Free In Service Of The King (Book 2) by Steven Styles Page B

to move onward before the smoke overcame them. The men moved ahead valiantly, despite their fatigue. Several minutes later, the passage turned sharply to the right; rounding the corner, to their dismay, the passage became three separate tunnels.
    “Which way do we go?” Jensen asked, looking up at Joseph. “I have not heard of this place.” Joseph glanced back; fingers of smoke swirled after them, curling around the heads of the men with him.
    “Stand aside,” he ordered, stepping back against the rock wall. The others did the same, bewildered. One, long tendril of smoke drifted past them, only to be caught by some unseen force, disappearing into the furthest tunnel. Joseph pointed to it. “That way,” he said, stepping after the smoke. The group ran along the corridor, their candles and torches flickering with the movement, until they came to a winding staircase cut out of the rock.
    “Hurry!” Joseph ordered, pointing up the stair; the smoke drifted thicker about them.
    “We’ll follow you!” Jensen said, holding up a candle. As Joseph moved swiftly up the stair, Hezekiah and Dunner helped the weary workers catch up. They climbed the twisting stair with a desperate energy.Smoke billowed up the steps after them.
    The stair ended at a small, stone chamber. Stumbling into the room, the fleeing group stoodstill, trying to catch their breath. Only a small staircase--heading upward--could be seen, one that ended at the low, stone ceiling.
    “What kind of escape shaft is this?!” Dunner said wrathfully. Hezekiah coughed, and then tilted his head to one side.
    “Quiet,” he said, motioning for the others to be silent. “Do you hear singing?”
    Listening, they could hear sounds like faraway voices lifted in song.
    “That sounds like a hymn… from midnight services!” Hezekiah whispered, incredulously. He began climbing up the short staircase; reaching the stone ceiling, he laid his ear against it. “It is!” he said. “There must be a cathedral right above us.” Joseph crept up next to him, inspecting the rock ceiling with his torch.
    “There are seams here,” he said. “Help me push.” He gave the torch to Dunner and began trying to push the rock up. It did not budge. The smoke had almost filled the small chamber completely; Jensen and his fellows were grouped by Tyrus’ feet, coughing. They heard a voice above the rock being to speak as the singing ended, though muffled somewhat.
    “My good parishioners, your giving at tonight’s service will be like the smoke of a thousand fires rising to the Heavens. Let not the black devils whisper in your ear to stop you from generosity! Come! Give!”
    In the vast nave of the cathedral, a bishop stood at the altar, gesturing to the crowd; the audience gasped; smoke was rising from around the altar. The bishop turned his face a mask of bewilderment. Below, the smoke was unbearable and too thick to see; Joseph felt around the rock above him; his hand caught on a handle, cut into the rock. He pulled on it with all his might. The rock above them began to slide to one side.
    “It’s opening!” Joseph called down. “Get the prisoners up through first!”
    Above, the Bishop’s bewilderment turned to astonishment as the smoking alter slowly moved to one side and smoke began billowing out in a great, black cloud. The Bishop took a few steps back, staring at the hole in the floor. Several thin men with unkempt beards, covered in black soot struggled up through the opening, gasping for air. Several audience members stood and began making their way hastily out of the cathedral.
    Tyrus, Joseph, Hezekiah and Dunner--blackened from head to toe--crawled out of the hole. They stood around the edge, helping their charges to stand. The Bishop stared at them in horror. Joseph turned to the man in crimson and smiled; his white teeth showed brightly in his soot-blackened face.
    “Carry on, my good priest,” Joseph told him, stepping down from the dais. He helped Jensen to