“I don’t have anything to do with that. I don’t. I see the trays, and I hear the noises, but I only sweep up here. That, and shovel out manure.” He glanced at the restive horse next to him. “Prince, here, needs a lot of shoveling. A lot.”
Alano dropped his hands. “Where’s the coachman?”
The young man looked up at the loft above the stable. A set of stairs angled up from the side of the stable. At the head of the stairs was an old door, now closed, and probably locked.
“How many people guard him?”
The stableboy didn’t hesitate. “Just one. Sometimes, he leaves, but he comes back.”
“Is he there now?”
The boy nodded.
What was there about this boy that reminded him a little of Douglas? Douglas’s eyes had been filled with intelligence. Douglas was also more pugnacious—Alano doubted he would have allowed himself to be overpowered so easily. Perhaps they shared one trait—both had the same aura of desperation, the same panicked look. Douglas had grown out of it.
This boy was dressed in little more than rags, and his hands were richly callused. His hair needed a trim and a good wash, and it wouldn’t be a bad thing for him to have a bath. But Alano had watched him for several minutes before sneaking up on the lad, and he’d diligently performed his job, even though it was apparent no one had been watching.
“Ever want to be a hero, boy?” Alano asked, grinning.
“I’ve never been a hero, sir.” He clenched his fists, all the while eyeing Alano with some caution.
“Well, it’s about time you started, don’t you think?”
Alano bent and retrieved the pitchfork before turning and striding to the other side of the stable. As he began to climb the steep steps, he glanced back to find, to his surprise and satisfaction, the stableboy following him, having taken the precaution of arming himself with a shovel.
One way or another, they were going to rescue Tim, then Douglas.
Everything was in readiness. A brazier of sorts had been built in the fireplace. The crystals were growing on their frames, and although they weren’t as large as he would have liked, he had no intention of remaining a guest of the Duke of Herridge for a few weeks.They would simply have to be large enough for his purposes.
The normal process was to remove each filament from its frame and set the filament into the fire. Within moments, the filament burned away, allowing the crystals to drop to the base of the fire. After a matter of hours, the flames were extinguished, and what emerged were diamonds.
As he’d learned at Chavensworth, however, the larger the crystals, the more unstable the process. He was going to duplicate what he’d done then, not by using larger crystals but by dropping three or four filaments into the flames at the same time.
The resultant explosion should be powerful enough to startle the guard somewhat and cause him to come running. His fists would do the rest. He grinned and felt substantially better for the first time in three days.
He removed the filaments from the first and second frames, draped them across the flames, and waited.
The door suddenly opened to reveal Simons standing there.
“His Grace will not approve, Mr. Eston, but then, I can’t say I approve of his actions, either.” Simons opened the door wide. “You’re free to go. Please do so in the next five minutes. I’ve sent the guard on an errand.”
Douglas looked down at the brazier and shook his head. “Damn it, Simons, you might have let me know you were getting a backbone. I’m afraid it’s too late!”
Alano traded his pitchfork for the boy’s shovel, slamming it into the door. It flew open, hitting the wall at the same time the man seated on the other side of the room stood.
Tim was lying on a cot, held there by ropes aroundhis ankles and wrists, a cloth stuffed into his mouth.
The guard advanced on Alano with an oath. The boy at his side rushed the man, the pitchfork wielded like a spear. He was really taking his new role as hero seriously. Alano reached out and grabbed his arm at the last moment.
“We’re here to free Tim,” he said. “Not kill anyone.”
But he wasn’t about to be pummeled by a muscular oaf, so Alano released the boy and hit the guard over the head with the shovel. The man fell to the floor with a thud.
“Are you sure you didn’t kill him, sir?” the boy asked.
Alano shrugged, strode to the other side of the room, and pulled the rag from Tim’s mouth.
“Where’s Douglas?” Alano asked, as he began working on the knots on the ropes binding Tim to the cot.
