“Maybe,” allowed Kit doubtfully. “I suppose we should look.”
“With your permission, sir,” said Giles, moving to the coffin. Kit nodded, and the coachman began going through Cosimo’s pockets. He quickly finished and reported that he had found nothing.
“Then I guess that’s it.” Kit sighed. He ran his hands over his face as a tremendous fatigue drew over him. “What a mess I’ve made of this-this whole thing.”
“You were not to know, sir,” Giles told him.
Evening came on and, as Sir Henry had said, a shaft of sunlight through the vestibule illumined the interior of the tomb. Kit, feeling helpless, stood before the painting and tried to memorise the dozen or so symbols on the painted map so that he might reproduce them later. Giles and Lady Fayth joined him, each taking a section of the painting; but there were too many and the opportunity all too brief. They were able only to commit a paltry few to memory before the sunlight faded, gradually dimming away until darkness claimed the tomb of Anen.
Sir Henry continued to sleep, his breath heavy and laboured. Kit, fatigued by the shocks and alarms of the day, began to hurt. His ribs ached, his head throbbed, the muscles in his neck and arms burned, and he seemed to have been peppered all over with bruises. He settled into a convenient corner and found himself next to Lady Fayth. “So,” he said, sliding down beside her, “your name is Haven. I didn’t know that.”
“A lady does not give her Christian name to just anyone,” she replied primly.
“But we’ve known each other for days and days.” He could not decide whether to be offended or by how much, but in any case was too tired to protest further.
“You were wonderful,” she told him, and he heard her sigh. “So very gallant.”
“You weren’t so bad yourself,” replied Kit, a sudden warmth spreading through his aching limbs. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”
“I have two elder brothers.”
“That would explain it.”
“I am so sorry about your great-grandfather,” she said. Kit felt her fingers on his arm. “So very sorry.”
“Thanks,” he said. Overcome by an oppressive exhaustion, he yawned, and the movement brought instant pain to his jaw. When the pain subsided, he whispered, “Good night… Haven.”
“Good night, Kit,” she whispered back. He closed his eyes, and it seemed that he had just drifted off when he was being nudged awake again. “Hmm?”
“Shh!” hissed Lady Fayth. “Someone is coming.”
Kit made to sit up, and the effort renewed all his aches and pains. “Ohh…”
The chamber was still dark, but less dark than it had been before. A thin light trickled into the cell from the vestibule beyond. The light grew brighter, and then there was a lantern being held up to the grate. “Well, well, well-what have we here?” The booming voice resounded in the bare chamber. Kit came fully awake. He turned to look at Lady Fayth, who was on her knees beside him. “Looks like everyone is present and accounted for now.”
The face at the grate, as revealed by the lantern, was vaguely attractive in a broad sort of way, with a luxurious moustache and large dark eyes; but there was a ruthlessness about the mouth that gave the lie to the overall genial impression.
“Let us go, Burleigh,” said Kit, climbing to his feet. Giles rose and came to stand beside him.
“So, you know who I am. And I know you. Isn’t this splendid?”
“Keeping us captive won’t get you anywhere.”
“It may surprise you,” replied Lord Burleigh, “but I am rather inclined to agree with you. Oh, I must say, the atmosphere down here is most foul! However do you put up with it?”
“That’s all your fault. Cosimo is dead, and Sir Henry here is-”
“Yes, yes,” interrupted Burleigh quickly, “it is all very grim. So, let us not waste time wallowing in blame and recrimination. I propose we work this out between us. The simplest thing would be for us to join forces to work together for the common good-one hand washing the other. Help me find the Skin Map. Pledge yourselves to my service, and I will set you free.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“You will rot in here just as your great-grandfather did, and as Sir Henry soon will. It’s the miasma of the tomb, or the mummy’s curse, or some such thing, you see? Carries one off just like that!”
“We’d be crazy to join you,” spat Kit. “Murderer!”
“So be it,” replied Burleigh with a shrug. Withdrawing the lantern, he prepared to leave. Then, turning back, he addressed Lady Fayth, who was kneeling at her uncle’s side. “What about you, Haven? Does this rash young man speak for you as well?”
Silence, deep as the tomb in which they stood, descended upon them. No one moved, hardly daring to even look at one another. Then, slowly, Lady Fayth rose to her feet.
“Haven?” Kit said, breaking the silence.
She crossed to him and held out her hand. “Uncle’s journal,” she said. “I want it.”
“You can’t-”
“Give me the book!” she demanded. When he made no move to obey, she snaked a slender hand into his pocket and extricated the cloth-wrapped book. Kit grabbed her wrist.
“He’s your uncle-your own flesh and blood! How can you betray him?”
“Unhand me,” she said, pulling free of his grasp. She moved toward the door.
“Think what you’re doing!” shouted Kit.
“I know full well what I am doing,” she replied coolly. A key clanked in the lock, and Burleigh pulled open the door. She glanced at Giles. “You can come with me if you like.”
The servant regarded Sir Henry stretched on the floor and then shook his head. “No, my lady. I know my place.”
“I thought as much.” She went through the open door.
“Nicely done, my dear,” Burleigh told her, relieving her of the green book. “Nicely done, indeed.”
“Haven, no!” Kit darted after her. “What about Sir Henry-you just can’t leave him to die.”
“My uncle’s life is over,” she replied as the door began to close once more. “See for yourself. My life, on the other hand, has only just begun.”
“No!” shouted Kit. “You can’t do this.” He rushed the door and threw himself against it. But the Burley Men on the other side forced the grate shut and locked it again. “Listen, Burleigh-wait!” cried Kit. “Don’t leave us here. You have what you want; let us go.”
“You had your chance,” replied the departing voice. “Good-bye, Mr. Livingstone. I do not expect we will meet again.”
CHAPTER 36
In Which It Is Darkest Before the Dawn
The footsteps in the passage faded, and silence reclaimed the tomb. Kit stood in the darkness, blind, mute, and unmoving. The enormity of the betrayal and the swiftness with which it had taken place took his breath away. He felt dead inside, hollow, as if his entrails had been carved out with a dull spoon. Whatever Giles was feeling, he kept it to himself. It was a long time before either of them could speak, and then it was Giles who said, “That was ill done.”
Fairly shaking with anger and humiliation, Kit finally mustered enough composure to ask, “Why didn’t you join her, Giles? You could have walked free.”
“My loyalty is to Sir Henry.” After a moment, he added, “And to those who are loyal to him.”
“Thank you,” Kit said. “But it may well cost you your life. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” came a soft reply. “I do.”
“Well, then,” said Kit. He fumbled in the darkness for the nearest wall and sat down with his back against it. Kit heard Giles moving, feeling his way along the wall. He stopped at the place Sir Henry lay.
“Sir Henry is dead,” Giles confirmed, his voice ringing hollow in the chamber. “He must have expired in the night.” He paused. “Should we do something for him?”
“We will,” said Kit after a moment. “As soon as it gets light.”
He closed his eyes, but sleep was the last thing on his mind. How? he wondered. How in the name of all that is holy could he have been so stupid? How could he have got tangled up in such a reckless and ill-conceived scheme? How could he have come here so staggeringly unprepared to rescue anybody? Rescue! The word mocked him. The whole affair was an absolute, unmitigated catastrophe: Cosimo and Sir Henry dead, himself and Giles captured, and Lady Fayth allied with the enemy. Well done, Kit. Pin a medal on your chest, you bloody genius.