepeace’s mouth. ‘If you lack the wit to know your own lord, then we wasted the money we gave your father for your schooling. Was the advice we gave you on your twentieth birthday also wasted?’
Makepeace could feel her own body language changing too. Her posture became more stooped, in Obadiah’s old fashion. There was an inexpressible strangeness in feeling her own expression change, her brow puckering, and her mouth moving in ways that it seldom did.
‘That is his lordship!’ exclaimed Young Crowe, lowering his sword.
‘And you, Myles Crowe.’ Morgan spoke again through Makepeace. ‘Have you forgotten the day we vouched for your character at Gladdon Beacon?’
White Crowe started to put up his sword, then paused, his eyes fixed on the little turnspit dog, which had trotted down the steps towards Makepeace’s feet. Without thinking about it, she had moved one foot to stroke under the dog’s chin with her toe. It was a gesture of habit, but not the habit of a lord. He stared at her, his gaze cloudy with indecision and doubt.
‘Seize them!’ commanded Lady April.
‘No!’ Young Crowe moved to stand in front of James and Makepeace. ‘Forgive me, Lady April,’ he said shakily, ‘I never did think to disobey you in anything. But my first loyalty is to Lord Fellmotte.’
‘Defend the head of the steps!’ shouted James, and two of the other men obediently moved to stand alongside Young Crowe. White Crowe still did not move. A man on Lady April’s side tried to bat Young Crowe’s sword aside, and immediately a cramped skirmish broke out, blades clashing and striking sparks off the walls.
Taking advantage of the confusion, James grabbed Makepeace’s hand and ran with her, back down the cellar stairs. It was their only line of retreat. They hid among the maze of barrels.
‘How long do we have?’ whispered James, and she knew he was thinking of the smouldering fuse.
‘I don’t know,’ answered Makepeace. ‘Minutes, perhaps.’ They had intended to be far from the cellar when the powder exploded. There might still be time to put out the match, of course. But what could await them after that, but defeat and capture?
I do not know how big the explosion will be, admitted Livewell. It might well blow us apart. But I say we do it anyway.
I have seen enough of this hellhole to agree, the doctor said, sounding surprised at himself.
Morgan laughed, very quietly and sombrely.
Let it burn, she said.
‘Let’s bring Grizehayes down,’ said Makepeace.
‘Ah, well.’ James snickered. ‘We might as well die spitting in their Evil Eye!’
The shouts and clashes of weapons at the top of the stairs had hushed, and Lady April’s voice could be heard giving commands. Evidently she had triumphed over Young Crowe and his allies, through force of will or arms.
‘They’ll be coming for us,’ whispered James.
‘Let them,’ hissed Makepeace. ‘The more the merrier when the powder blows.’ She put out her lantern and plunged them into darkness.
She could tell from James’s wide eyes that he could not see a thing.
‘Trust us,’ she whispered.
‘Can you hear us?’ Lady April called down the stairs. ‘Come up and surrender, or we shall send down the dogs!’
Both siblings tensed. Once again, the Grizehayes dogs would be loosed on them. But now they had no moors to flee across. They were cornered prey.
Nonetheless, neither of them spoke a word, or moved to surrender.
Seconds crawled by, and then Makepeace heard a faint clatter of claws from the direction of the steps. Panting rough as sawdust. The flap of soft jowls.
Makepeace knew all of them by their smell. The hulking mastiffs with their great jaws and terrible bite. The wolfhound, its long sinews aching for large prey to chase. The greyhounds, swift and deadly like hawks of the land. The bloodhounds, scenting her fear like wine.
She smelt their fast blood, their hunt-hunger. The claw-skitter neared their hiding place. One deep bark reverberated in the darkness, and a moment later a cacophony of barking echoed throughout the cellar.
‘Shh!’ Makepeace rose from her hiding place, even as her heart raced, and her skin tingled in readiness for a bite. ‘Nero — Star — Catcher — Caliban! You know me.’
She could see their pale forms tensed in the darkness. Then one large shape drew closer. A wet nose nudged her hand, and a tongue licked her palm.
They knew her smell. She was the gravy-giver. She was pack, perhaps. And she was a beast whose temper should not be tested too far.
‘You will need to come up eventually,’ called down Lady April.
‘Why?’ shouted James, his teeth chattering. ‘We have friends down here, and enough wine to make merry. We might sing a few songs.’