“Kelly is still holding ground,” Duncan noted quietly.
But for how much longer?
She dropped down to the others, intending not to waste the constable’s efforts. “We must go,” she warned. “But cautiously. No telling if more of the bastards are out there.
Moira nodded, pain clipping her words. “To get out, we’d best avoid the main West Gate and Middle Drawbridge. If we circle behind the White Tower, we can make for the eastern exit. It’s smaller, mostly a service access and emergency route.”
“I think this counts as an emergency,” Archie mumbled.
Sharyn recognized a significant flaw in this plan. “The enemy will surely haveallexits watched.”
And outside, there would be no restrictions on their numbers.
“You may be right.” Moira waved ahead. “But we’ll have to cross that bridge when we get to it.”
They got moving again. At the top of the steps, they circled the edge of the green, sticking to the deeper mists and shadows, and headed away from the rowhouse corner. Occasionally, vague shapes stirred in the distance. From their silhouettes, they were mostly Beefeaters, who appeared to be herding late-straying tourists toward the exits.
Whether these Warders were friend or foe, it was impossible to tell.
23
5:55 p.m.
Every step across the dark grounds tightened the tension across Sharyn’s shoulders. The mists continued to thicken with the falling temperatures. The night dissolved into glowing patches of fog and deeper shadows. While this offered their group ample cover, it also strained her eyes as she searched for any threat.
“Shouldn’t there be more security out here?” Tag whispered.
Moira grimaced. “You’d think so, but it’s closing time. The witching hour. Most security congregates around the Crown Jewels building. Everyone else is closing places or scurrying out the last tourists.”
Sharyn continued to watch for any of the above. She held her pistol at her hip, hidden under the fall of her jacket. Duncan did the same with his weapon. At any moment, she expected to hear the crack of a sniper’s rifle, to see one of her friends fall.
Still, their group safely cleared the green and headed behind the massive rise of the White Tower. They kept tightly clustered, trying to hide that Moira was propped up by Archie.
“Oy, there!” a voice shouted behind them.
They all turned as a Beefeater stepped from the misty stairwell, jangling a set of keys.
“Tower’s well closed,” he called over. “Shouldn’t still be about.”
Moira shifted forward, hanging on Archie as if he were her boyfriend. “It’s just me! Moira Kelly. Getting a late start with some friends.” She motioned with her chin. “Heading to the Hung, Drawn, and Quartered.”
“Good pub, but not as nice as The Keys right here at the Tower. With this pea-souper dropping on us, you and your friends are welcome, if it suits you.”
“Cheers for that, but we have others waiting for us.” Moira waved a goodbye that nearly took her legs out from under her.
Archie kept her going. “A pub? Here? I could use a pint about now.”
“Not a good idea,” Moira wheezed out. “The Keys is a private Warder’s pub, friends and family only. Either way, we don’t want to be caught there.”
“Why?” Naomi glanced back to the Beefeater as he headed off into the fog. “When all hell breaks loose, which will happen before long, what better place to be?”
“And you need medical attention,” Duncan reminded her.
“No.” Moira continued on. “Don’t let the Beefeaters garb mislead you. All the Warders have at least twenty-two years of military service. They’re no nonsense when it comes to security of the Tower. Once they realize something is awry, they’ll lock this place down—and us.”
“Wouldn’t that be a good thing?” Tag asked.
“Not if they confiscate the book, which they’ll certainly do. Afterward, it will no doubt vanish into the Brotherhood as they pull their strings.”
